Maisie Fezziwig 01-Hickory Dickory Dead

by Cheryl Bradshaw

“Last chance,” MacDougal said.

  When Brennan still refused, MacDougal fired his gun, shooting Brennan in the leg. Brennan screamed. “Screw you! Both of you! I’ll tell everyone what you did.”

  “What we did? What about what you did? I don’t know what you saw, but what I saw was you drawing on a detective.” Maisie looked at MacDougal. “Isn’t that what you saw happen?”

  “That’s exactly what happened,” MacDougal said. “Then again, maybe he came at me twice, and I needed to pop him a second time.”

  “Whatever it takes,” Maisie said.

  At the thought of being shot again, Brennan curled into a ball, shouting, “All right, all right!”

  “You said you didn’t run in the same circles as Jayden Conrad,” MacDougal said. “So how do you know him?”

  “We lived near each other when we were teenagers. Not for long. Six months maybe. Used to talk about some of the dark fantasies we both had and realized even though we came from different worlds, we had a lot in common. I moved away and we didn’t see each other again until college. We got to talking about the past, and one day we decided it would be fun if we could actually corner a girl. Jayden didn’t care whether any of the girls saw him. He thought he was untouchable. I knew I wasn’t. That’s why I wore a mask.”

  “And you didn’t talk to each other on campus or mingle in the same groups, so the two of you could never be connected to each other.”

  “Yep.”

  “How many women were raped?”

  Brennan hesitated.

  “Spill it. We’ll find out eventually anyway.”

  “In total, maybe six. We were careful, only two or three a year. We picked the girls, planned it out. It was part of the thrill.”

  “What about Zoey? You said Jayden was the only one who raped her. True or false?”

  “I didn’t touch her. He saw her with me a few times when we were all going out together, and he told me he wanted her. I tried to talk him out of it, but then he went and did it on his own.”

  “Why was she any different to you than any other girl?”

  “I had genuine feelings for Linda. I love her. I knew it would hurt her if something happened to Zoey, and it did.”

  Maisie noted he hadn’t said he loved her, past tense, he said he loves her, present. Could Linda still be alive?

  “You say you didn’t want to harm Zoey because of Linda, and yet you killed Zoey anyway.”

  “She opened her big mouth, and that’s why Jayden’s dead. She had to pay, and Lane had to pay. I thought Linda would never know any different, never know my involvement.”

  “Why didn’t you kill Zoey the night you killed her husband? Why wait?”

  “I ran out of bullets, and I couldn’t leave her there, alive. She ripped my mask off, saw my face.”

  “Just one more question before I take you in.”

  “Yeah? What?”

  “Where’s Linda Perry?”

  CHAPTER 39

  A few hours later, Linda was found inside an abandoned grocery store. Although malnourished and smelling like she’d been on an extensive camping trip in the woods, she was alive. Brennan swore he would have never done anything to harm her, and even though Maisie saw him as a sick, twisted individual, she actually believed his feelings for Linda were real.

  With her neighborhood safe again, Maisie took a drive to the local cemetery, where she now visited not one, but two of the important men in her life. First a visit to Lee to update him on all the recent events, and then a visit to Stuart, to tell him she wished he hadn’t had to go when he did. In the distance, she spotted someone familiar and walked over to him.

  “I didn’t expect to see you here today,” Maisie said.

  MacDougal placed the flowers in his hands on his wife’s grave and stood. “I took the day off. I might take the week off, actually.”

  “You deserve it after all that’s happened.”

  Maisie glanced at MacDougal’s wife’s grave. “How long has she been gone now?”

  “It’ll be four years in a few weeks. Can you believe it?”

  If anyone knew the true meaning of the word suffer, MacDougal did, after losing both his wife and his only child in the same year. First his daughter, who was the unfortunate victim of a tired driver who’d fallen asleep at the wheel, and then his wife a few months later, who’d ingested so many pills to numb the pain of her loss that she overdosed one evening, killing herself. Whether it was an accident, or whether she simply couldn’t bear another day without her child, would remain unknown.

