The Last Fairytale (Gen Delacourt Mystery Book 2)

by Molly Greene

  “Me too, Genny. Tell Livvie I love him.”

  “I will. He knows you’re okay and he says to tell you he’s pissed that you didn’t invite him up to the party in Sausalito.”

  Bree smiled. “Tell him next time I’ll let him drive.”

  “I’ll bring him this afternoon and you can tell him yourself.”

  “Deal.”

  Gen shouldered her bag and left.

  Garcia and Bree watched each other for a few beats.

  “I’m sorry,” Bree said. “I can imagine how angry you must be. You and Genny both told me not to be a loose cannon, and I ignored it. You must be ready to throw me in the clink.”

  Garcia crossed his arms. “I’m just happy you’re okay.”

  “And impressed that I’m an Olympic-class swimmer.”

  His expression softened further. “That, too.” He moved over and sat in the chair Gen had vacated. “Feel up to talking?”

  “Sure. Can you check on my car in Sausalito?”

  “It’s in our impound garage. We had it towed back from a motel parking lot in Muir Woods. We need to sweep it again for prints, see if we can find anything that will give us some idea who took you, and why.”

  “How did it get to Marin?”

  “We figure the bad guys drove it there.”

  “None of this makes sense. Why would they want to take me in the first place, much less my car?”

  “My best guess is that you know something you shouldn’t.”

  “What could that be?”

  “I have no idea.”

  “What about Vonnegon?”

  “What about him?”

  “I heard him tell somebody on the phone he was going to ‘take care of it himself.’ He sounded sinister, that’s why I followed him. Do you think these guys took me because he told them to?”

  Garcia looked down at his hands. “Well, that’s the thing.”

  “What thing?”

  “We questioned Mr. Vonnegon. He had a legit reason for that conversation. His mother owns a house there, and the tenants have been letting trash pile up. Vonnegon went up to have a word in person. We talked to the renters and their neighbors and we’re sure the incidents are not related.”

  “No way.” She lay back against the pillows and stared at the ceiling. “I’m an idiot.”

  “You misconstrued what he said, and I can see why you might have. Whoever meant you harm must have been watching. When they saw you take off alone in the dark, they followed you and took advantage. We think it was a crime of opportunity.”

  “I don’t believe I made all that up in my head. I mean, I do believe it, but how embarrassing. All this was my own fault.” Bree covered her face with her hands. “Are you sure about him?”

  “It’s not the first time something didn’t play out the way it looked.” Garcia ran a hand through his hair. “Bottom line, we don’t have any reason to believe Vonnegon is the bad guy here. Why would the wealthy head of a successful company get involved in kidnapping?”

  “It’s happened before somewhere in the world.”

  “Sure, maybe. But in this case, the evidence points to Andrew Ducane, Catherine Robeson, and the brother, Russell Yates.”

  “Half-brother.”

  “Right. We’re still trying to locate him. Vonnegon has agreed to let us inside the Tiburon house, although we’ve verified no one is coming or going.”

  “So where do we go from here?”

  Garcia pulled a face. “I don’t believe you said that. Here’s the deal. You’re not going anywhere. Not for a couple of days, anyhow. After that, you’re officially off the case. Again. When you’re up to it, we’re going to pick your brain about Ducane’s office and the boat, and see what you can remember. And we’re going to stash you somewhere safe for a while.”

  “That’s not what I want.”

  “What do you want? I mean it, Bree, really. What are you after? Why do you feel so compelled to be involved in this?”

  Bree dropped her head against the pillows and stared at the acoustical tile. “In college, I wanted to be a journalist. Someone who did amazing things, things that made a difference. Obviously I never pulled it off. But when this whole crazy situation started, I thought it was my ticket. Another chance to break into the business.

  “But I had a lot of time to mull it over while I was swimming. What I wanted back then was to do great work that would make me famous. It was about me. Now I think I want to use my writing to do good things for people who need help. Even if the work is small, and the recognition isn’t there. I want to be somebody who makes a difference.”

  “Then do it.”

  “Thanks for your support, Garcia.” Sarcasm laced her tone. “I’ll try to figure a way to make it happen.”

  Eric Garcia reached out and covered Bree’s hand with his own. His smile softened the hard planes of his face. “If it’s all right with you, I’ll stick around and see how it works out.”

