by Molly Greene
“Get real, Mack,” Gen replied. “You know we didn’t do it. Any timeframe when the boat was ransacked? It could have already been that way while we were there, sitting on the deck, shooting the breeze with Catherine whoever-she-is.”
Mack gave her an appraising look. “Maybe.”
“If it was last Friday night, that lets Bree off the hook. She was on a helicopter with Elergene’s CEO.”
Bree elbowed Gen.
Mack’s eyebrows shot up. “Care to elaborate?”
“Are you looking at Vonnegon for any reason?”
“No.” The detective resumed his pace toward the church, and the girls fell in beside him. “Just nosy. It’s my small town country boy nature. Works out from time to time.”
“We went to Napa for dinner.” Bree’s voice was muted. “I was home by midnight.”
Mack stopped on the bottom step of the ornate stone stairway that ascended to the cathedral. He buttoned his jacket. “What time did he leave?”
“He walked me to my front door and left about midnight. I didn’t invite him in. I was all by myself, just like every night.”
Mack smiled, then turned and took the stairs two at a time. “See you after the service.” He stopped mid-step and looked back. “In the spirit of disclosure, Ducane’s parents are offering a reward for information leading to the conviction of whoever murdered their son.”
“Thanks for letting us know,” Gen replied.
“Yeah, well, take this as a friendly warning. Don’t use that as a reason to withhold evidence you might come across. You need to give us everything, as soon as you get it.”
Gen turned to Bree as Mack resumed his climb. “What’s with the announcement you sleep alone?” she whispered. “Did you want that to get back to Garcia so he won’t think you’re a loose woman?”
“Look, Garcia is the last thing on my mind. I don’t feel the need to raise his low opinion of me. I just wanted the good cop to tell the bad cop I’m not involved with Vonnegon, in case he gets it into his head we were friendly before this started.”
“If you say so,” Gen replied. “Let’s go, I hear organ music. Sounds like the gig is about to get underway.”
* * *
Forty-five minutes later Gen grasped Bree’s forearm when she began to rise at the close of the service. Bree kept her seat.
They watched the attendees file out. The group was an eclectic mix of individuals, ranging from the red-eyed parents to an assortment in business attire Bree assumed were co-workers. A somber Vonnegon was among them. He nodded politely as he passed.
“No one stands out to me,” Gen whispered. “You?”
Bree shook her head.
Garcia and Mack made their way to the front doors at the back of the throng, and the pair rose and followed them outside. When she brushed past Garcia on the landing, he quietly spoke her name. “Miss Butler.”
She stopped and turned to face him. “What?”
Garcia kept his eyes on the people milling down the concrete stairs toward the parking lot, and the sparse crowd queuing up below. “I appreciate the lead about the break-in.”
He jerked his head toward the parking lot. “Mack said he told you what was going on. I’ll apologize if I offend you by pointing out if you’d told us about the boat upfront, we might have found this woman. We could have already questioned her by now.”
Bree’s mouth dropped open. She closed it quickly and clenched her jaw. When she spoke, her voice was as tight as the fists inside her jacket pockets. “Wow, that’s the most words I’ve ever heard you string together all at once.”
She pinched her lips into a forbidding line and stayed quiet until her hands relaxed. “I’ll point out that if you’d done your job and found the boat first, you would have been there before us. You might have met her that day instead.”
Garcia regarded her with cool detachment. “We need you to come down to the station and see if you can ID photos of the girl.”
“Mack already said.”
“The sooner the better.”
Bree turned and bounded down the steps without a backward glance.
Gen was speaking with a group of mourners on the sheltered flagstone patio adjacent to the church, and Bree could tell they were family. They looked shell-shocked. She felt a wave of anxiety as she approached. How do you tell someone you found their beloved son dead?
She grasped the trembling palm of a woman she was sure must be Andrew Ducane’s mother. Her mid-century-style coif was like a helmet. Tidy curls marched in measured steps across her worry-creased forehead. She appeared every inch the country club golf maven in her classic Aerosoles pumps and pearls.
