Brown and de Luca Collection, Volume 1

by Maggie Shayne

  “Right.” He nodded slowly, moving to the sofa and sitting down because he was feeling almost weak with relief, not to mention exhaustion.

  “Wait, I have more….” She got up, moving to the sofa to sit close beside him, bringing the laptop with her. He didn’t imagine she had any idea how much he needed to feel her just then, touching him. It didn’t even matter where, so long as she was just touching him. “Right, here we go. How on earth would Jeremy get hold of succinylcholine? Hmm?”

  He shook his head. “I never suspected him of the other crimes.”

  “Come on, Mason, if he did this one, he did them all. The guy’s liver was cut out. So just think for a minute, think like the cop you are. Is there any way Jeremy could have gotten his hands on that drug? Any hospital break-ins or—”

  “The vet murder.”

  “What?”

  “Remember I told you about the vet who was murdered and the office burned down? We thought it was drug-related. It was impossible to tell if any drugs were missing, because of the fire damage. But it stands to reason that a vet who did surgery on animals would need the same kind of drugs as a doctor who does surgery on humans.”

  “Succinylcholine. So they don’t move. And that gives you another way to protect Jeremy. Just verify where he was when that crime was done and he’s ruled out in at least one crime where he might have gotten the drug. Just like he’ll be covered for a chunk of tonight when we talk to this Marty person who bought him the booze.”

  He looked at her. She was animated, blue eyes damn near sparkling, cheeks flushed. “You’re amazing. Do you know how amazing you are?”

  “Of course I do.” She lowered her eyes a little, though. “You are, too, Mason. And for what it’s worth, I think you did the right thing taking that jackknife from the scene.”

  He felt his shoulders sag a little. “Tampering with evidence is against everything I have ever believed about what kind of a cop I am.”

  “And what kind of man you are. I know.”

  “I made the wrong call with my brother.”

  “He shot himself right in front of you. It’s not like you were even thinking straight in that moment, Mason.” She was looking at him intently. “And then, right on the heels of that, you read his suicide note confessing to thirteen murders. He’s dead. His boys are just kids. His wife is pregnant. Your mother is fragile. You were protecting them by hiding that note. And it wasn’t like he could go on killing.”

  “But he did. Somehow, he did.”

  “No. Some of the people who got his organs did. And I don’t even pretend to have a clue how that happened. But it’s not anything you could’ve predicted. Nostradamus couldn’t have foreseen that, Mason.” She set her laptop on the coffee table, turned toward him and grabbed him by the arms. “But we stopped that, too. You almost got killed making it right, but you did. You found the bodies of his victims. You gave the families closure. You saved my ass in the process. Everything worked out.”

  He wanted to believe it.

  “God, the guilt is still eating you alive, isn’t it?” she asked softly. “Mason, you have to let it go.”

  “I don’t know how to let it go.”

  She drew a breath, a really deep one, then nodded firmly. “Okay, all right, it is what it is. So you don’t know how to let it go. Then you have to set it aside, just for now. Because this is a whole separate thing.”

  His jaw tight, he whispered, “Is it? Are you sure about that, Rachel?”

  “I am. Look, we’ve got some crazy fuck trying to reclaim all your brother’s parts and kill everyone connected to him for God only knows what insane reason. It’s not a recipient. We’ve ruled out most of them already. We have to find out who’s doing this and put a stop to it, and we can’t do that if you’re too busy taking a ride on the guilt train. You need to focus, Mason. If you want to crucify yourself with guilt, then you can do it later. After we fix this. You got me?”

  His eyes snapped to hers. This was the smack upside the head he’d been hoping for. “I’ve got you. And you’re right.”

  “Damn straight I am. So can you do it? Let go of everything that happened over the summer and just focus on the here and now?”

  “Yeah. I can. I will.”

  She smiled at him. “Good. Now eat a damn cookie and let’s figure out who could be doing this.”

