Girl Blue (A Brown and de Luca Novel Book 7)

by Maggie Shayne

  “You’re going to get me fired.”

  “I’d do time before I’d let that happen. Trust me, we need a look inside that house. I feel it right to my bones.”

  He swore a blue streak under his breath. But he drove, so you know, all good.

  5

  My man has many talents. He popped the lock so smoothly no one would ever know it had been touched, twisted the knob with his shirt sleeve pulled over his hand, and pushed the tall wooden door open real slow. It groaned like a dying soul.

  I shivered.

  "You can wait in the car, Rache," Mason said.

  "No way. You go in there alone, you might get eaten."

  Yet another level of darkness yawned as he pushed the door wider. Mason went inside, and I put one hand on his shoulder and went with him. When I closed the door behind us, it felt like I was closing our coffin lid, and I thought, at least we went down together.

  Way to stay with the happy thoughts, Rache.

  You’re as scared as I am, Inner Bitch.

  Cause Ivy was wearing the killer’s watch, Inner Bitch said.

  Or one just like it.

  Why haven’t you told Mason that?

  I don’t know.

  I smelled lemon furniture polish and old books, and it was so good I sniffed more of it as my eyes adjusted. There was a fire in a gargantuan stone fireplace that spilled orange light and made leaping shadows all around the room.

  The place was just what you’d expect an old horror movie star’s house to look like. Brocade wallpaper with velvet textures, and tall narrow windows dressed in deep burgundy drapes with gold cords. Above the fireplace, there was a huge painting of Reggie D’Voe in a Waistcoat and cravat, his sharp eyebrows uneven as he peered judgmentally down at us.

  “That’s from The Madman on the Hill. He played a tortured nobleman serial killer,” I told Mason in my softest voice. “He’d have his servants block the road with a boulder or felled tree, and when wayward travelers came to ask if there was another way around, or for help moving the obstacle…” I drew a finger across my neck and made the appropriate accompanying sound.

  “Sounds like a fun date movie.”

  “We should check the basement,” I said.

  IB said, Are you out of your fucking mind?

  Something’s upstairs.

  That second voice wasn’t Inner Bitch. And it wasn’t a voice, exactly. It was a powerful feeling that came from somewhere else. My stuff.

  I took Mason’s arm. “Come on. We have to go upstairs.”

  We tiptoed across a parquet floor to a wide, curving staircase, and I remembered reading about how at his annual Halloween party, Reggie would wait for all the local kids to arrive, and then make a big entrance, coming down this very staircase dressed as a vampire or monster or demon he’d once played.

  Tonight, the staircase seemed lonely. I put my palm on the bannister, and instantly saw him above, swooping and swirling a big black cloak with red satin lining, laughing that delicious, iconic laugh that had terrified generations of movie-goers.

  I took my hand away quick and shot Mason a look.

  “What was that, just now?” he whispered.

  I sighed. “I’m getting stuff by touch.” I lifted my hand, looked at it.

  “You sure you don’t want to leave?”

  “You’ll get eaten, remember?”

  “I remember.”

  A deep growl echoed from somewhere above. I clutched Mason’s arm so tight my nails would’ve broken his skin if I’d had any. I didn’t. I kept them short and neat for ease of tapping the keyboard at the speed of me.

  “You heard that, too, right?” My whisper was gruff because my throat was so dry.

  “Uh-huh.”

  We moved slowly upstairs in the damn pitch dark. I pulled out my phone and flipped into flashlight mode.

  “You're announcing our presence,” he said.

  “Yeah, but I don’t want to die in the dark.”

  He stopped moving, looked at me. “Damn.” And he touched my cheek, like he was feeling sorry for the poor little blind girl.

  I shrugged. “Don’t pity me. Just buy me stuff.” Then, “So are we doing this, or what?”

  He kissed me slow. I stood there and let him. It was kind of tingly, kissing like that in the middle of a scene right out of Buffy. I sighed because it was so delicious.

  Then the growl came again.

  “All right that’s it, this thing is either eating me or I’m eating it. I’m done fucking around.” I walked up the stairs, holding my phone out ahead of me like Garth Algar’s backstage pass.

