Brown and de Luca Collection, Volume 1

by Maggie Shayne

  It was Wednesday night, so like a freaking lemming, I went to my O.R.G. meeting. I swear, if I was in charge, I’d have called it the Organ Recipient Group and Support Meet-up, because it would have made a much cuter acronym. Well, at least a more memorable one. I mean what the hell was their website? Org.org?

  I had a couple of reasons for going. Now that I knew Dr. Custer was an expert on the topic, I was hoping to hear more about the phenomenon of organ recipients inheriting memories and tendencies from their donors, and a group setting seemed like a safe place to try angling for that. I also wanted to see David Heart again. Not that I was dying to jump his bones or anything. But the very fact that I didn’t was fascinating to me. Because I should be, right? He was a great-looking guy, we had a major shared experience, and he’d fallen over himself showing his interest in me. Why the hell was I not falling back? It was stupid. I needed a distraction, and a little flirtation was just the ticket.

  Far better than being frenemies with the far too perceptive detective.

  I smiled at the rhyme. “Perceptive Detective is hot on my trail. I stupidly wish he was after my tail.” I laughed at my own ridiculous fantasies, then spent ten minutes on the floor hugging my dog and feeling guilty for leaving her alone for what would amount to an hour and a half, tops.

  I arrived early in hopes of catching the good doctor for a conversation before the crowd arrived. It was chilly tonight, windy and glum. Gray skies of autumn, thick as oatmeal. The lights were on inside, though, and a couple of cars were already there: a beige sedan and a black Audi TT with M.D. plates.

  Good. Custer was already here. And who else?

  I went inside, pleased that Dr. Vosberg had apparently arrived early tonight.

  “…seems more intense to me now, Doc. More important. Like I’m suddenly aware of how limited our time on this planet is and every single second has taken on this urgency and—”

  I cleared my throat, because David Heart and Dr. Vosberg were clearly in deep and important conversation and I didn’t want to appear to be eavesdropping. They both looked my way. Doc looked irritated, but David smiled so warmly I couldn’t help but notice. Nice face. Nice eyes. Blue. So what if he drove a beige sedan?

  “You came back.” He said it the same way a kid says, “It’s Christmas!” and came to grab my hands. I figured that was an impulse move. I knew it was an honest one. “I’m really glad.”

  “Me, too.” Could I have poured any more saccharine into two words?

  “Dr. V and I were just—”

  “Hey, no,” I said, holding up both hands. “You don’t need to explain to me.”

  “But I want to.” He smiled again. “Maybe…after group we could go out for coffee and dessert?”

  “I’d like that.”

  Would I really? Probably not. I should like that, that was the thing. So I was going to try. It wasn’t as if I was going to be able to capture Custer for a “casual” conversation about his theories. I’d seen how everyone crowded around him after the meeting last week, so I’d just have to hope for a chance next time.

  The meeting went by all too fast. David had parked himself in the chair right next to mine, and was hanging on my every word. It was clear to me that everyone in the group knew who I was. I’d been sure last week that Emily, at least, had recognized me. This week they all had that look about them, but true to the group’s policy of anonymity, no one mentioned it.

  When it was my turn to speak, I brought up having bad dreams since the transplant, though without giving details of course. I didn’t mention that I apparently did ride-alongs with a phantom who was bashing in heads during those dreams. Or that I thought he might be a real killer. Who’d also murdered my brother. Because the other group members wouldn’t have believed me, and the good doctor would probably have ordered me up a straitjacket if I had. Sure, he theorized you could pick up tastes and tendencies and habits from your donor. But I was pretty sure having a serial killer inside my head would have seemed crazy even to him.

  Terry Skullbones talked a lot about feeling like someone else was rattling around inside his head sometimes. Emily did, too. She was showboating. She wanted it to be true, because she was clearly one of those types who watched Celebrity Ghost Stories and The Haunted. She craved a real live paranormal experience so much that she was willing to convince herself she was having one. Terry wasn’t being honest, either, but I got the feeling he was erring the other way. Downplaying something he wasn’t ready to share fully—sort of like I was doing. David didn’t talk at all at this meeting.

