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

by Maggie Shayne

  "I know. I know. How is he holding up?"

  "He'll be better when we find out who did all this and clear him. So? Will you text me when it’s go-time?”

  “Yeah. And it’ll be soon.”

  “Anything in that storage unit?”

  “We’re opening it right now. I'm sure your busybody better half will fill you in."

  "She's hard to shake, isn't she?"

  "Like a fucking tick. Gotta go. Don't do anything stupid."

  I watched from my car in a parking lot behind a McDonald’s. I had a pretty decent view of the storage place, which was next door with nothing but a couple of raised beds indicating the border between the two. I’d parked strategically, a Dumpster mostly blocking the car from view of anyone over there. They were too occupied to notice me, anyway. Although Chief V knew I was nearby. She'd looked right over here a second ago. Not much got past her. It was good she'd accompanied the team to the site. Her hands-on approach was popular with the public, but that wasn't her motive. She liked the action. She missed being a cop. I don't know if she knew I was aware of that.

  I munched my fries, because, what? I’m gonna be this close to a McD’s and not get food?

  Not on my watch, Inner Bitch promised.

  So, I munched my fries and watched as Chief Cantone pocketed her phone. A guy with a big chomping tool cut the padlock off the unit. I chewed faster, leaning over the steering wheel. The sectioned metal door rolled upward. It was dark inside. I got out, taking my fries with me, moving closer, no longer caring whether anyone saw me. I had to see what was in there.

  Someone found a light switch, turned it on. I walked faster. I was wearing pumps, because I’d dressed nice for court, so the tap-tap-tap of them over the pavement was loud as hell. But everyone was staring at the unit’s interior, and when I got close enough to see, so was I.

  My first impression was of blood. Splashes, spatters, streaks on the walls. A dark puddle on the floor. And a flash of pain that shot through my entire being before I slammed the door on it, not even knowing how. I was moving closer, on auto-pilot. My feet were driving, my head still trying to process what I was seeing, while my stuff was telling me that Professor Ashton was no longer alive. I dragged my gaze off the blood, widened my focus. There was a table in the middle of the unit with built-in leather restraints. There was a meat hook hanging from above.

  I had moved right up beside the chief, when I blurted, “What the actual fuck?”

  Cantone turned to send me a look that was irritated, but not surprised. “Nobody goes inside,” she said. “Get forensics out here. First thing I want is that blood analyzed. Find out if it’s the professor’s.”

  “I'm pretty sure it is,” I said. “But Gloria Orr didn’t do this. She still had her pendant.”

  “You can’t be here," she said, instead of asking what I was talking about.

  “It’s okay, I’m not staying long.”

  “You can’t be here, Rachel.”

  “I understand. You're absolutely right.” I craned my neck to see more of the unit. The left wall had knives and a hatchet attached to a pegboard meant to hold tools. Well, they were tools. Bloodstained tools. Tools of murder. There were other items, too. “Is that a cattle prod?”

  “Rachel–”

  “I’m going.” The other wall was just a wall. “He must’ve been here the whole time," I said. "Until they killed him.”

  “We don’t know anyone killed him.”

  “You’re gonna want to find out how fresh that blood is,” I said. “So you can tell if he was moved before or after Gloria Orr was murdered.”

  “Gloria Orr overdosed.”

  “Not voluntarily.”

  Ivy, said a voice in my head. It sounded a lot like Gloria Orr.

  Chief V looked at me, then looked harder, frowning. “You should tell me what you know.”

  “I just did tell you what I know. And now I have to leave.” I headed back to the car, and tossed my fries into a wastebasket on the way.

  I called our landline. Jeremy picked up, and I smiled, glad to hear his voice. "How are you doing, kid?"

  "Glad to be home, that's for sure. I didn't need the ankle bracelet to keep me from leaving. Misty's here."

  "Good." I looked at my watch. "Remind Mason to make Josh an after-school snack. He'll be home soon."

  "Mason's not here, and Josh can make his own snacks. He's thirteen, Aunt Rache."

  "What do you mean, Mason's not there?"

