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

by Maggie Shayne

  I ignored him. “Hey, Gary. What’s going on?”

  He slid me a sideways glance. He wasn’t puppy dog Gary, he was pissed-off Gary. He said, “This is the only way to make it stop, Rachel. I’ve tried everything else, I swear to God I have.”

  I took a few more steps, and the cop started toward me, and Mason said, “Let her go.” Then to me, “Careful, Rachel.”

  I gave a single nod. “Gary, this isn’t gonna make anything stop. But it will make a lot of even worse things start.”

  “There isn’t anything worse.”

  “I didn’t spend enough time with you,” I said, moving right up to the fence. “I’m sorry about that, Gary. Sometimes we all mess up. Will you give me another chance?”

  He looked at me again. His face was wet, chin dripping. His eyes were red from the burn of all that salt.

  “We’ll sit down. We’ll talk. We’ll talk for as long as you want. Just put that lighter down, hon. Please put it down.”

  He sniffled, looked past me at the police, I glanced behind me, too. Every gun was raised, and trained on this broken-hearted, broken-minded kid. God, he reminded me of my brother.

  Gary said, “If they lower their guns, I’ll put the lighter down.” He said it loud enough for the responders to hear, and Mason made downward motions with his arms. Slowly the rifles and shotguns tipped barrel-down. Sidearms slid into holsters.

  Gary nodded and bent his knees to put the lighter down. I looked down as he did, and spotted the little channel he’d dug into the lawn, no more than an inch wide, but easy to see. Brown earth splitting green grass. It formed a Y, one arm leading to the old man’s feet, the other, toward the picket fence between him and me.

  And then I understood, all within the same nano-second, and I lurched backward and my hands went up and I yelled, “No! WAIT!”

  Blue flames shot along the channel in a violent whoosh! The fence became a wall of fire, knocking me back even further. I slammed into a cruiser, one arm shielding my face. Gary must have soaked the fence and filled his little trench with gasoline before anyone had got there. Even with the barricade of flames between us and the back yard, I could still see the burst of fresh fire when the old man went up.

  He only screamed twice. The woman, never did stop.

  14

  By the time they’d doused the flames enough to see past the black and crispy picket fence, Gary was long gone. His father was a charred chunk, unrecognizable as having ever been a human being. His mother was sitting on the top stair, tugging at her hair and wailing. Poor thing.

  One of the EMTs gave her a shot of something, and the cops spread out to search for Gary. I closed my eyes to feel around for him, but I couldn’t sense any trace of him.

  So there was that.

  Despite having been on the scene, Mason was still on involuntary leave until the Ashton disappearance was solved. So we went home. It was all there was to do.

  #

  We'd showered and changed clothes, and I was standing in front of my closet, looking for a sweater and trying to get that scene to stop replaying in my head.

  Mason said, “We need to walk the dogs.”

  “Oh, yeah, they look like they’re dying to go out.” I nodded in the direction of two comatose, snoring lumps, lying side by side in the pool of late morning sunlight that slanted in through the French doors.

  He held up his phone. “I’ve got Ivy’s formerly sealed file. I’m probably not supposed to be seeing it while the case is active, but a do-gooder who shall remain anonymous sent me a copy.”

  “Rosie?”

  “Him or the chief. Like I said, anonymous."

  I walked over and sat on the bed, leaned back and stretched my legs out. “Where’s your laptop?”

  “You…aren’t furious that I got this?”

  “Curious,” I said, emphasizing the C. “If she did it, I want to know. Come on, come on. Let’s see what it says. I need something new to think about besides watching Gary burn his father alive.”

  He took his laptop off the nightstand, took up position in the bed besides me, on top of the covers, legs stretched out, crossed at the ankles. He’d pulled on shorts and nothing else after his shower. I’d put on a football jersey after mine. Don’t break my heart again, Giants. I sat up straighter, adjusting the pillows behind me. He clicked on the file.