  Saving it all for me over coffee? God, I hope not.

  Knock it off. You want to go out with him, remember?

  No. I want to want to. But I don’t really want to. Clear as mud.

  I’d read Dr. Vosberg’s book until three in the morning, and I wanted to ask him some questions about it, but I’d come to the conclusion that group wasn’t the place. Some of these folks seemed a little wobbly on the old mental balance beam, and I didn’t want to shake it. I mean, if he wanted to push his book to the group, he would have copies on a table at the meetings. No, I got the feeling this group of his was more about researching his own theories. Brilliant, really.

  So the meeting broke up, and I hadn’t really gotten any further intel that I considered reliable. I followed David’s beige sedan to Aiello’s, the best restaurant in town. Granted, there were only five others to compare it to, including a McDonald’s, a Subway, and the very recently—and much to my delight—opened Dunkin’ Donuts, but still, it really was good. We ordered coffee and a great big homemade brownie with two forks. His idea. I would have gladly eaten the entire brownie myself.

  “I’m really sorry about walking in on you and Dr. V,” I said, after three consecutive bites, just to get a jump on the lion’s share. “I didn’t know whether to back out quietly or let you know I was there.”

  “It was fine, we were finished. He gives private sessions before the weekly meeting at no charge. First come, first served, and it’s only a half hour. But he does one a week.”

  “I didn’t know that.”

  He nodded. “I got there before Terry for a change. Lucky break.”

  I nodded, took another bite. He was eating slowly, and I thought it was because he was being generous. Another point in his favor, right? “So you’re having trouble since your transplant?”

  He shrugged. “I just seem to be more…emotional, I guess.”

  “In a good way or a bad one?”

  “Both. Everything feels bigger. Deeper.”

  I nodded. “Well, it was a heart transplant, after all.”

  “Yeah.” He sipped his coffee, nodding at my fork to tell me to go for broke on the remaining brownie.

  “Do you know anything about your donor?”

  “No. I don’t think I want to.”

  “Really? I was dying to know about mine.” I shook my head. “Gosh, as much trouble as I’ve had since a simple tissue graft, I can’t even imagine what you must be feeling after something as big as a heart transplant.”

  He shrugged. “You’ve been having trouble? I mean, I know you said you’d had some odd dreams. Is it more than that?”

  I drew a deep breath, looked around the restaurant and lowered my voice. “Can I trust you, David? Because the truth is, I’m dying to talk to someone about this, someone who would understand. Someone who’s been through it.”

  He nodded and set his cup down, then focused on my eyes like nobody’s business. “I promise.”

  I really did want to get his thoughts on this whole thing. “I think my donor might have been a psychic. I think he might even have helped the police solve crimes or something. But they won’t admit it, of course.”

  He frowned at me, not in disbelief but in rapt interest. “What makes you think so?”

  Okay, deep brea
th, spill it. Not too much, but a little. See if he freaks. “I’ve seen some crimes in my dreams. And at least one of them really happened, either during my vision or right after. I’ve verified it. And it scares the hell out of me.”

  “Well, damn. Who was your donor?”

  “Brother of a cop,” I blurted. It felt good to get it off my chest. “And the thing is, I think the cop knows his brother had this thing going on, but he won’t admit it.”

  “Of course not.”

  “Look, keep this between us, okay?”

  “I promise, hon. I won’t breathe a word.”

  “Thanks.” Wait a minute, did he just call me hon?

  He reached across the table, covered my hand with his. “For the record, I don’t think you’re crazy.”

  That, at least, was good to know. “It helps to hear that.” I ate the last bite of brownie, followed by the last of my coffee.

  “You should get away from it all. That’s what I do when I’m stressed out. Go camping in the mountains up north. I could take you.”

  “I….think it might be a little too soon for that.”