  Mason caught up before I reached the top. There was a T, with hallways going left or right. We stopped there.

  “It was coming from this way,” he said. So we went left. The first door was closed. Mason turned the knob slow and pushed it open.

  In the pitch dark, there were shadowy people standing all around the room. I aimed my light. Not people! Creatures. A werewolf and a vampire–

  Music from the Psycho shower scene played in my head. Ree-ree-ree!

  Mason flipped a light switch.

  Mannequins, all of them dressed as characters from Reggie’s films. His roles, and those of his leading ladies. A Gypsy, a sorceress, a witch.

  I went almost weak with relief. “Jeeze, that scared the hell out of me.”

  “Me, too,” he said, sliding his gun back into his jacket. “Come on, no one’s in here.”

  “I don’t know,” I said, looking at each of the characters in turn. The bling dangling from the Gypsy's ears seemed to be moving and reflecting in her crystal ball.

  Could've been the draft when we opened the door, I guessed.

  I swore the vampire’s eyes followed me.

  I backed into Mason, then kept backing until we were both in the hall, with that door once again closed. Then I gave a full body shudder.

  “I know.” He rubbed my outer arms. “Come on, next room.”

  I took a deep breath, stiffened my spine, and went to the next door. I put my hand on the doorknob, since I was in front, turned it slow.

  Grrrrrrr…

  My wide eyes shot to Mason’s on my way to get behind him.

  He frowned at the door. “That’s not a growl, that’s…” And then he opened it.

  The room wasn’t pitch dark. There was a little plug-in nightlight down low, beside the bed. The bed had a rail on the side, like a hospital bed. There was a nice homestyle comforter on it.

  Someone was underneath that comforter.

  I stayed plastered to Mason’s back as he moved slowly closer to the bed. And then we stood there looking down at the dead actor, Reggie D’Voe. He lay there perfectly still, his skin pale. I stared at him, stunned that Ivy had somehow kept his body after he’d–

  The body growled. I yelped and grabbed Mason with both hands just as Reggie opened his eyes.

  6

  I pivoted to run, and I did, right into Ivy Newman.

  “What the hell are you doing in my house?” she demanded.

  “What the hell are you doing in my room?” Reggie shouted, sitting up in his bed.

  “What the hell are you doing alive?” Mason asked.

  Alive, right, yeah. I knew that.

  I knew it too, Inner Bitch lied. And the growls were snores.

  Reggie lifted that one brow to glare at us. “It seems these strangers have discovered our secret, Ivy, my girl.”

  She pushed past me to hurry to the bedside. Mason came to me, slid an arm around my shoulders, and gave me a look that said he had this.

  “Look, I’m gonna need an explanation,” Mason said.

  Oh, he was good. He wanted an explanation. He had more nerve than me on my best day.

  “Isn’t it obvious?” Reggie asked softly. “I’m…immortal.” That brow arched up again, and he gave us his patented glare. I couldn’t even turn around and run screaming like any sane person would do. I couldn’t. It was Reggie D’Voe in full-on villain mode. It was terr
ifying and wonderful. I was mesmerized.

  He met my eyes. And then he smiled. And then he started to laugh, and then he started to cough.

  Ivy held his shoulders as his head fell forward. “Did you–” Hack, cough. “–see their faces?”

  “You haven’t lost your touch, Reggie. There, easy. Slow breaths, not too deep.” She made circles on his back with her palm.

  I was still catching up. I looked from the two of them to my one and only, and he closed his eyes and shook his head slow.

  “Wait, so you’re not dead, and you’re not immortal,” I said.

  “Not dead yet, my dear.” He’d sipped some water and got his coughing under control. “As for immortal, time will tell. But I’m afraid my final act won’t be pretty, and for the first time in my life, I prefer not to have an audience.”

  “So you faked your death.” I finally got it.

  “We didn’t fake it, we just…announced it early,” Ivy said, running a hand over his head. “Lie back down, Reg. You’ve had a scare.”

