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

by Maggie Shayne

  Jeremy stepped around his uncle and me. Misty was wrapped around him like a spider monkey.

  “It’s okay, you guys,” Jere said. “Celia says I should go with them. She’ll meet us there.”

  Misty gave a yelp, like if someone had hauled off and kicked a puppy. He kissed her head. Said something soft in her ear, then gently unlocked her arms from around his waist.

  She straightened up, lifted her chin, nodded once and gave two sniffles that crooked her nose each time. Jeremy stepped forward, held up his hands.

  “Jere, no!” Josh torpedoed out of nowhere, hitting Jeremy so hard he almost took him down. “They can’t do this!” And then he let go and turned to face Vanessa and Rosie. “You can’t do this to us! Haven’t we been through enough already? Dad killed himself and Mom went crazy–jeeziz, haven’t we been through enough? You can’t take my brother, too. You can’t!” His face was red, his nose running, by the time he ran out of steam.

  I started to go, but Jeremy beat me to it. He turned his kid brother around, and looked him in the eye. Josh was only a few inches shorter.

  Jeremy said, “I didn’t do anything, Josh, except drink myself stupid. I’m sorry. I can’t stand seeing you like this, knowing it’s my fault.”

  “It’s not–”

  “It is. But I didn’t do anything to the professor. We’re gonna prove that, and everything will be okay. I’m not gonna leave you, bro.”

  “You already did,” Josh said. He pulled free of his brother’s hands and ran into the house, slamming the door behind him.

  “I’ll go,” Sandra said.

  “Let me.” Christy had come over from the dock. “Josh and I’ve been bonding lately.” She headed inside.

  Jeremy looked shocked by his brother’s outburst. Then he looked at Mason, and then finally at me. I was the one he asked, “What the hell have I done?”

  “You fucked up,” I said. “We all do. You’ve got the best detective on the freaking force on your side, and me with my shit and Celia Moon, a badass attorney. We’ve got this. I promise.”

  He nodded, turned to Vanessa again and started to pick up his hands, even though he knew damn well you never cuff a suspect’s hands in front of him. She shook her head, “No need.” Then she nodded at Rosie.

  Rosie looked at Mason. Mason nodded. “Take care of him.”

  “Like my own,” Rosie said, one hand on Jeremy’s shoulder. They started toward the car.

  Vanessa called out, “Mirandize him, Rosie.”

  Rosie paused and sighed. I could see his big shoulders rise and fall from behind. He hadn't intended to do it, I realized. He was gonna skip reading Jere his rights so if worse came to worse, his lawyer could use it to have the case tossed.

  And then he began the refrain we’ve all learned by heart from TV cop shows. “You have the right to remain silent….”

  “I’m going with them,” Mason said, “I’ll call you to pick me up.”

  “Okay. Try not to punch anybody.”

  He looked confused.

  “You look like you might want to punch somebody. I’m just saying, it won’t help.”

  “It might help.” He jumped into the passenger side of Rosie’s car, pretending not to notice Vanessa Cantone objecting.

  When they pulled away, she met my eyes. She should’ve melted from the fury they beamed. “Never set foot here again, Chief Cantone.”

  “I’m sorry, Rachel. I really am.”

  I held up my hand, palm out, closed my eyes. “Go.”

  She turned and walked back to her car. I maintained that pose until I heard the door slam, the engine start, the tires crunching as she backed out. Then my sister put her arms around me, and I burst into noisy, messy tears. So did Misty, while Amy did her best to comfort her.

  By the time I got it together, reassured Josh, and convinced him to have an overnight with Aunt Sandra and the girls, who adored him, Mason had been gone for an hour. We'd been texting the entire time. Jeremy was being questioned. He was only allowed to watch from outside the room. They hadn't booked him yet. Mason was trying to delay that for as long as possible. He was going to tell the chief everything we had on Ivy Newman, even though it wasn't much. He was going to mention the support group, the childhood abduction, the similar pendant, the whole nine. But he was afraid we'd need more to clear Jeremy.