  “It’s a shame. I always liked Beth. She was a good woman.”

  He smiled. “Me too.”

  “Well, I have to be going.”

  “Mind if I walk you to your car?”

  “Suit yourself.”

  He held an arm out, and even though it seemed odd, she took it.

  “You really should think about coming back to work.”

  “Why?” she asked.

  “You’re good at what you do.”

  “I’m not needed anymore, and I don’t want to be stuck in the forensics lab again. I like my life now. I’m free to do whatever I like whenever I like.”

  “You’re bored.”

  He was right. She was bored.

  “Perhaps.”

  “What about a consulting position?”

  She raised a brow. “I’m confused. Why are you of all people pushing so hard to work with me again?”

  “You’re the nosiest, most arrogant woman I’ve ever known.”

  “Tell me something I don’t know.”

  “You’re also addicting.”

  Addicting—a word no man had ever called her before.

  Unsure how to reply to what she perceived to be his mild attempt at flirtation, she said nothing in return, and they walked the rest of the way to her car in silence.

  She reached her car and said, “It was good to see you today. Enjoy your time off.”

  He stood still for a moment, then leaned in, planting a kiss on her lips.

  She jerked back. “What do you think you’re doing?”

  “Something I should have done a long time ago.”

  “I’m not sure it’s a good idea, the two of us. I mean, I don’t know what I think of it.”

  “Why not?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Is it because we used to work together? Because we’re not the same age? Because you had feelings for Stuart?”

  “No, it’s not any of those things,” she said. “Well ... maybe. I’ll see you later, okay?”

  “Why don’t you see me now?”

  “I am seeing you now.”

  “I mean, have lunch with me, Maisie.”

  “I can’t. Not today.”

  “Why not?”

  “I’m meeting Maude in a few minutes.”

  He nodded. “I understand. See you around then.”

  Maisie watched him walk away, playing out what had just happened in her mind, thinking, then overthinking, until the time she had to act on her thoughts was almost up. “Colin?”

  MacDougal turned. “Yes, Maisie.”

  “I’ll be with Maude for a few hours, but I’m free for dinner later.”

  He shoved his hands in his pockets and grinned. “Dinner it is then. Pick you up at eight.”

  THE END

  Read on for an excerpt of

  Hush Now Baby

  Sloane Monroe Series, Book 6

  CHAPTER 1

  Serena Westwood peeled back the quilt atop her four-poster bed and climbed in, reeling the covers over her shivering body until she’d cocooned herself inside. It was early September, and already the frigid fall air crept through the valley, misting it like a damp sheet struggling in the wind.

  After a long, noise-filled day, all was still. There was a time when Serena loved the quiet, basked in the gentle, serene calm, but not now. Now she had more than herself to consider. At thirty-nine years old, Serena had almost convinced herself the role o
f “mother” was meant for everyone but her. She’d spent many restless nights in the same bed she relaxed in now, trying to accept the reality that she, and her husband, Jack, would remain childless forever. And yet, here she was, the proud new mother of a sweet baby boy.

  Before Finn was born, Jack and Serena had run the gamut, trying everything from artificial insemination to in-vitro fertilization. Nothing took. Her womb, desolate and barren, had rejected it all. When conceiving a baby themselves was out of the question, they turned to surrogacy. Three potential candidates were interviewed. All were rejected. Another round of women were selected. None seemed like the right fit.

  On the way home from the market one wintery afternoon, an SUV struck a patch of ice on the road. The vehicle careened into the oncoming lane, sideswiping Serena’s Subaru in the process. While waiting for police to arrive, Serena had taken refuge inside the Precious Gift Adoption Agency.

  A firm believer in fate, Serena found herself explaining her unsuccessful plight to Teresa Foster, one of the case workers. Teresa was empathetic, her own life experience mirroring much of what Serena herself had endured, but Teresa’s attitude was different. In Teresa’s mind, infertility had led her to the greatest gift of all—adoption—and she prevailed upon Serena to think of adoption the same way.