  The first page was a missing child poster with a little girl just exactly the way I’d seen her in my mind, right down to the pigtails and aquamarine eyes. It said:

  MISSING: IVY NEWMAN

  AGE: 5

  “Holy shit,” I whispered.

  Mason flipped pages, and we performed a tandem speed-reading worthy of Olympic gold. “Ivy was fucking kidnapped off the street, walking home from school with her sister, when she was five years old. It happened in Syracuse."

  He picked up there. “She was held prisoner for years with no one looking for her. Another child murderer had confessed to killing her in a plea deal that saved him from the death penalty. That son of a–"

  "Wait, wait, let me skim.” I took his laptop right off his lap, and moved my finger over the mousepad. “She was kept chained to a radiator. One night she managed to pull her wrist free, and got away. Claims she climbed into the back of a truck, not even knowing it was her abductor's. When it stopped again, she was in Dilmun. That's where he lived."

  "What a scumbag."

  "Her family spent vacations there. A couple weeks on the lake every summer. But she didn't know that's where she was. Hell, I doubt she even remembered. She wandered off when the truck was still and quiet. The first person she ran into was Reggie D’Voe. There's a statement from him in here, it says." I scrolled, then I found it.

  “‘When I found her, Ivy was alone and frightened. She was in torn, filthy clothes, obviously malnourished, with restraint marks on her wrists and ankles.’”

  “Ah, hell,” Mason said.

  “She told Reggie her daddy had done all that to her. Turns out the perv was her uncle. But he always wore a mask so she didn’t know that, and he made her call him daddy. She was so young, she got confused."

  He took the computer back. “So Reg decided to keep her. Passed her off as his niece. Since there was a pedophile in prison, having confessed to Ivy Newman's murder, there was no reason for anyone to think it was her. And since she wasn't from Dilmun, no one there would've recognized her, even if he hadn't kept her out of sight. But he did. Home schooled her. Protected her. Raised her as if she was his own. Apparently the police chief at the time and a local doctor helped him keep the secret."

  "The police chief who's now married to her mother?" I asked, wide eyed, leaning over the screen.

  He nodded. "James Mallory. The doctor was Ernie Graycloud. Their statements are in here, too." He scrolled a little more. "Hell, they thought they were saving a kid from a monster. No charges were filed. Even Ivy didn’t know who she really was for twenty years or so. But when her uncle started up again, and kids went missing, it all came back.” He went quiet, but I could see he was reading, so I elbowed him in the ribs.

  “Ungh. Sorry. “Ivy was a grown woman by the time they found out who she really was. Her mother and sister had both moved to Dilmun, had even interacted with her. But she was an adult by then, and still reclusive." He gave a sad sigh. "All in the same town and didn’t even know.” He closed the laptop.

  “She’s been through so much,” I said softly. “It’s a hellish history.”

  “Yeah. And sorry to say, a helluva motive.”

  I wanted to argue with him, but I knew he was right.

  “She could get off on an insanity plea," he said softly. "Who would doubt it, after going through something like that?”

  “I don’t sense insanity from her,” I said, shaking my head. “She’s not crazy, Mason.”

  I spent my Saturday morning stalking Ivy Newman and the other members of her support group on social, looking for clues about the one who hadn’t shown for the last meeting, Gloria. It di
dn’t take long to find her full name.

  Ivy, apparently still worried, shared an “I miss you” kitten meme and tagged Gloria Orr.

  I clicked on the tag, and found out where she lived. Vestal. From there it took no more than a few clicks of the mouse to get a home address. Hell, I could look at her house from satellite if I wanted to.

  Anybody can be a PI these days, Inner Bitch opined.

  You downplaying my skills, IB?

  It was pushing toward noon, though, so I saved my notes, jotted the address on a scrap of paper and shoved it into my jeans’ pocket. The gang was on the way, and Mason was already outside arranging picnic tables on the lawn. The kids were down by the water, laughing hysterically at the dogs’ antics. The froggy hunting team of Hugo & Myrt was something to behold. They flanked unsuspecting frogs and sprounced, often banging into each other while the frogs hopped away unharmed. They never hurt them. Sometimes they caught one, Myrt more often than Hugo, despite that she was blind. But when they did, they never bit down, and quickly dropped it again. Myrt would shake her head to get the frog taste out of her mouth, and then go after another.