Although the petite woman’s eyes told the story of her life since she’d heard the news about her son, her stoic expression showed her determination to contain the grief.
“Mrs. Ducane,” Bree murmured. “I’m Cambria Butler.”
The name registered. The woman wavered, then regained her poise and pumped Bree’s hand with an earnest I-know-you-didn’t-do-it grip.
“Call me Martha.” Mrs. Ducane’s lips quivered with the effort as she smiled.
“I’m so deeply sorry for your loss.”
“And I am sorry for your trouble, dear.” Martha’s voice was as quiet as an empty house. “The police have assured us your presence was an unfortunate coincidence.”
Bree would bet big money Martha Ducane’s lifelong job had been to comfort and care for others. She felt a stab of compassion. Andrew was her only child and hadn’t left any grandchildren behind to ease the pain of his loss.
Martha reached behind her and grasped her husband’s arm. He turned toward them. “Dear, this is young Cambria.”
“Richard Ducane.” He shook Bree’s hand. “I must ask,” he began. “I do apologize if my question makes you uncomfortable–” His voice trailed off. He swallowed carefully before continuing. “Did he say anything? Before he passed, I mean.”
“No.” Bree’s eyes filled against her will. She blinked rapidly and blew a quick breath upward to dissipate the gathering tears. “I’m so sorry, Mr. and Mrs. Ducane. He was already gone when I found him.”
Richard nodded once and placed a protective arm around his wife.
Taylor Vonnegon’s deep voice came from behind. “But I know if he’d been able, he would have used his last breath to beg us to tell his parents how much he loved you.”
The tone of Vonnegon’s voice was as close to reverent as anything Bree had ever heard.
Richard Ducane released one aching sob as he grabbed Vonnegon’s outstretched hand. He held on as though the other man was a life preserver.
The surprises just didn’t stop with this guy.
Who knew there was that kind of tender in there?
Chapter Sixteen
Mack led Gen and Bree down a station hallway early Friday morning. “We need to find out this Catherine’s real name so we can track her down. Actually, we need a name for her and the cross-dresser on the break-in tape.”
He gestured at an open door. “So as you look through the mug books, keep an eye out for both of them. We’re hoping they each have a record and a booking shot.”
They entered a conference room, nearly empty but for a long, Formica-topped table crowned with a stack of thick manila folders. An open package of fluorescent highlighter tape was placed to one side. A brace of chairs were shoved haphazardly around the room. The dingy beige walls were marred with brown scuff marks near the floor. There was a video camera mounted in the corner with a clear view of anyone sitting, coming, or going.
“Have a seat. We pulled a selection of general troublemakers and those known to do B and E. It’s a place to start.” He tapped the files. “The photographs are in here. I’m sure you don’t want me to stay and chat, so you can get right to it.”
Gen put her purse down on the end of the table. She ignored the chair Mack offered and instead sat with her back to the camera.
Bree followed suit.
“Ex
actly what are we looking for?” Gen took the top file from the stack and opened it.
Mack pointed at the highlighter tape. “Flag every headshot you find that even remotely reminds you of the lady on the boat or the guy on the tape. It’s a longshot, but the cross-dresser might’ve been busted in drag once. You never know.”
“Got it.”
Hackett moved to the door. “Good luck. We need a break.”
They began to thumb through the pages.
The first woman staring back at Gen had a complexion that was white as snow. Her eyes looked as if her pupils were dilated. She slapped the page over and continued to the next, a female with dark goth-style hair and no glasses. Definitely not Catherine.
The first few mug shots were freaky. As she continued on, she was struck by the normal appearance of many of the folder’s inhabitants. All ages, from teenagers to a woman as old as Abe Vigoda and twice as wrinkled.
Bree’s words mimicked her thoughts. “These people look like someone you’d see in the mall.”