  One week and several conversations later, Jack and Serena filled out the necessary paperwork. And although Teresa cautioned them at the onset, saying the wait time for a newborn baby could be two years or more, a mere three months passed before a birth mother selected Serena and Jack as her adoptive parents. Four months later, Finn made his opening debut.

  * * *

  The faint hum of a stirring baby jolted Serena awake. She peered at the clock on the nightstand. Four a.m. It seemed like only minutes had elapsed since she rested her head on the pillow, and already, it was feeding time again.

  “Mommy’s coming, Finn.” Her melodic voice drifted down the hall.

  Serena coiled a tattered robe around her body, cinching it in front of her waist. She picked a few bobby pins out of the terry-cloth pocket and twisted her long, blond locks into a bun. She squeezed the lids over her hazel eyes open and shut a few times, forcing herself awake.

  The frigid chill of the tiles beneath her feet as she made her way down the hall were a stern reminder to leave her slippers by her bedroom door next time. She entered the kitchen, her mind doing most of the work for her, having memorized her every move. After performing the same routine night after night, intelligent thought was no longer required. The bottles practically made themselves.

  Cupping the bottle in her hand, Serena stirred the formula and water together and popped it into the microwave. She watched the hardened plastic revolve around and around on the circular glass tray like a carousel. For a moment, her eyes closed and she found sleep again until Finn’s desperate cries grew louder. She was used to the baby fussing, but he’d never been this agitated before.

  “Almost there,” she called. “Mommy’s coming.”

  Mommy.

  She wasn’t used to the name. She wondered if she’d ever get used to it.

  The microwave dinged. She removed the bottle and dipped her pinkie finger inside, ensuring the formula had heated just right. Perfect. She screwed the lid on and paused. The crying had stopped.

  Had he fallen back to sleep?

  All was quiet. Too quiet.

  Tiptoeing to the other side of the house, she snuck up to the crib. A wave of panic gripped her. There was no baby.

  A low, lucid chirp prompted Serena to whip around. She saw nothing at first, but there was something peculiar about the wall opposite her. A dark shadow in the shape of a person blackened its surface. Her eyes trailed the shadow to its source—the bedroom door. Was someone behind it?

  “Who’s there?” Her voice trembled.

  No response.

  Her eyes tore across the lamp-lit room. Armed with nothing but the baby’s bottle, she saw no way to defend herself from the assumed attacker. Her mind raced back to a self-defense class she’d taken years earlier, remembering something the instructor had said about fingers being a person’s most viable weapon. “Jab them in the eyes,” he’d said, lecturing the room full of women on how to handle an intruder. “Fast and with all the force you can muster. Don’t think about it. Just do it.”

  A knot wrenched her gut. “I asked who’s there. Show yourself.” She thought about adding the word “please,” but didn’t want to sound weak.

  While there was no movement from behind the door, a second faint squeak emitted from Finn’s mouth.

  “Who are you?” she cried. “Come out. I know you’re there.”

  A man’s voice floated throughout the room. He spoke, but not to her. “Hush now.” His tone was rugged, yet soothing enough to quiet the child.

  The man remained behind the door, toying with Serena. But why? It didn’t matter why. Not really. Whoever he was, he had her baby, and she was done playing his game. She shaped her fingers into a stiff V and surged forward. The man stepped out, anticipating her protective instinct to react. He had the height of a basketball player and the largest hands she’d ever seen. In one hand he held Finn. In the other, a Sig Sauer .45, aimed right at her head.

  “Back...up,” he demanded. “Now.”

  Staring down the barrel of a gun, Serena shied away, seeing no alternative than to comply with his demand.

  “Why do you have my baby?” she whispered.

  He bounced Finn up and down, his eyes never breaking contact with Serena’s terrified face. “My baby.”

  He laughed, finding the comment amusing.

  A defiant Serena refused to give in any more than necessary. “What do you mean your baby?”

  A second nervous laugh escaped from the man’s lips.

  Finn started to cry.