  I asked if I should come. I wanted to come. He said it wouldn't help. He said I should try that meditation of Natalia's again, see if I could get anything new, anything that would save Jeremy.

  Hugo had gone to Sandra's with Josh, so it was just me and Amy and Myrt. Amy was sitting at the kitchen bar. She'd made us each a cup of decaf, cracked her knuckles, opened my laptop, and said, "Okay, what can we do?"

  "What?"

  I was distracted, watching my phone for texts, itching to go to Mason, to Jeremy.

  "What can we do? Come on, you've been on this. Isn't your stuff telling you what we should do?"

  "I can't think about anything but Jeremy under arrest. My God. He's just a kid." I was pacing the kitchen, my mug in my hands. "I should go. Mason says it wouldn't help, but at least I'd be close–"

  "Or," she said, "You can use the skills God gave you and save your kid. So I repeat, what should we do? Ask your stuff, right now. Go on, I'll wait."

  I rolled my eyes. "It doesn't work that way. I can't just say, 'hey stuff, what should I do?' and expect an answer to–"

  Gloria Orr

  I stopped talking, stopped pacing. "Gloria Orr," I said.

  "Who's Gloria Orr?"

  "Someone who might have some answers. And I know where she lives."

  Amy slid off the stool. "Let's go, then."

  “It could be dangerous. Maybe you should stay here."

  “You kidding? Your crazy-ass stalker who burned his father alive is on the loose somewhere. I'm coming with you."

  About forty-five minutes later, we were pulling to a stop in front of a cute little cape cod. Dried gourds, straw brooms, and a scarecrow paid homage to fall. I felt a little thrill in my veins at the reminder.

  Fall was like fireworks to me. Only better. Where we lived, fall was, all by itself, sufficient reason to possess the senses of sight and smell.

  “You wait here, I’ll go to the door. See if she’ll talk to me.” I'd filled Amy in as much as I could without revealing Ivy's secret past or Reggie D'Voe's secret still-aliveness.

  “What are you going to say?”

  “I don’t know yet.”

  “Well, you ought to have something in mind, don’t you think?” Amy asked. She had a nice diamond stud in her nose. Bought it for herself for Galentine’s Day.

  “Fine, um. ‘hi, when I was stalking your support group last week, I noticed you skipped the last meeting and haven’t posted online lately. Do you know anything about a bunch of murders?’ And, scene.”

  “Just go,” she said, rolling her eyes at me.

  I opened the car door and got out. She said, “Wait! What’s the signal? If you need help?”

  “I’ll text HELP.”

  “What if someone takes your phone?”

  “Then I’ll scream HELP.”

  “Okay.” She nodded nervously. “Okay.”

  I went up and knocked on the door. There was a doorbell, but a doorbell wouldn’t convey the correct–ohmyGod, what is that smell?

  You know what it is, Inner Bitch said. Nothing else smells like that.

  I hate when you’re right, Inner Bitch.

  I didn’t want to put my hand on the doorknob in case there were prints. But as it turned out, I didn’t have to. The door wasn’t closed all the way. A nudge of my shoulder pushed it open. I edged my way inside, rethinking my stance on gun control. Sue me, in that moment, I was wishing for a big, manly piece in my hands, and not the good kind. I pressed my sleeve over my face because of the smell, peeked around a corner. I could see her bare feet. She was face up on the floor in front of the sofa, the rest of her was hidden from my view.

  �
��Hello?” I asked, even though the feet were gray-blue. “Hello, are you okay?”

  I’m dead. How could I be okay?

  “Holy fuck fuck fuck fuck!” I skittered backwards all the way out the front door.

  That wasn’t you, was it, IB?

  Nope.

  Is it gone?

  I don’t know. You want it to be?”

  A horn beeped. My horn. “You okay?” Amy called.

  I held up a hand her way, like quiet or stop or something, while I looked around at nothing, listening, aiming my attention with my eyes. “Are you there?” I whispered.

  Nothing.

  “Sorry I freaked, okay? That never happened before. Exactly.”

  Nothing.

  “Fine, be that way.”

  “Who the hell are you talking to?” Amy called.