“Surprisingly average, aren’t they?”
“Makes me feel bad,” Bree said. “I had to stop reading what they’d been arrested for. It’s too bizarre to think someone I met on the street could knife somebody during a holdup.”
“Drugs, mental illness. A rough start in life.” Gen frowned. “As much as I complain about my family, I was very lucky.”
“Me too. I probably need to thank my dad.”
Thirty minutes later Gen had worked halfway through her stack. She was about to close a file when she paused over the picture of a short-haired, twenty-something girl.
The face looked familiar.
She marked the page with a strip of tape and slid the open file across to Bree. “Check this out.”
They shook their heads in agreement.
“It’s her,” Bree said.
Gen returned to the mug shots. “Let’s see if we can hit the jackpot and find the burglar.”
Mack stuck his head in the door. “We just got a call from Taylor Vonnegon. Says his half-brother hasn’t been in contact with anyone at Elergene for about a week now. His name is Russell Yates, and he’s on the Board of Directors.
“Vonnegon says he’s concerned because Yates and Ducane had been spending time together. He says he’s worried they may have gotten involved in something illegal. Says Yates had a tendency to experiment with things, like Ducane.”
“Odd.” Bree pushed back from the table. “Vonnegon didn’t mention a brother. We’ve had a couple of conversations, so it seems like he would.”
Mack shrugged. “Anyway, we now have another person of interest in this case, but we’re not sure how it fits. Any luck here?”
“Yeah, we think we found one.” Gen stabbed a finger toward the page. “This woman looks an awful lot like the girl on the boat.”
“Good work. I’ll tell Garcia we might have a match. We’ll see if we can track down–” He looked closely at the name beside the mug shot. “Stephanie Catherine Robeson. Looks like maybe she gave you her real name. Arrested for vagrancy about a year ago. Keep going, will you? See if anybody else fits the bill, although I hope we’ve found our gal.”
“Could be now we’re getting somewhere.” Gen said.
“Yeah, let’s hope so. Be right back.”
When Mack was out of sight, Gen slid a small notebook from her purse and copied the information about Robeson.
“What are you doing?” Bree asked.
“I’m thinking she screwed with us and it’s time for payback.” She looked at Bree. “Let’s see what we can find out about her. On the QT, of course.”
Chapter Seventeen
The stark anguish exhibited by the Ducane family stuck with Bree, and the reality of looking at mug shots troubled her. Every one of them was someone’s child, or sister, or mother. She stopped resisting the message. Friday night, she called Cooper to request the Strickland guest room for the weekend.
Her sister whooped with joy, overturned the canister of goat milk she was about to put in the cooler, and lamented the loss of the half-pint of ice cream the spill represented. No matter, she’d laughed. Her thighs were begging for mercy.
Although Ben Lomond lay seventy-five miles south at the end of a busy commuter run, the freeway to Santa Cruz was clear on Saturday. Bree hurtled down the 101 and mused about the change in scenery.
Going north, the population grew richer, more hip, increasingly self-absorbed. Heading south, the residents evolved into people with concern for themselves, yes, but also for their fellow earthbound travelers.
North to money, south to spirit.
Why didn’t Yahoo Maps track that?
The roadside grew more and more wooded as she approached the Ben Lomond turnoff. The mouth of the drive that ran up to the Strickland’s rustic ranch-style home was marked by a rutted opening in the trees.
As she grew close, she spied a waiting group of mop-headed urchins. The youngsters leaped with glee and spun as a unit to race her back to the house, wild with laughter.
“She’s here, Mommy! Aunt Breezy is here!”
The hollow in her chest clutched with an emotion she couldn’t name. They’d christened her Breeze years ago, making her name jive with their own. She liked the sound. It made her feel connected to the birds and the wind.
As she pulled up in front of the house, it occurred to her the only other thing she felt as bonded to was her shortcomings.