  "He said he had to go. Something about the case."

  And he didn't text us? Inner Bitch asked, sounding about as offended as I felt. I thought we were working this together.

  IVY, said the voice in my head.

  "Anything wrong, Aunt Rache?"

  I had been quiet for a few beats too long. "No, no, I'll text him and find out what's up. No worries, kid. We're on this. Love you. Bye."

  I couldn't tell him the professor had been tortured and murdered in a storage unit. Not until I could also tell him the evidence cleared him of the crime.

  I texted Mason. "Where R U?" Then waited.

  There was no reply, not all the way to Dilmun. And I didn't know whether to be pissed off or worried. The voice in my head chose worry. My love for my kid leaned the other way. I pulled through the open gate and along the driveway to Reginald D’Voe’s gothic monstrosity.

  I got out and went to the front door, my maternal ferocity wrapped around me like a she-bear's bristled fur. I was here, so I was going to make good use of the opportunity to make Ivy Newman tell me what she knew about all this. All of it.

  Ivy opened the door before I even knocked and stood there looking at me with those big wounded eyes of hers.

  I wasn't going to soften under their dampness, though. I clung to my fury. “I don’t know if you heard yet, but Gloria Orr–”

  “She’s dead. I know.” She tipped her head to one side. “But how do you know?”

  “I live with a cop, remember?”

  “I mean, how do you know I even know her?”

  “Let me in and I’ll tell you.”

  She frowned and said, “Are you angry at me for some reason?”

  “Let me in and I’ll tell you,” I repeated. I wasn’t up for bullshit and I wasn’t here to comfort her on the loss of her friend. I was here to get some answers and clear my kid.

  She opened the door wider, waved an arm sarcastically. “By all means, come in. Nothing could top this day more perfectly than a visit from a pissed-off, crime-solving psychic.”

  “I am not fucking psychic.” I went inside, though, past her.

  She swung the door closed behind me. “According to Reggie, you are.” She turned and walked further into the house, past the comfortable living room off to the left, and straight through the foyer to the kitchen off the far side. “And Reggie doesn’t lie.”

  “He’s mistaken then. Doesn’t matter. My kid’s in trouble, Ivy. He’s in trouble for something he didn’t do.”

  “Sit. You want anything? Coffee? Tea?”

  “I want answers.” I didn’t sit. I stood behind the chair, though, at the small table for two near the tall windows, arms crossed over my chest. That was automatic, that pose. Like I was trying to keep something out, when what I needed to do was let something in. I forced my arms to my sides, tried to open myself to her.

  She poured herself a cup of coffee, poured me one, too, set them both on the table. “Cream?” she asked, opening the fridge.

  “Who killed Gloria?”

  I felt a cold shock ripple through her, despite that the fridge door blocked her from my view.

  She closed the door slowly, a pretty porcelain cream pitcher in one hand, and turned to look at me. “Someone killed her? Mel didn’t tell me that on the phone.”

  “Mel?”

  “Yes. My therapist.”

  “The one who leads the support group?”

  Her eyes went round. I reached out, caught the pitcher just as her hand went limp. I’d moved b
efore she’d even dropped the thing. She was unimpressed.

  “How do you know about my support group? I go all the way to Endwell to protect my privacy.”

  I turned, put the cream pitcher on the table. “I followed you. I know the names and addresses of all the members." I didn't yet, but I would as soon as Rosie ran those plates for Mason. "I know you all wear a pendant with the image of Nemesis, goddess of vengeance–”

  “Justice.” She said it so fast I knew she’d blurted it without forethought.

  “You wearing yours now?”

  Blinking rapidly, she tugged the chain from underneath her blouse. “Why wouldn’t Mel tell me Gloria was murdered?”

  “Because as far as anyone is yet admitting, it was a run-of-the-mill overdose.”

  “Overdose of what?”

  “Toxicology will tell for sure, but it looks like heroin.”

  “God.” It was a whisper, maybe even a prayer. She was still standing. Her knees were jelly, though, I could tell by the way she wobbled.

  A little bit of my tough bitch attitude cracked. “You need to sit down.”