  I went out to help.

  When we got the tables where we wanted them, in a spot that would stay shady for the afternoon, Mason pulled out his phone and checked it.

  “That’s the third time you’ve done that,” I said. “Is something up?”

  “I don’t know. Rosie says he’s suddenly being kept in the dark, and the chief’s not answering my texts. I’m worried.”

  A horn honked. A shiny, dark red Ford Edge pulled into the driveway. The twins got out and headed for the water and the boys before their parents could even alight. Misty was in Jeremy’s arms a split second later. Christie claimed one of the older Adirondack chairs, the single ones, on the dock. She put her feet up and pulled out her phone.

  “Hey, new wheels?” Mason asked, pumping Jim’s hand, which was how they always said hello.

  “Picked it up yesterday. It was time,” Jim said. He and Mason walked around the vehicle, manspecting it, while I hugged my sister, which was how we always greeted each other.

  “Your idea or Jim’s?” I asked.

  She rolled her eyes. “I tried to tell him we didn’t need all that room. The girls will be off to college a year from now. I think he’s in denial, though.”

  “Get some dogs. They’re better than kids anyway. I know, having both.”

  She shook her head at me, and knew I was kidding. “How’s Jeremy doing? With the drinking.”

  “He wants to go back to campus. I flat out said no. Mason says it’s up to him.”

  Her brows arched. She was so pretty, my sister, brown hair at the moment, with so many blond highlights she might as well be entirely blond. “You and Mason disagree on something?”

  “A lot of things, lately.”

  “Awww, hon….” she said, just the same way she’d say it to a three-year-old with a sliver.

  “Don’t. It’s fine. Couples don’t have to agree on everything. God, how boring would that be?”

  “Just the right amount of boring,” she said with a look Jim’s way.

  She loved him. I mean, I knew she loved him, but, she really love loved him.

  Amy arrived in her impossibly tiny Yaris. She was all about saving the planet these days. She got out alone. I always expected a herd of circus clowns to pile out behind her, but nope.

  "I'm here," she announced. "You can start the party now."

  "I'm so glad you made it."

  "Yeah, every once in a while I'm willing to hang out with old people. Gotta give back, you know?" She pushed her short black hair off her face. She had a deep side part, and a long lock of bangs that was perpetually hiding one of her always thickly lined green eyes. Her lips were lilac today, and she wore her standard uniform of black leggings, with black boots, a black tee, and a black leather jacket.

  "So what's to eat?"

  "It's not ready yet," I said.

  Sandra said, "You should check out Christie's hair."

  Amy looked toward the edge of the water, where the kids were, then whistled long and low. "That looks sweet. Did you have a meltdown over it?"

  "Only in private," Sandra said. "It's growing on me."

  "Good for you. My mom screamed at me for a week when I did mine. She still complains whenever she sees me." She took a bowl of chips and a container of dip off the picnic table and wandered over to the shore to join the youngsters. She was twenty-six going on seventeen. My nieces were seventeen going on twenty-six. It worked. And she was a good influence. Strong, opinionated, independent, reliable as hell. She'd been my assistant since her junior year of college. I honestly didn't know how I could get by without her.

  The guys wasted no time putting steaks on the grill. Mason had it heated up and ready. Sandra and I unloaded the rest of the feast from her new car. Salads and desserts. In addition to the chips and dip, I'd contributed the salt potatoes, because it only involved boiling water and adding salt. Our other contributions included soft drinks, which were still inside.

  “Jere!” I called. “Can you guys get the sodas for me?”

  Jeremy came across from the reservoir, Misty hanging on his arm. They ignored us to go inside for said items.

  “Sis, you gotta talk to your daughter. She’s being way too clingy.”

  “Too clingy for who?” Sandra asked.

  “Anyone with a gag reflex.”