  He shrugged. “Well, maybe you should schedule a session with Dr. V. He’s a really great listener.”

  I shrugged. “I intend to. But I kind of think it might be even more valuable to talk to people like you. You know, other people who’ve had transplants.”

  He leaned across the table. “Rumor has it, he has.”

  “I didn’t know that.”

  “Well, he won’t talk about it. It’s one of the topics that’s off-limits. His personal life isn’t supposed to enter into our group meetings. I figure he’ll open up after a while. We’ve only been having the group sessions for a couple of months now. Still, everybody speculates. Someone thought it was a kidney, someone else said skin grafts after a fire.”

  “And someone else probably thinks it’s a convenient rumor he started to help him sell books.”

  He smiled ear to ear when I said that. “Most of the group don’t even know he has a book out. But I think that’s a really smart theory. I never even thought of that. What made you come up with it?”

  I shrugged. Because it’s what I’d do. But I wasn’t going to tell him I was that mercenary. I looked at the empty plate, resisted poking around for crumbs and said, “I guess we should probably get going, huh? Myrtle’s been home alone a lot longer than I’d planned to leave her.”

  “And where is home, Rachel?”

  I looked up, and my expression apparently revealed my reluctance to tell him that, because he smiled and patted my hand.

  “How about just a phone number? For now, I mean.”

  I nodded.

  He got out his cell phone and started typing while saying “Ra-chel-cor-neas. Okay, shoot.”

  I gave him the number. He keyed it in, nodded once and pocketed his phone. “Great.” The waitress brought the check, and he handed her his card before she could scoot away. Then he said, “I hope we can do this again. Maybe a whole dinner next time?”

  There was absolutely no reason not to say yes. So I said, “Sure, I’d like that.”

  And even before the words were out of my mouth, I wanted to take them back. Who was I kidding? This wasn’t going anywhere. Nice guys were apparently not the sighted Rachel de Luca’s cup of tea. She preferred dark moody cops with secrets behind their eyes and dead psychic brothers. It was a pain in the freaking ass.

  * * *

  Angela Brown lived in a large and lush home in comparison to the others in her neighborhood. It was, she’d often told Mason, a classic Georgian. He’d never cared enough to find out what that meant. But it was big and square and brick, three stories, not counting the basement, the topmost of which had been his father’s personal space and hadn’t been touched since he’d passed.

  His own childhood bedroom was similarly enshrined, and so was Eric’s. Nothing had been touched since Eric had left home to marry Marie Rivette right out of high school. Wednesday nights were their traditional family dinners. Once a week, no matter what. So far, Marie was still honoring that tradition.

  Pork loin with pineapple glaze, baby red potatoes cooked with carrots and bathed in butter, homemade applesauce, undercooked just enough so that tiny chunks of apple remained, just the way Eric had always liked it best.

  They sat around the formal dining room table, the boys on one side and their mother on the other, beside the empty chair that had belonged to their dad. It was painful to see that every week, but Mason didn’t know what to do about it. His mother seated everyone the same way, week in and week out, until forced to make room for a new family member. He used to sit right where Josh was sitting now. When his father died, Mason was promoted to the head of the table and Jeremy sat alone across from his parents until Josh came along. Now Mason mused on whether Angela would put the new baby beside Marie, sticking a high chair in Eric’s former place, or whether she would move Jeremy to that spot and put the baby beside Josh. Probably the latter.

  Josh hadn’t shut up since they’d sat down, and it was a good thing, because everyone else was as silent as a thick fog. He’d talked about his new sixth-grade teacher, his tae kwon do lessons, his Halloween costume—Captain America—and the about-to-be released must-have video game he was hoping to wheedle his mom into buying for him.

  Jeremy was brooding. Rolling his eyes at a lot of his kid brother’s antics, sighing heavily whenever his mother tried to pull him into the conversation. Marie eventually gave up and shifted her focus to Mason, passing him dishes he hadn’t asked for, offering to get him a refill on his raspberry iced tea, asking him how things were going at work. Fussing over him like she used to fuss over Eric.