  * * *

  Bree heard the scuff of a chair and opened her eyes.

  “I’m sorry I woke you.” Cooper stood and moved a strand of hair off Bree’s forehead. “I was trying to be quiet.”

  “Don’t cry.” Bree reached out and her sister eased into her arms. “I’m fine. Gosh, I hope Dad didn’t come all the way up here, too.”

  “He’s worried half to death, but when we heard you were okay, I asked him to stay with the kids. He’ll visit later. We’re going to take shifts.”

  “You don’t need to. Everything is okay.”

  “Yeah, now it is.” Cooper cried openly at that, her voice muffled against Bree’s shoulder. “But what if it hadn’t turned out that way? I couldn’t bear the idea of losing you.”

  “It wasn’t my time to go.”

  “It’s a damn good thing it wasn’t.”

  “Cooper, I saw Mom,” Bree whispered. “I’d given up. I stopped swimming and let go, but then I saw her face in the water. She told me to go back, that it wasn’t my time yet. She saved me.”

  “Thank God. I’ve been begging her to take care of you.” Cooper pulled back and used a tissue from the bedside table to dab at her tears. “She’s visited me, too.”

  “You know what, Coop? I think maybe she’s with us all the time. You should have seen the look on her face. I wish you could have felt it, too. Not that I wish you were with me, but–”

  “I know that look.”

  “Why didn’t you ever tell me?”

  “Because I didn’t want you to feel bad if you’d never seen her. She’s been in my dreams a couple of times. Remember the year River was so sick? Mom wanted me to know she’s with the kids.”

  “She’s watching over us.” Bree began to cry. “All this time I could have been talking to her, I could have felt her with me,” she sobbed. “But it hurt too much, so I pushed the memory away.”

  Cooper climbed onto the bed and lay down. Wrapping an arm around Bree’s shoulders, she hugged her close and smoothed her hair. “There’s a difference between pushing someone away and not thinking about them because it hurts.”

  “But I could have chosen to think of her with love. To think about all the good times. I could have held her in my heart and shared my life with her that way.”

  “You can do that now,” Cooper said.

  “Yeah. I guess something good came of this.”

  “Bree,” Cooper whispered. “I’m so sorry I didn’t comfort you better. I think that’s what you needed from me, just to be consoled. About Mom. About Steve. About life. I haven’t been a good sister. You didn’t need any lectures, you needed love and understanding. I’m so sorry.”

  “You were just a kid. It wasn’t your place–”

  “Shush Bree. It was my place. I love you.”

  “I love you, too, Coop.”

  * * *

  Gen returned that afternoon with Oliver in tow, their arms filled with a pink pastry box and balloons and a pretty gift bag.

  “Oh my.” Bree eyed the box and pushed a b
utton to raise the head of the bed. “Please tell me that’s my favorite chocolate cake.”

  “Of course it is,” Oliver said. “One does not get fished out of the bay every day, you know. This calls for a party.” He moved to her side and held her.

  Bree heard his breath catch in his throat.

  “I’m okay, Livvie.”

  “Yes, well it’s a good thing you lived to tell the tale,” he replied. “I would’ve had to give the eulogy, and you know how I am about public speaking. I may have overplayed the speech and then been angry with you for letting me make a fool of myself, with you not there to stop me and all.”

  Bree kissed his cheek and Oliver, suddenly at a loss for words, pretended to fuss with the blanket. “I brought you my best embroidered bed jacket,” he said. “I figured the hospital wardrobe would be drab, and I was right. You could use a little color.”

  Gen was already pulling the quilted pink satin jacket from the bag Oliver had dropped. Behind his back, she made a face that depicted pure horror at the sight.

  Bree laughed.

  “I know what you’re doing back there, Genevieve Delacourt,” Oliver said. “You can make fun of me all you want, as long as it makes my Cambria laugh like her old self.”

  He leaned forward and whispered. “I can’t bear the thought that you might have left me. Maybe I haven’t told you enough how important it is to be able to borrow your clothes.”

  “Oliver,” she whispered in reply. “I love you, too. I’m afraid you’re stuck with this friend forever.”

  “This wouldn’t have happened if you’d invited me along.”

  “Oh, I don’t know. We might have both ended up swimming all night.”

