by Molly Greene
Patience was in jail and would be charged with at least two murders, but her son was off limits.
“Before they shut us down,” Garcia said, “Vonnegon’s handlers admitted that Elergene was manufacturing a fungi-based super poison for the U.S. government, then they clammed up. They wouldn’t speculate who Patience was working for, but my best guess would be the Middle East, or the Ukrainians, or the Chinese. No one would verify whether Vonnegon knew about his mother’s actions, or if he was actually part of it.”
“He’s going to let his mother take the fall,” Bree replied. “How sad.”
“That may have been his plan all along,” Gen added. “I’m sorry I ever pushed you in his direction, Bree. I mean about the article, and getting to know him so you could get information. It was my idea, and I was wrong.”
“If she hadn’t put herself in harm’s way, we might not have known about any of this.” Mack stood and shoved his hands into his pockets. “Garcia and I weren’t turning much up. We owe you.”
“There’s something else.” Garcia rose, as if he needed to stand to deliver the news. “Someone got wind of Bree’s story. They’re going to put a lid on it. They’re saying that if this information got out, it might endanger the case against Patience. Sounds like bull, but that’s how it is. I’m sorry.”
“It’s all right. I’m already working on another piece.” Bree went over to Garcia, and he put his arms around her and held her tight for five beats.
“I hope it’s not about the San Francisco Police Department.”
“No.” Bree stood back and regarded him. “It’s about something I can change. But if I do write about SFPD and I need a consultant, I know who to ask.”
Mack dipped his head toward the door and Gen nodded and walked toward it. “Bree, I’ll be outside. I’m ready to take off whenever you are.”
“Five minutes, Genny.”
The pair was out on the street before anyone spoke. Mack turned to her and smiled. “No time for a coffee?”
“Not today,” she replied. “Thanks, though. I feel like I want to crawl into bed and sleep for about a week.”
He raised a hand to the dog tags around his neck. “Another time.”
She nodded, then stuck out her palm. “I’m glad I met you, Mackenzie Hackett.”
“Same here, Genny. I hope I see you around.”
Chapter Forty-Four
The airport was a madhouse. Gen rolled her luggage to a bank of seats as far as possible from the mayhem and eased into one, then propped the bag beside her and settled in.
Throngs of travelers ebbed and flowed around her, flooding the rack of gates with emotion and brightly-colored gear. The place was a slice of life. Laughter. Tears. Sorrow. Joy.
Loved ones said final good-byes and left forever, while a few of the long-lost returned to the fold. Couples embarking on the trip of a lifetime trembled with the anticipation of the adventure to come.
A pair of lovers clung to one another near the food court, wrapped in an embrace that made it clear they’d be apart for a while. The young man’s chin rested on his sweetheart’s head. He rocked her slowly back and forth, perhaps to the tune of their favorite song, which only they could hear.
The girl’s eyes were closed, but Gen could see the sheen of tears across her cheeks. She wondered if their connection would survive time and distance. Love was an enigma; sometimes people cared and still ended up alone, just as she had by the time the Elergene fiasco was over. She wondered if that would happen to these two, as well.
Gen’s cell rang and the display announced a call from Mack. She held up the phone and covered the other ear with her free hand to block out the background noise. “Hey you.”
“Hey yourself. You busy? Sounds like a commotion going on wherever you are.”
“I’m at the airport.”
“Off to someplace fun?”
“I’m headed down to L.A. to see my family. It’s been too long.”
“So much for sleeping for a week. Genny?”
“Yeah.”
“It was great. Working with you, I mean.”
Her heart beat a little faster but she tamped it down. All he’d said was that it was nice to know her. It was too soon to go anywhere but there.
“Yeah,” she replied. “And it looks like Eric and Bree have taken their working relationship a little past professional.”
Mack chuckled. “Good for them. When will you be back?”
“A week or so.”
“You did good on this case. You turned up more than we did, that’s for sure. Ducane’s parents are going to send you a check. They offered a reward, remember? And I might be able to send a gig your way once in a while, if you’re interested.”
“Sure. Thanks, I appreciate it. Maybe I can return the favor and send a couple of bad guys your way.”
“Call me when you get back,” he said. “Like I said, I’d like to see you around. Friends?”
“We’ll see.”
He laughed at that. Gen imagined his lips turning up into that enigmatic little smile she’d seen a dozen times.
“I have a request, Mack.”
“What’s that?”
“Buy yourself a new pair of sunglasses.”
He was still laughing when she thumbed off the phone.
# # #
Thank you so much for reading my book!
I hope you enjoyed The Last Fairytale, Book 2 in the Gen Delacourt Mystery series! I explore Gen and Mack’s relationship in Book 3, Paint Me Gone (an excerpt starts on the next screen!), and I’ll drum up some sort of mystery with Madison and Cole (from Mark of the Loon), and Bree and Garcia in the future. The question is, what kind of trouble should they get in down the road?
Email [email protected] and tell me what you liked, what you want to happen in upcoming books, even what you didn’t enjoy so much. I’d love to hear from you! And now that you’ve finished Fairytale, please write a review. Reviews make a difference. It doesn’t matter whether you loved it, liked it, or it wasn’t your favorite read, I welcome your feedback. Please take a moment to post a few words.
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Chapter one of Paint Me Gone is next!