  “Nonsense. I don't have scares, I deliver them. We’re going to have tea downstairs like civilized people and confess our secrets to each other. Aren’t we, Detective Brown?”

  Mason lifted his head and looked surprised that Reggie knew who he was. “Take them to the parlor, and put the kettle on, won’t you Ivy? I’ll join you presently.”

  “I’ll take them down and put the kettle on,” she said. “Go ahead and get into your robe and slippers, but don’t you attempt those stairs without me.”

  Her voice was full of love. But her eyes were angry when she turned to look at us. “Downstairs, then?”

  We bumbled into the hallway, exchanging, what-the-hell-have-we-got-ourselves-into looks. Ivy went around us and walked briskly down the elegant staircase, across the foyer into the room with the big fireplace. She turned on the lights, revealing soft brown furniture arranged so every seat had a view of a large, empty wall. And then I saw the projector opposite it, and I understood.

  “Have a seat. Don’t touch anything, or I swear to God–”

  I held up my hands. “We won’t. I’m sorry about this, Ivy.”

  “You’re sorry? You broke into my home when you knew I wasn’t here–”

  “I know. I know, I’m sorry. I wanted to see it, and then I heard something in here.”

  “Oh, you heard something.” She was skeptical. She should have been, as I was lying through my teeth.

  “Reggie, snoring as it turned out," I said, "but I didn’t know that at the time.”

  “There’s no way you heard Reggie snoring from outside.”

  “Actually, she might very well have,” Reggie said. He’d donned a satiny maroon robe with ivory lining over his pajamas. His slippers were soft brown leather and monogrammed. He had a walking stick that had probably come from one of his films. Its head was a wolf. “I opened my window earlier. Wanted to smell the season. Nothing pleases my senses the way autumn does.”

  “No wonder you’re coughing, then. And I told you to wait for me.”

  “I asked you to put the kettle on.”

  Ivy sent me a parting glare before she left the room in three long, angry strides. It felt awful, her anger. I was overcome with the most uncharacteristic urge to apologize and win back her favor. How odd.

  Reggie nodded at us. “Sit, please. I’m dying to hear the true explanation. Well, I’m dying anyway.” He laughed softly and sank into a giant easy chair.

  We sat too, close to each other on a little love seat so soft I sank up to my waist. Mason said, “We’re investigating a murder, Mr. D’Voe. All I can tell you is that evidence led me here.”

  He seemed to ponder that for a moment. And then he looked at me. His piercing gaze seemed capable of seeing everything going on behind my eyes. “And what about you, dear? What can you tell me?”

  I wasn’t going to tell him anything.

  Yeah, but it kinda feels like he already knows everything, doesn’t it?

  It kinda does, Inner Bitch.

  I had to say something, though. “I thought I was hearing growls. Like, not even dog growls, but monster growls, you know? I don’t know what I was thinking, rushing inside like I did. Usually, I’d run away from monsters not toward them.”

  Reggie closed his eyes and leaned forward, listening with his whole body. It reminded me keenly of what I do when I’m trying to read someone. And that made me nervous. So I kept talking.

  “The front door wasn’t even locked,” I lied. “I just ran inside, and Mason came in, you know, to make me come back out.”

  His brows knit a little bit, and I stopped talking, slammed my eyes closed, and tried to feel him. And I did. I felt him…feeling me.

  My eyes popped open, and his did too, and we stared at each other.

  He got up onto his feet. “I’m feeling unwell,” he said. “Please, tell Ivy I’ve changed my mind. Have your tea, of course.”

  I got up, too. “I’m very sorry, Mr. D’Voe. I’m a huge fan.”

  “We both are,” Mason said, and he was up, too, right beside me, as always. “And I’m sorry for the intrusion.”

  “It’s fine, it’s fine.” Ivy came back into the room, and Reggie said, “Help me back to my room, won’t you dear?”

  She looked at him, then at us.

  “We’re just gonna, um, go.” I was heading for the exit as I said it.

  Ivy came after me, grabbed my arm, and her love for Reggie came flooding from her into me. Her heart was breaking because he was dying. He was the most important person in her entire life and she had no idea how she was going to go on without him. I felt it all so intensely that tears sprang into my eyes.