  “Yeah. Let’s uh…take this to the living room.”

  I picked up both mugs and followed her into the living room. She moved like someone who was almost too tired to put one foot in front of the other. But it felt like an emotional exhaustion more than a physical one.

  There were coasters, so I used them, set our mugs on the coffee table, and took a small chair. She sat in the big one that I sensed was Reggie’s. It felt like he was hugging her when she sat in his big chair. I got all that as she sank into it. I also got that Reggie was upstairs, asleep.

  “I don’t believe Gloria was a drug user,” she said.

  “She only had one track mark.”

  She wanted to ask how I knew that, then decided she didn't want to know. “And you’re sure it wasn’t...self-inflicted?”

  “I’m sure. She had a storage unit. It was set up like a torture chamber. Table with restraints. Saws and knives and tasers hanging from hooks on the wall. Blood all over the floor.”

  She burst into tears, and burst is the word, like water balloon meets porcupine. She cried noisily. I sipped my coffee, looked at my mug, and tried to feel her.

  Not Gloria, not Gloria, it couldn’t have been Gloria.

  “The working theory will be that she killed all of them,” I said. “But that theory probably won’t hold up to the physical evidence in the locker. You'd better believe I'm not letting my kid go down for this."

  "Your kid?"

  "Yeah. He was the top suspect, before they found Gloria's locker. So I need you to tell me everything you know, Ivy, and I need you to tell me now.”

  I heard a vehicle. A familiar one. A car door slammed.

  “God, what now?” Ivy muttered, but footsteps pounded up the porch stairs, and the knock was only for show. Mason opened the door and walked right in.

  He looked at me. Clearly he’d seen my car outside, so he already knew I was there. But his eyes wouldn’t hold mine. He shifted his focus straight to Ivy.

  “I need you to come to the police station with me, Ms. Newman. You are a material witness in a murder investigation, and if you don’t come voluntarily, I’ll–”

  I shot across the floor and grabbed his arm. “Mason, what the hell are you doing? What’s going on?”

  “We’re bringing all the members of the support group in for questioning,” he said. “Picking them up at the same time to prevent them from collaborating on a storyline. What the hell are you doing? You come to warn her?”

  “How could I warn her when I had no idea you were planning this?"

  "You were with the chief when I texted her."

  "I did not know you texted her," I denied. "You used my research.”

  “I did. We had Rosie running the plates, anyway, to clear Jeremy.”

  “That’s exactly my goal here.”

  “You could’ve fooled me.”

  “I’ll come,” Ivy said loudly. She probably would confess, if we kept up the stupid arguing in front of her. Talk about torture. We sounded like a pair of idiots who didn't appreciate what we had in each other.

  Ivy got to her feet and let her head fall forward. “I’ll come with you, Detective.”

  “You will do no such thing!” The bellow came from the top of the stairs, and it was followed by the footstep-cane-thump cadence of Reginald D’Voe descending. He wore his signature smoking jacket; long black satin with red swirls and a wide red lapel.

  Ivy ran to the foot of the stairs to grip his arm and help him. “It’s okay, Reggie, I need to do this–”

  “What you need to do, dear girl, is sit down and be quiet. And I mean that with every cell in my body. Not another word.” He shoved her off him, toward the sofa.

  She stumbled three steps, clearly stunned and wounded, looking at him like she’d never seen him before.

  “Detective Brown, I’ll text my attorney to meet us at the police department. I presume you’re willing to transport me there?” He tapped his phone as he spoke.

  Mason looked at me, and for a second it was like before. Us communicating without a word. Him asking WTF? and me replying Damned if I know. Then he shifted back to the dying actor again. “Mr. D’Voe, I need to question Ivy. You’re not a material witness–”

  “Not any sort of witness, my good man. I am the Riverside Strangler.”

  “Reggie, no!” Ivy cried.