Paint Me Gone ~ Chapter One
Waiting was a challenge for Genevieve Delacourt, and it always had been. Standing in lines, expecting a sign, anticipating when the other shoe would drop. It didn’t matter. Killing time had never been her forte.
Today she was hanging around hoping for a phone call from Oliver Weston, who owed her a favor and had agreed to tail a husband who, according to his wife, was acting like a dedicated foodie at an all-you-can-eat buffet.
Apparently his favorite entree was big-busted babes. And since Livvie – Gen’s nickname for Oliver – wasn’t in drag today, he could pretend he was just as male as the cad with the wandering eye.
Gen was pondering the fine line between patience and cooling your heels when she heard the outer door open and close. “Back here,” she called, then strolled down the hall that connected her office to the lobby out front.
A woman was standing by the receptionist’s desk. Her hair hung around her shoulders, thick and dirty blonde. She held a brown paper parcel snug against her chest with both arms, like it was a baby. Her clothing was smart; a light flowery dress appropriate for the warm mid-June day, topped with a thin cardigan closed at the top button. All designer labels, if Gen wasn’t mistaken.
The stranger appeared to be close to forty or a little beyond. Her eyes were tired, like she’d been through the mill and was having trouble forgetting. She was fit and pretty and jaded and worldly. Gen had seen lawyers and hookers with the same look, b
ut she wasn’t going to jump to conclusions.
“Are you the private detective?”
“I like to think so,” Gen replied. “But investigators are supposed to ooze patience, and I’ve just been thinking I got skipped over when that virtue was handed out.”
The woman bobbed her head as though she understood. “You must have strengths that make up for it,” she replied. “Grit. Tenacity. Something must bring you back around when life goes sideways.”
Gen gave the woman a closer look. “I’m Gen Delacourt. Sounds like you know the feeling, Miss–”
“Sophie. I’m Sophie Keene.” She released the package long enough to shake Gen’s hand, then clutched it even tighter, as if she needed to protect the contents at all costs and wasn’t going to shirk her job. “Martin Richie at the food bank suggested your name.”
Gen smiled. “Follow me.” She led the way back to her office, indicated a chair, and took up residence behind the desk. “Have a seat. What can I do for you, Miss Keene?”
“I need your help.”
“Tell me about it,” Gen replied.
Sophie peeled the tape off one side of the package and slid an oil painting out of the wrappings. It was a landscape of some kind, about two feet square and fairly well done; at least it appeared to be from where Gen sat. She didn’t know much about art, but it seemed the painter knew the subject. Gen moved her laptop aside and Sophie placed it face up on the desk.
The painting depicted a cliff high above the sea. A woman stood near the edge, as if she intended to jump, or fly. But she was looking back over her shoulder toward the artist. Someone had called her from her thoughts, or her dreams. Gen wondered what she’d been thinking and who had drawn her attention from it.
“My sister.” Sophie’s voice was sad and hopeful all at the same time. “Her name was Shannon.”
“Was.”
“She disappeared twenty years ago. From the East Coast. That’s where we grew up.”
“Disappeared, as in without a trace?”
Sophie’s eyes skittered away. “She left a note. Said she was going to end it all, but her body was never found.”
Gen examined the canvas. The painter’s signature was missing, but a date had been scrawled in the bottom right corner. “This was done eight years ago,” she said.
“That’s right.”
“And you think your sister is alive somewhere and ended up as the subject of the artist’s drawing?”
“Yes. The minute I saw this I knew.”
“Where did you find it?”
“Someone who buys for me picked it up in a thrift shop in the Castro District.”
“And you took it to the cops, and they said they couldn’t help.”
Sophie picked at a fold of her skirt. “No. I haven’t spoken with the police.”
“It would be a smart move. They might help you track her down, if you convince them it’s her. They have access to resources I do not.”
Sophie kept her head bent for two beats, then raised her eyes and held Gen’s gaze. “I don’t want the authorities involved.”
“You’re going to have to tell me why.”
“Because back in New York they think she killed someone before she went missing.”
Gen took in some air and pushed away from the desk, then arranged her expression and gave the woman compassion. “Miss Keene.” She shook her head and started again.
Sophie cut her off.
“She didn’t do it. I know in my heart the police wouldn’t have been able to prove she did it. But when they couldn’t find her, when they thought she committed suicide, it was a convenient resolution. I never believed it.”
“Look,” Gen said. “There’s no easy way to say this. Family never wants to think their own blood is capable of doing bad things. If they didn’t find her body or any sign she was hiding out somewhere, she may very well have done the deed. Both of them.”
“I know she’s alive.” Sophie rummaged in her purse, then handed over a black-and-white photograph of a girl who looked remarkably like the depiction in oil. “This is Shannon.”
The still was a studio shot, and the girl was a natural. The resemblance to the woman sitting before her was unmistakable, but the subject of the picture was still a kid, posing with messy hair and a confident half smile. A lot of skin. Sexy but not over the top.
“Was she a model?”
“When she wasn’t distracted.”
“Ah,” Gen replied. “What was her diversion of choice?”
Sophie was looking at Gen, but her eyes were focused on something outside the room. The past, probably.
“Hers was Mr. Right Now,” Sophie said. “Mine was alcohol.”
# # #
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Also by Molly Greene: Mark of the Loon, Paint Me Gone, A Thousand Tombs, and Swindle Town.
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