  “He doesn’t have much time,” she whispered. “Please keep our secret. He deserves to die with dignity.”

  “I promise, we won’t tell a soul. I hope you’ll do the same about this…lapse in judgement.”

  “Again, I’m really sorry,” Mason said. “Coming here was a mistake. I apologize.” And by then we were pulling the front door closed behind us.

  We crossed the porch, headed back up the driveway. Mason said, “Why would you promise her that?”

  “Because if we talk, she’ll talk. Did you not get that?"

  He closed his eyes. "Yeah. Okay, you're right."

  "But also because her heart is broken, Mason, and she’s good. She can’t have had anything to do with the murder.”

  Except for that watch.

  Shut up, Inner Bitch.

  We squeezed through the gap in the gate, and I don’t think my heart stopped racing until we were back in the car, driving away.

  “So, what was that back there?” Mace asked. “That look between you and Reggie, just before he decided to go back to bed.”

  I knew exactly what he meant, but I didn’t want to talk about it yet.

  So this is yet another thing you’re keeping from the man you love?

  Not keeping it from him. Just getting my own head around it before I share.

  “I’m starstruck,” I said. “I’m going to dump you and run away with him. Probably before morning. That’s all.”

  He made a face.

  I stuck out my tongue. Then I widened my eyes. “Do you realize Reggie D’Voe just gave us a private performance? That whole bit with the eyebrow? ‘I’m immortal. Bwa-ha-ha-ha-ha.’”

  He looked at me like I’d lost my mind. “We broke and entered.”

  “I know we did. I’m sorry. But she won’t tell our secret as long as we don’t tell hers. And I was right, wasn’t I? I knew somebody was in there.”

  “I think you said something was in there.”

  I snuggled into my seat. It was late. The soft hum of tires rolling over pavement was hypnotic. I closed my eyes. But the minute I did, I flashed on Reggie’s eyes, looking into mine. Reggie’s eyes, seeing all the way to my soul. And I knew in that place where I know things I shouldn’t that Reggie D’Voe was Not Fucking Psychic, just like me.

  7

 
We got up early Tuesday morning. The holiday weekend was over. Summer was over, too, and life was about to resume. Josh had school, Jeremy had classes, Mason had work, and I had a book to finish.

  I took my shower while Myrt slept in and Mason cooked a whiz banger end-of-summer breakfast. I didn’t know who’d fallen asleep first last night, but we’d both been exhausted. I mean, a funeral, a home invasion, stalking a monster and meeting a dead movie star were a lot for one day. On the ride home from Dilmun, I’d told Mason about Dwayne Clark not being the most popular guy in Dilmun. I’d told him, too, about Gary Conklin being at the cemetery. He said he’d get someone on Gary, get him off the streets, get him some help.

  Gary might not be too easy to find, though. He seemed pretty good at getting around, for a homeless guy without wheels.

  Wrapped in a towel, I burrowed for clothes. I had no intention of doing a damn thing other than writing for the rest of the day. It made me antsy to be away from it for very long. More than a few days, and I’d be twitching like a junkie without a fix.

  The uniform for the day’s writing, I decided, would be lightweight gray fleece with pink trim, and a sports bra. Once the kids were out the door, the bra would be history. I piled my towel-dried hair up and stuck a Japanese hair pin through it to keep it there.

  The ability to use the hair pin was a point of pride. There was definitely a knack to it, but I’d aced the technique with a lot of coaching from Misty. Christy’s only use for such a device would be as a weapon.

  I headed down to the kitchen where the boys were already seated at the breakfast bar, digging in. Mason was squeezing frosting onto hot cinnamon buns, so I slipped up behind him, slid my arms around his waist, and nuzzled the back of his neck.

  He turned around in my arms and kissed me, minty fresh, with a touch of coffee. Even better, he then pressed a warm cuppa Joe into my hands.

  “There are children present,” Josh said. His voice cracked.

  I sent Mason a wide-eyed look. It couldn't be!