  She rolled her eyes at me. “She misses him. And she’s worried about the drinking. Said she didn’t know. She couldn’t believe he could hide something from her so completely, and I think realizing that shook her sense of security a little.”

  “I thought you didn’t want her seeing him when he’s drinking.”

  “I also said stopping teens in love would be like stopping a stampede of wild horses. But you said he’s not drinking. Has that changed?”

  “No. I’m sure he's still dry. I’ll keep my eye on things.” Misty was walking so close to him I thought their legs would get tangled. “She can’t think this is a lifetime commitment they’ve got going, can she?”

  “She’s a teenage girl,” Sandra said. “She’s probably already got the wedding gown picked out.”

  I lowered my head, shook it. “They should wait until they’re thirty.”

  “Just because you did?” She frowned at me. “Jeremy’s not going to break Misty’s heart, is he?”

  “Not that I know of.”

  “He’d better not. I’ll kick his ass myself.”

  I gaped at her, because my sister never swore. I loved her. She was a great parent. I’d love to ask her advice about Jeremy; whether we should tell him the truth about his father. But that secret was one even my sister didn’t know.

  The kids came back out. Jeremy was carrying the ice chest full of ice and pop.

  I loved our summertime barbecues. If I had to pick any day of my life and relive it over and over forever, it would be a Saturday barbecue in my own front yard, with these very people. It felt great to know Mason felt exactly the same.

  Myrt and Hugo abandoned the kids and came running as soon as the smoke from the grill reached their little smushed noses. Josh stood on the shore, feet in the water. It was already getting too cold, but you couldn’t tell him that. He was gazing out kind of pensively. His hair was getting shaggy. The wind was blowing it a little. He’d grown unbelievably tall over the past year. He was almost as tall as Mason, but no bigger around than before. He had spaghetti arms and gangly legs. I reached behind me for my phone, zoomed in until it was just Josh and the sunset over the water and snapped.

  Then I felt eyes on me, and shifted my gaze. Mason was looking at me, goofy smile halfway on his face. It was a perfect moment. I loved him so much it was ridiculous.

  And then I saw a police car pull in, Rosie at the wheel, and right behind him, Chief V in her ride. They got out and I backed up five steps, right into Jeremy by some kind of sonar. My hands spread wide all by themselves.


  Rosie was shaking his head, coming closer. The chief strode right up as Mason closed in beside me. Misty was there, too. Sandra and Jim had instinctively flanked Josh. Christy was sitting up in her chair, lowering her phone.

  “I’m more sorry for this than I can say, Mason,” the chief said. And I could see her eyes were troubled and maybe even damp. “There’s new evidence. I have to place Jeremy under arrest.”

  “The hell you do.”

  Rosie pumped his hands for calm. “Mace, this don’t mean a damn thing. He gets booked, he makes bail, he gets out. And you know we’re gonna find who really did this. You know we are.”

  “I can’t believe you’re a part of this,” Mason said. He was holding his long- time partner’s eyes.

  Rosie said, “I thought if it was me, I could make sure he’s okay. Take care of him. But if you don’t want me on this, I’m out.” He raised his hands. “I’m out.”

  Mason stared at his friend for a long moment, but he didn’t say either way.

  Behind me, I heard a phone ringing, you know, from the other side. Jeremy was making a call–to Celia Moon, I hoped.

  He took a few backward steps and I could only hear his low murmurs. I said, “How can you do this, Vanessa? I thought we were friends.”

  “I don’t have a choice.”

  “No? What’s this new evidence that’s so compelling?”

  “I can’t tell you that.”

  “You’ll have to tell his lawyer.”

  “And I will tell his lawyer.”

  “I will never forgive you for this.”

  Vanessa lowered her head. Her dark wavy hair fell over her face, and she just let it hang there. “I wouldn’t, either.”

  She looked at Mason. He had an expression on his face that I had never seen before. It was one of pure disgust.

  “I’m trying to keep you from destroying your career, Brown. And I think that when all this is over, you’re going to realize that.”