  He reached for a cookie. “No. Let’s figure out why. I think that’ll tell us who.”

  “Okay, let’s work on why. But I’ll tell you right now, I do not for one minute believe it’s your nephew.”

  Friday, December 22

  Strong coffee kept us going until sometime after 4:00 a.m., which was the last time I looked at the clock. After that I must have dozed off. I woke at 7:30, and I was alone on the sofa with a big fat pillow under my head and a heavy blanket tucked around me. On the table in front of the couch the cookie plate was bare except for a few crumbs, and the glass of milk was empty.

  I sat up and stretched my arms over my head. It was still pretty dark outside. I knew the sun must be up, even though these were the longest nights of the year. Only three days until Christmas. Some holiday this was turning out to be.

  I got up and shuffled into the kitchen to put on a pot of fresh coffee, noticing things as I did. Mason had lined up rows of wineglasses on the floor in front of the back door. Clever. I would have heard anyone who tried to get in. Once the coffee was brewing and I headed back into the living room I saw the same thing in front of the front door.

  He’d gone upstairs at some point, but he had made sure I would be safe down here while he was gone. I tiptoed up to check on everyone else. Misty’s bed was empty. That gave me a scare on more levels than I cared to analyze at that moment. But I found her soon enough, and Myrtle, too. Both of them had curled up on Josh’s bed. Poor little guy must have been too scared to sleep. They were all still snoozing, so I backed out quietly and continued on my way.

  Mason was in Jeremy’s room. He’d tossed a pillow and a blanket on the floor and was lying there, awake, watching his nephew sleep.

  That kid wouldn’t be sneaking booze again. Not on Mason’s watch.

  Mason met my eyes and put a finger to his lips, and I nodded and backed out into the hallway, then waited.

  He joined me a few seconds later.

  “Did you get any sleep?” I whispered.

  “Yeah, a couple of hours. I’m good now. Could use a shower, though.”

  “Take a quick one and I’ll make breakfast.”

  He looked back worriedly toward the bedroom.

  “It’ll be okay. He’s a teenage boy—he’s not going to wake up for at least an hour. You can shower inside ten minutes. Right?”

  He nodded.

  I said, “Thanks for the blanket and pillow. And the wineglasses in front of the doors. Nice touch.”

  “I doubt anyone would bother us right now, anyway. Have you looked outside?”

  I frowned. “No. Why?” We were outside my bedroom by then, and he nodded at the open door. So I went in and took a look out my bedroom window. The sky was gray and dull, and the wind was blowing snow sideways. I couldn’t even see the trees out back. “Holy crap, this is worse than last night.”

  “Way worse. We’ve got a meeting with Finnegan, Cait and Rosie this morning. They’re coming to us.”

  “Then I’d better make a quadruple batch of whatever it is I’m making for breakfast. What time?”

  “They didn’t say. What are you making?”

  “I have no idea. Something easy. Waffles and sausage?”

  “Sounds great,” he said. “But…that’s easy?”

  “Waffles are one of the few meals I do well. And I saw a waffle iron in the kitchen and a mix in the cupboard. I’ll need the shower when you’re done, so be quick, okay?”

&nbs
p; He nodded, but didn’t turn toward the bathroom. He just stood there, looking at me until I wondered if I still had food coloring staining my teeth from the cookie frosting marathon of the night before. “What?”

  He shrugged. “Just…thanks. For putting all that together last night. For giving me hope.”

  “Oh. Yeah, you know.” I shrugged. “It’s kind of what I do.”

  “And you do it well. Really well, Rachel. You’re a modern-day guru in complete denial.”

  “Yeah, right. Send me fifty bucks and I’ll see to it you reincarnate as a prince.” I winked. “Go soak your head, Mason. It’s full of cobwebs.”