  “Well,” Angela said when Josh paused for a breath, “it’s time we discuss the plans for when you go in to have the baby, don’t you think, Marie?”

  Marie shot her a surprised look. “Plans?”

  “For the boys. You’ll be in the hospital for at least a day or two.”

  “Oh. Right.” Marie sent Mason a look, one of those unspoken-message looks. Here she goes, micromanaging again.

  He smiled a little, enough to sympathize.

  “They’re more than welcome to stay here with me until you’re home and ready for them again, Marie. We’d have a great time together,” Angela said.

  Joshua’s eyes widened a little, and he sent Mason a pleading look. Jeremy just heaved another dramatic sigh and kept on eating.

  “I was thinking they might want to spend a couple of days with their uncle Mason,” Marie said, sliding her eyes from Angela’s to his. “You could come and stay at the house with them, Mason. I know you’ve been avoiding your apartment since…for the past few weeks.”

  He saw the boys’ hopeful gazes pinned on him. Even Jeremy had cut out the sixteen-year-old “everything sucks” routine for a moment.

  “I have to work during the day,” he began.

  “We have school during the day,” Josh chirped. “It’s perfect!”

  “Besides, Mason will be busy looking for his new place, I imagine,” Angela said.

  “Actually, I already bought one.”

  “You bought a house?” Marie asked. “You didn’t tell us.”

  “I was saving it for dessert. It’s an old farmhouse in Castle Creek.” He watched everyone’s reactions. Angela’s was disappointed, no doubt because his new place was a few miles farther from her. Marie looked delighted, because it was a few miles closer to her and the boys. “And it needs a lot of fixing up,” he said. “I think you guys coming to spend a couple of days might be just the ticket.”

  “Well, this is very sudden,” Angela said. She set down her fork and picked up her napkin.

  “You knew I was looking for something outside the city, Mother.”

  “Yes, I did.” She blinked fast and
dabbed her mouth, covering her hurt.

  And he could tell that he had hurt her. It was easy to do, but even so, he wasn’t happy about it.

  “When are you moving, son?”

  “I’ve already started, but I’ll finish this weekend.” He looked at his unfinished meal, feeling stuffed to the gills from his visit with Rosie’s food-pushing wife but not wanting to offend his mother even further. “Actually, I could use your help. All of you. Boys, I’m gonna need some muscle to unload the U-Haul. And, Mother, the place is a real fixer-upper. No one I know decorates a house like you do. You could have made a living at it.”

  It worked. She smiled, lowering her head as her cheeks went pink. His mother was still a class-A beauty.

  Marie was looking at him, waiting. She needed the distraction as badly as his mother did.

  “You, too, Marie. Living in a house is a whole different ball game than living in an apartment. I need help getting organized, figuring out what I need that I don’t already have.” He swept his gaze back from the two easily offended and always needy females to his chief concern, the boys. “Are you guys free? No games, practices or parties to attend?”

  “Soccer’s over, and basketball hasn’t started up yet, Uncle Mason,” Jeremy said. It was, to Mason’s recollection, his first complete sentence of the evening. “It sounds like fun. I’m glad you’re moving closer.”

  “It’s a deal, then. I’ll text you the address, and you can meet me out there first thing Saturday morning.”

  “I’m looking forward to it,” Marie said.

  He got through the meal, turned down dessert and saw Marie and the boys to the door. Then, as was his tradition, he hung out just a little bit longer with his mother. He’d spent a few weeks here in his old bedroom right after Eric’s death. Since then, he’d been mostly holing up in a hotel. He’d tried to stay in the apartment three times and ended up leaving in the middle of the night every time.

  “I’m worried about Jeremy,” Angela said. “Marie says the last words he exchanged with Eric were angry ones. He’s blaming himself.”

  He nodded. “I know. I’ll talk to him again. Actually, this move gives me a good opportunity for that.”