  “He’s frightened,” Serena said. “Let me hold him. Please.”

  “Can’t.”

  “Please! You’re scaring him!”

  She attempted to place the bottle on the nightstand.

  “Don’t!”

  “I was just going to—”

  “Your hands,” he grunted. “Keep them where I can see them.”

  She wasn’t sure whether to hoist them in the air, palms forward, like she was a hostage, or to let them fall to the side. He picked up on her uncertainty.

  “Just ... cross your arms or something.”

  In his eyes she detected inner conflict, like he was wrestling with the decision of whether to keep Finn or give him back. Or maybe she had it all wrong. Maybe he was trying to decide whether she lived or died. His hands were steady, not sticky and pulsating like hers. Why was he there? What was his motivation? If only she could figure it out, maybe she could save them both.

  She tried appealing to his sensitive side, if he had one. “My son’s name is Finn. We adopted him a few weeks ago. He’s our only—”

  “Shut your mouth, lady. I don’t care.”

  Finn squirmed, growing restless in the man’s hand.

  Without stepping forward, Serena reached her hands out in front of her.

  “Don’t ... move,” the man said through gritted teeth.

  He crossed in front of Serena, eased Finn back into the crib.

  “Thank you.”

  No response.

  “We have a safe,” she added. “I’ll show you where it is. Okay?”

  With the slowest of movements, she put one foot in front of the other, easing her way toward the door.

  “You think I’m here to rob you?”

  “Aren’t you?” she asked, without looking back.

  “Lady, if I wanted to rip you off, I would have done it already.”

  “If you don’t want money, what do you want?”

  Thoughts swirled around in her mind, each more sinister than the one before. She breathed in, but it made no difference. It felt like all the air to the room had been sucked out. Another thought occurred: Is he here to rape me? Then why bother with the
baby?

  Serena reminisced on how grateful she’d been when her husband switched from days to swing shift at work. The bump in pay allowed them to come up with the adoption money they needed. Now she wished her husband was by her side, wished Jack was here.

  Serena wrapped her arms around herself and bowed her head, pointing the way to the master bedroom at the other end of the hall. “Just get it over with ... and then I want you to leave.”

  “I’m sorry about this. Really, I am.”

  “If you’re sorry, don’t do this. Just leave.”

  “Why couldn’t you have stayed asleep?”

  “Why couldn’t I ...?” But it was too late.

  He aimed the gun at the back of Serena’s head and fired.

  CHAPTER 2

  Fifteen minutes later, across town

  The ceiling in my room was gray. Not a milky, washed-out gray. A charcoal gray, like the color of an angry sky right before a thunderstorm. I’d determined this after staring at it for the past three hours. I’d further determined the painter was a greenhorn, having missed three spots about the size of a quarter, making it appear patchy in some places. It bugged me. If I had a brush and the right shade of paint, I would have fixed it myself, even if it was almost five in the morning.

  The seconds ticked by, but they never tocked, and per my usual, I remained awake, restless, and riddled with this evening’s nightly bout of incertitude. What was I even doing here? By here I meant in Jackson Hole, Wyoming, in the guest bedroom of a house owned by one of Jackson Hole’s finest detectives, Cade McCoy. Cade liked me. I expect it was part of the reason I’d been invited here. Whether or not I returned the sentiment had yet to be determined.

  Cade had asked me to drive up for the weekend to celebrate the sale of my house in Park City, Utah. I didn’t feel much like celebrating. Officially, I felt like a homeless person, and unofficially, I was one. After several unsuccessful endeavors to map out my life over the last twenty years, I was tired.

  I couldn’t see my path anymore.

  Maybe because there wasn’t one.

  I hadn’t taken on a new case in over six months, instead choosing to lounge around my house in yoga pants and ribbed tank tops, only venturing out to lunch with my friend Maddie in town. I suspected she’d planned the weekly ritual to ensure I got dressed and entered the land of the living once in a while. Either way, it didn’t make a bit of difference—or it hadn’t—not yet.