  I walked away. And I totally ignored the rush of blood to my face and pleasure to my belly that his undeserved praise gave me. I ought to be irritated that he was still insisting on seeing me for who he wanted me to be instead of who I was. But at least this time it was because of something I’d actually done. So I decided to accept the compliment gracefully and let it go at that. And to make waffles. Stacks and stacks of waffles. And sausage. And a lot more coffee.

  CHAPTER 14

  Friday, December 22

  Finnegan Smart, Rosie and Cait Cole were sitting around the kitchen island by the time Mason got out of the shower, dressed and followed the scents of breakfast sausage and fresh coffee downstairs. When he walked in, Rachel was filling coffee cups and setting stacks of blueberry waffles in front of the guests. Her hair was in a messy ponytail, and there was flour on her cheek. She was wearing a little snowflake-patterned apron.

  An apron.

  She met him in the doorway, ostensibly to shove a hot mug into his hands, and whispered, “You didn’t tell me they’d be here in minutes.”

  “I didn’t know.” He eyed her attire. “You look like a regular Suzy Homemaker.”

  “I had to cover up the fact that I’m not wearing a bra.”

  He choked on his first sip, drawing the gazes of everyone in the room.

  “Mornin’, Mace,” Rosie said.

  Mason nodded at him, noted the tight and drawn expression and frowned. “Marlayna didn’t come with you?”

  “She’s…pretty pissed I didn’t tell her why we were really coming up here.”

  “I don’t blame her,” Cait snapped. “I’m pissed, too.”

  “Now, Caity—”

  “Don’t ‘now, Caity’ me, Finnegan Smart. These people brought a murderer to Pine Haven at the height of the holiday season. This could ruin me.”

  “Watch what you say, Ms. Cole,” Rachel said. “There are kids in the house who don’t need to know all the details about this right now.” She leaned through the doorway to check for accidental eavesdroppers, but Mason was pretty sure they were all still in bed.

  Cait paced to the window, coffee mug clutched in her hands, staring outside and apparently not inclined to apologize. No doubt from her point of view they had far more to apologize for than she did.

  “I’m sorry,” Mason said, stepping up. “I hope you know we had no idea this person would manage to trace us up here. We booked under my mother’s name, and we didn’t tell anyone we were coming.”

  “Someone found out. Murderers are clever that way, aren’t they?” She didn’t face him as she spoke, but her anger was clear all the same.

  Sighing, Mason gave up. “What’s the situation, Finnegan? I assume you’ve talked to the authorities?”

  The older man dragged his eyes from Cait’s rigid spine. “Not since last night. The phone lines and internet are down, and something’s interfering with the radio at the moment. Walkie-talkies are still good, of course, but they only have a ten-mile range. I sent a team out this morning by snowmobile to assess our predicament, and it’s a doozie, I’ll tell you. The only road out is completely blocked. The only cell tower in the entire area has an eighty-foot pine lying across it. For all I know, that could be the same problem the radio tower is having, though my team didn’t go far enough to find out for sure. It could just be cloud cover.”

  Mason swore and looked at Rachel. She’d gone white.

  “Are you saying we’re trapped here?” she whispered.

  “For the time being, yes, but—”

  “No. No way,” she said. “We can get out with that giant machine. The Abominable. Or the snowmobiles, what about those?”

  “And go where?” Finnegan asked. “The village is just as snowed-in as we are, and their power went out last night, to boot. We’re all on the same grid. When we’re down, they’re down. At least we’ve got the emergency generators.”

  Mason frowned. “I didn’t realize we’d lost power.”

  “You’re not supposed to,” Cait said. “We have a state-of-the-art backup system. The whole lodge is wired, as are all the cabins. It kicks in automatically.” She sounded proud and heartbroken at the same time. “You wouldn’t have noticed more than a brief flicker of the lights.”

  “I assure you, Ms. de Luca,” Finnegan said, “if the radio towers are intact we’ll have radio contact with emergency services again the minute the storm begins to ease.”

  “And how soon will that be?” she asked.