  “Gloria Orr is dead," I called back. "And I’ve gotta go back in and take a look around before the cops get here."

  “Wait, she’s dead?”

  “Yeah, has been for a while, by the smell.” I tapped Mason’s number.

  Amy puffed her cheeks out and lowered her head.

  Mason finally picked up. “Hey, babe. What's up?”

  “I decided to visit the missing support group member.”

  “How’d you…when did you get the address?”

  “I tracked her down on social. Took two minutes. Thing is, I’m here, and she’s dead.” I dropped my phone into my front pocket on speaker, and pulled the scarf from my collar around my face. “Can you hear me?”

  “Barely.”

  “There should be an anonymous tip, okay? I don't want them all distracted trying to figure out what I was doing over here.”

  “Don't poke around the scene," he said.

  “How can I poke around? I was never here."

  I hung up, and continued my walk-through. Nothing in the house seemed disturbed. The coffee pot had burned black, but nothing else seemed at all unusual, other than the dead woman on the living room floor.

  Ahh, laptop. Maybe I should take that. And her cell phone, and yes…that little address book by the phone. Good, good.

  You have to look at her.

  I know I do, Inner Bitch.

  Get it over with and get out of here.

  Okay, okay. Stop rushing me.

  I moved around the sofa, my face pulling into a grimace behind my scarf. She looked really bad. Eyes all sunken, skin all blue. Looked like she’d slid off the sofa. She lay on her back, between it and a coffee table. There was a needle on the table, a rubber hose on the floor.

  So she overdosed.

  The fuck I did.

  I jumped damn near out of my skin that time. Then I noticed she wore a chain around her neck, with an oval medallion.

  Wait a minute, wait a minute. It matched the one found in the professor’s car, and the one Ivy had been wearing in the photo. I set down the laptop and pulled out my phone, scrolled back to my photos of the women coming out of the church after that meeting, enlarging each one, trying to see their necks. Of the three I could see, besides Ivy, two had chains on them, but they were tucked into their blouses.

  Take the computer or leave it for the police? That was the question. Gloria Orr was connected to the murders. She was a member of the same child abuse support group, and she was wearing the same pendant. Chief V would have to see that. I snapped a pic of it on her body, just in case the police didn't. I left the computer where it was. Phone and phone book, too. The best way to clear Jeremy was to let the police find the real killer.

  “I have to go now, Gloria,” I said. “Unless you want to tell me who killed you.”

  Not just me.

  I felt a whoosh. Not the sound, but the clear sensation. And she was gone. I knew it. I didn’t know if she would return or not. I didn’t know if she’d been hanging around waiting for her body to be found, or if she’d just popped in to provide a little commentary.

  I tugged the scarf away from my face as I stepped outside and took a few grateful breaths of air. Then I headed for the sidewalk, angling across the lawn to put more distance between me and the corpse house.

  Amy was waiting right where I’d left her. I got in, and she took off. “Aren’t we waiting for the cops?”

  “No.”

  “You okay?”

  “No.”

  She nodded, took a corner, then another, picking her way toward the highway. “Where to now, boss?”

  “Home,” I said. “I need a shower.”

  15

  Mason and Jeremy were alone together in a jail cell. The chief had put him in a private one, on the premises, and there were strict orders to keep it that way. The son of a homicide detective shouldn’t be in a cell with others. It was common sense, not kindness.

  He was furious with Chief Cantone. With the system. With everything.

  “I need to know. About Dad. You get that, right?”

  Mason brought his focus back to Jeremy. “I know you do. But this isn’t the time.”

  “I fought with him, before he did it. Shot himself. For a long time, I thought it was because of me.”

  Mason looked Jeremy right in the eye and said, “It had nothing to do with you. He had…he was messed up, Jere. Mentally. He was doing things that left him racked with guilt, but he didn’t feel like he could control himself. He couldn’t live with it.”

  Jeremy’s brows lowered. “What kinds of things?”

  Mason looked at his kid, honestly, his son. He loved Jeremy as much as he could ever love his own son. He said, “Jere, the details will do you more harm than good.”