  “Not. One. Word.” He sent her a firm glare, then returned his gaze to his phone, and hit a few more keys before pocketing it and facing Mason again. “I did it. I killed them all. I insist you take me in and accept my confession. I’ll give you all the details you need, providing certain conditions are met. Ivy, of course, knows nothing about any of this. Moreover, she’s under psychiatric care and on medications that would render anything she has to say regarding this matter, entirely unreliable and likely inadmissible, as well.”

  “Sir, I get what you’re trying to do, but–”

  “I know details only the killer would know, Detective. I know about the pendant you found in the professor’s car. It was mine. I had a copy made, as a show of emotional support to show solidarity with Ivy and her fellow survivors. I can even tell you where to find the newest body, if you like.”

  I grabbed Mason’s arm, and he looked at me, and I shook my head side to side very slightly. The actor was spewing lies. Possibly even reciting lines. There’s no way Reggie D'Voe tortured anyone, much less had access to Gloria Orr’s storage locker. He didn’t even know Gloria.

  “I knew all the girls in the support group,” Reggie said. And I sent him a stunned look. Dammit, he was reading me. He was reading all of us. “We hosted several gatherings here. Teas and dinners and the like. Gloria mentioned the storage unit and I knew it would be the perfect spot to use. I stole her key from her bag. I’m not prone to tell you more until you comply. If you refuse to take me in, I’ll have my lawyer pick me up here instead of meeting me there. Either way, this is happening.”

  “I can’t let you do this, Reggie,” Ivy said. “Please, don’t–”

  “If you ever loved me, Ivy, respect my wishes in this now. My dying wishes.”

  “But Uncle Reggie–”

  He hit the floor with the stick so hard it sounded like a gunshot, and Ivy jumped out of her skin. So did I. “I don’t have all day, Detective Brown.” Reggie walked to the door, opened it, and headed down the steps to the car.

  “Meet us there, Ms. Newman,” Mason said. “I still have questions for you.”

  “You will stay right here, Ivy, until and unless you are presented with a warrant,” Reggie called, not even looking back. “You will speak to no one until Attorney Helmsford has advised you. Understood?”

  “Yes, Uncle Reggie.”

  “No one,” he said again, and he did look back then.

  She had tears streaming. “Everyone will know you’re alive,” she whispered.

  “Indeed. It will be q
uite the media circus.” He shrugged. “It’ll be nice to be on the front pages again, one last time.”

  Mason followed the old man out to his car. He didn’t look back at me, didn’t say shit. Doors opened, doors closed, and the car pulled away. I turned to Ivy.

  “We both know Reggie didn’t kill anyone.”

  She pursed her lips, met my eyes through her own very wet ones, and said, “I’m afraid I can’t talk to you anymore right now, Rachel. Please go.”

  “I’m not going anywhere until we–”

  “I said get out!” She lurched at me like a maniac, fire in her eyes, and she pushed me right through the door, then slammed it. Locks snapped into place. I stood there gaping, stunned right to my core.

  I didn’t know she had it in her.

  Had I been reading her wrong this whole time? Was that even possible?

  I called the kids to check in, yes while driving, but I used the handsfree crap that really doesn’t help at all. I mean, come on, admit it. You still have to look away to make it work. I stand by my claim that some laws are moronic, and I break those laws at will, despite that my love interest is a cop.

  I hoped that situation wasn’t about to change, because damn he was mad at me.

  Jere picked up his cell. “Hey, Rache. What’s up?”

  No “aunt” just “Rache.” Probably because Misty was there to impress. It shouldn’t bug me, but it did. “Good news and bad news, kid.”

  “Good news first,” he said. “I’m putting you on speaker. Josh and Misty are right here.”

  “Okay, the good news. Someone has confessed to the crime you’re accused of. Or is about to. Mason’s driving him in now.”

  Misty whooped out loud, and I think she hugged Jeremy. The phone got all muffled for a second. Josh said, “YES!” and I could imagine him pumping his fist in the air. Hugo snuffle-barked, picking up on the excitement. I didn’t hear Myrtle, but it took a lot to get her excited these days.

  “Myrt with you guys?” I asked.

  “Yeah, she’s right here,” Josh called. “She’s sittin’ on my foot right now.”

  Then Jere said, “What’s the bad news?”