  He shook his head. “It’s a whopper of a storm. Last time I could get the radar map up, it looked as if it could take ’til the wee hours of tomorrow morning. The police’ll be out to check on us just as soon as they can safely get through, though. They know about the killing, after all.”

  Rosie was the only one eating, but he stopped long enough to say, “You all ought to pack up and move into the lodge. We stick together, we’ll all be safer.”

  “We can’t do that,” Rachel said softly. She looked at Mason.

  He read her loud and clear. If there was any chance, even a minute one, that Jeremy had become violent, they could not bring him into a lodge full of potential targets. No, it wasn’t likely that any of the guests were recipients of his father’s organs. But violence didn’t have to make sense, or even be consistent. They had to keep him here, where they could watch him carefully.

  Everyone else was staring at her now, though, expecting an explanation.

  Finnegan said, “Frankly, Detective, I could use all the help I can get protecting the guests.”

  “I know. The thing is, Rachel is a target. Taking her to the lodge might mean we bring the killer with us.”

  “On the off chance he’s not already there, you mean?” Cait asked. She was looking at him now, narrow-eyed. “Which begs the question—if he’s not at the lodge, then where the hell do you think he is, Detective?”

  Rachel stood a little straighter, and she moved to put herself between him and the angry resort owner. “He could be anywhere, Ms. Cole. Serial killers are pretty good at staying under the radar, or they wouldn’t be on the loose long enough to get to be serial killers.”

  “With any luck he was staying somewhere else,” Mason said, “and is stuck there now.”

  “With a whole other roster of potential victims,” Rosie muttered.

  Mason shot his friend a quelling look. “Stop borrowing trouble, Rosie. There’s nothing we can do about that right now.”

  “So what exactly can we do right now?”

  Mason lowered his eyes. His best friend was upset; it was probably killing him being away from his wife while a killer might be on the loose. But he couldn’t help that. He wished to hell he hadn’t asked Rosie along and put him in this situation. He nodded at Finnegan. “Did you find that guest I asked about?”

  “Young Marty and his fiancée checked out early yesterday morning, before the storm moved in,” Finnegan said.

  “Marty who? What’s this about?” Cait asked, finally turning from the window. “Is he a suspect?”

  Mason held up a hand. “No. I thought he might have seen something, that’s all.” So Jeremy’s alibi was out of reach, at least temporarily.


  Shit.

  “We’ll have to call him as soon as the phones are back,” Rachel said. “I assume you keep contact numbers in your records.”

  Cait nodded. She paced to the island and set her empty mug down on it none too gently. “How the hell do I protect my guests from a serial killer while we’re all snowbound? Tell me that.”

  “Well, we can’t tell ’em, that’s sure,” Finnegan said. “They’d panic, and that would make things worse.”

  Mason nodded. “I agree on that. Cait, this guy is going after a very specific group of victims. I am extremely doubtful any of your guests fit his profile.”

  She looked him squarely in the eye. “One did.”

  “He’s the only one.”

  “Are you going to tell me what this profile is? What the victims have in common—besides being connected to you, that is?”

  “No,” he said. “I’m not.”

  She glared at him. Finnegan broke her stare by grabbing her mug from in front of her and holding it up as if to ask whether she would like a refill. She shook her head no.

  “I believe the wise course of action,” Finnegan said, “is to behave as if everything is fine. We’ll institute some security measures, lay everything off to the storm. We instruct guests to go about the lodge in groups of two or more, in case the generators go out and they’re trapped in an elevator or a pitch-black corridor. We insist no one ventures outside until further notice, because whiteouts up here can have a man lost a hundred feet from his front door.”

  Cait heaved a sigh. “Those are good ideas, Finn. But are they enough?”

  “My entire security team and two shifts of the staff, minus one or two, are snowbound here like the rest of us. We put ’em all to work, let ’em know we need their eyes and ears open, to report anything unusual. Say there might be a fugitive from the law hiding out here, and tell them no more than that. Swear ’em to silence on it, as well.”