  Jeremy lowered his head, closed his eyes and said, “It’s that bad.” It wasn’t a question. Then he sighed heavily.

  “It wasn’t him. I will never believe it was him. I think Rachel can explain that better than I can, but…he killed himself so he wouldn’t do any more harm. It was the only way he could see to make sure. It was a selfless act, really.”

  Jeremy sat very still, eyes focused on the space between him and the wall.

  “I will tell you the rest, if you want to know. I’d just prefer we work through this crisis first.”

  “You don’t think I can handle it.” His voice was toneless, dull, and deeper than Mason’s own.

  “Like you keep telling me, you’re an adult now. You know what you can handle better than I do. But if writing an essay about your mother sent you into a drinking binge, then…” He didn’t finish the sentence. He didn’t need to. “We’ll get you bailed out after the arraignment tomorrow.”

  Celia Moon had come and gone already, promising Jeremy would only have to spend one night behind bars. “We’ll get you home. We’ll get you on solid ground, and then we’ll tell you everything. But in the meantime, Jere, it’s real important you don’t bring this up with anyone else. Especially here.”

  “Why?” he asked.

  “Because Rachel and your mother and I are the only three people in the world who know the truth. And I’d just as soon keep it that way.”

  The kid lowered his head. He muttered, “You should go,” and his voice was thick.

  Mason’s heart clenched up, and he put a hand on Jeremy’s shoulder from behind. “Jere–”

  “It’s okay. It’s okay, I just need to get my head together. Get some sleep.”

  “Okay. All right, Jere.” He got up and went to the cell door. “We’re gonna talk it out. I promise. Soon as you get home, if you want. Or when all this is over, if you think that would be better. It’s your call.”

  He didn’t reply, didn’t turn around.

  Mason left the cell and went back through the hallway to the secure doors. But as he stood there, waiting for a guard to buzz him out, a chill ran down his spine. All of the sudden, he had a horrible feeling that Jeremy might already know the truth about his old man.

  He got his phone back at the desk, along with a lot of sympathetic looks from the detectives and staff. Rosie was waiting for him, clasped his hand, and hugged with the other arm. �
�Cantone feels like shit for this, partner.”

  “She should,” he said, then more softly as they walked into the hallway together. “What’s the new evidence? What brought this on?”

  Rosie glanced behind them, then leaned close. “Campus security footage. He said in his sworn statement he never left his dorm room after the encounter with the professor on Thursday. But he did. He took his car out of the parking lot, was gone for an hour. Parked in a different spot when he got back.”

  "Someone else moved the professor's car that night, probably with him in it, then put it back after. Is that on camera, too?"

  Rosie shook his head. "I thought of that, too. But no. Broken camera in that area. Probably not a coincidence, if you ask me."

  "Is that all they've got?”

  “All I know of. If I hear anything more, I’ll let you know.”

  “Thank you for that.”

  “He’s your kid. Listen, Mace, is he okay?”

  “He’s still drying out. That’s between us.”

  “Not really. He admitted he'd been drinking in his statement. Cantone transferred me to guard duty for as long as he’s here. I'm not going home until he does. I’ll make sure he’s okay.”

  “Thanks, Rosie."

  "The body they found, earlier–does that have anything to do with all this?"

  "Maybe. She belonged to the same support group as those women I sent you the plate numbers for. You ever get the rest of those run down?"

  "Yeah, yeah, so much going on I forgot to send it. I'll text you the file."

  Mason’s phone pinged. He glanced down and saw ten messages from Rachel on his screen. “I’ve gotta go.” He didn’t say why, and Rosie didn’t ask. They both knew Mason was off to find the real killer and clear his kid. He headed out, and it felt like he was leaving most of his insides behind.

  Mason got home around ten thirty. I was glad. Being alone in the house was creeping me out. I’d got used to having the Brown men around. Sure, I had Myrtle and Hugo, but it wasn’t exactly the same. The dogs were great company, but they’d let anyone slit my throat for a Scooby snack.

  That was a morbid thought.

  Sure was, Inner Bitch.