She made a wish that her article about Andrew Ducane’s death would bring attention to her talent for writing, shore up her confidence, and put her back on track.
* * *
The next morning Cooper woke Bree with a whisper and a steaming mug of coffee. She was already dressed in cords and a sweater, and she shrugged into a wool jacket while her sister stretched.
“Come on,” she said. “There’s time for a walk in the woods before the munchkins turn our world into a horror flick.”
The goats nickered as they passed. Coop raised a finger to her lips as though they ought to understand the need for silence. The pair hiked across a carpet of leaf litter that was centuries in the making, then uphill into the mist.
They followed a path through the old-growth forest of Ponderosa pine, oak, and madrone. The overcast began to clear as they gained the hilltop fifteen minutes later and perched, side by side, atop a group of moss-covered boulders.
They would wait here for the sun.
Cooper hugged Bree tight to her side, then brushed a loose strand of hair back behind her sister’s ear.
“Talk to me,” she said.
Bree surprised herself when she began to cry. Cooper held her until her shoulders stopped quaking.
“It’s just been intense lately, that’s all.” It was a lame excuse, but she hoped the vague explanation would suffice.
“Nice try. My sister’s been missing for more than a year. I want her back.”
“I’m right here.”
“No, you’re not. You took a powder when stupid Steve bolted. You haven’t been present since his highness took off. It’s time to come back now. Steve left, Bree. We’re still here. And we didn’t think he was all that special, anyhow.”
Bree cut her eyes to Cooper. “What?”
“Oh, he was nice enough. But elusive. Always on the fringe. He didn’t roll up his sleeves and get in the middle of the fun.”
“He was a little tough to get close to.”
“I got the impression he didn’t want to scratch the carefully crafted veneer.”
Bree scowled. “You might be right.”
“Sisters know.”
“Coop, why do I attract guys who can’t tell the truth about how they feel?”
“I don’t know, Bree. Maybe stupid Steve was something you needed to experience so you could realize you can do better. Maybe now you can get rid of that part of you that thinks you deserve someone who’s emotionally out to lunch.”
“So you’re saying I think I deserve to be treated like shit
?” Bree felt the swell of tears return.
“Maybe you do believe that on some level. Remember in the movie when Juno’s dad told her the right man would always think the sun shines out her ass, no matter what she does? Some men are capable of being there a hundred percent. I’m saying you haven’t found the right guy. You need to set your sights higher. Make sense?”
“I’m so messed up.”
“Who isn’t?”
“You’re not. You’ve got your life together.”
“Hah! Right. I’m good with Sam, but that’s because I got lucky. Your challenge is to accept who you are and where you are. You gotta get in step with your inner bitch and embrace her. Put your arms around every part of you and dance. Understand?”
Bree laughed in spite of her mood. “You want me to lighten up.”
“Okay Bree, truth. What’s really going on with you? It’s not just Steve, it’s more than that.”
Bree sniffed.
“I have enormous patience. I can wait you out.”
Bree wiped her nose on her sleeve. “What if I don’t know?”
“Guess.”
“If I were guessing, I might think–” She paused. “I think I’m stuck because everything I wanted, everything I thought I wanted to have, and to be–” She stopped again. “The journalism dream, the dream of being married and having a family, like you. None of it happened. Nothing I’ve reached for has ever worked out. I’m afraid to want anything again.”
She broke down and sobbed against Cooper’s arm. When the crying passed, Cooper spoke.
“Nothing has changed. You’re still my beautiful, smart, talented sister, Cambria Butler. I understand how you might feel the way you do, but here’s the truth, Bree. As far as I can see, only one thing didn’t work out. Granted, he was important to you. But God has bigger plans.”
“How do you know? Maybe I deserved to be dumped.”
“That’s crazy and you know it. But see what you said right there? You believe that.”
“What about writing? Explain that. I tried so hard.”
“I can’t explain that, Bree, other than to say you’re successful in your work now. You’ve made a good life for yourself.”