  “Maybe, maybe not. Just don’t make a habit of it.” Livvie gave her a parting squeeze, and Gen leaned in to draw the jacket around Bree’s shoulders and guide her arms through the sleeves.

  “Perfect,” Oliver said. “Just as I thought.”

  His eyes lit up with interest when Mack and Garcia appeared in the hall. Gen introduced them. Oliver served cake and stayed on the periphery of the conversation until the duo said goodbye.

  “I’ve met the winsome Garcia, but who’s this gum-chewing Mack person?” Oliver asked. “Looks like a country singer, don’t you think? Right out of the South, with the old ball cap and a two day beard, all the respectful sir and ma’aming. I love the flannel shirt and jeans. It just screams testosterone. Yummy.”

  Gen shrugged.

  “Cat got your tongue, Genny? Seems to me he spent a lot of time looking at you.”

  “He’s a straight arrow. A good guy.” She shrugged again. “I like him.”

  “Well, yes, clearly straight, no doubt about that.” Oliver held up his left hand and twiddled his fingers in the air. “And no ring.”

  “Oliver, I just got a Dear John. I’m not really in a big rush to interview replacements.”

  “Look, you were lucky,” Oliver replied. “I’m sorry if what I’m saying hurts, but it showed strength for Ryan to tell you he wasn’t suited to living the life you wanted. He had the balls to tell you to your face and save you from unhappiness down the road.”

  “I agree. It turns out Ryan is more in touch with what he wants than I am. He was stronger. He did the right thing.”

  Gen shook a finger at them both. “But don’t go trying to hook me up with anyone else right away. I need time.”

  “That’s not the Genny Delacourt I remember from college,” Bree said.

  “Age and love both take their toll on the heart.” Oliver grinned. “Just don’t let them take your joy or break your spirit.”

  “I’m with you, Liv,” Bree replied.

  “And don’t wait too long.” Oliver winked. “That is one fine man.”

  Gen smacked a palm against her forehead.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Two days later Gen pushed Bree’s wheelchair out of the hospital and helped her into the car. Because Bree had quashed Garcia’s plan to stash her in a hotel, Gen had decided to move into the upstairs flat.

  At least until they were sure the danger was past.

  She packed a bag and left a message for Ryan that she’d be out of his way, and he should feel free to come and go as he pleased. And to finish packing.

  She felt a twinge when she shut the front door behind her, knowing that when she moved back in everything in her life would be different. “What did Socrates say?” she murmured to herself. “The secret of change is to focus your energy on building the new, not fighting the old.”

  She shuttled everything into the elevator and went upstairs.

  Bree was on the couch with a quilt tucked around her legs. “Yaw-hooo,” she said. “Slumber party.”

  Gen chuckled and trundled her things into the guest room. “Somehow I always end up moving in with my friends.”

  “I can’t tell you how happy I am about that.”

  “Where’s Liv?”

  “In the kitchen heating soup.”

  “How cool is that?”

  “Trust me, it’s not homemade.”

  Gen re-emerged and sat beside Bree. “How are you feeling today?”

  “Not bad. Still tired, but if that’s the worst after-effect, I can handle it.”

  “I guess. Astonishing that you’ve still got all your fingers and toes.”

  “I second that.”

  “I thought if you were up to it, we’d go visit a mycologist tomorrow.”

  “Sounds like a doctor who’d treat a bad rash.”

  “Mycologists study fungi. I tracked down a professor who’s agreed to tell us about mushrooms. We might learn something we can tie in to this whole Elergene-Catherine-Ducane-Yates thing.”

  “Don’t you think that’s a stretch?”

  “But of course. So what? Let’s get familiar with the humble fungus. We’ve got nothing to lose.”

  “Did you tell Eric–” Bree hesitated. “Did you tell Garcia what you’re up to?”

  “Are we suddenly needing to ask Detective Garcia’s permission for everything, or do you just feel guilty because you got yourself in trouble the last time you did not ask?”

  “Uh, I’ve gotten myself in trouble every time, so I’m a little gun shy.” Bree winced. “Bad choice of words.”

  “I mentioned my plan and he said go for it.”

  “Aren’t they looking into the mushroom thing?”

  “The police lab is pursuing the poison aspect, but they’re not looking into anything related to growing.”

  “What’s the theory?”

  “Vonnegon believes Ducane was growing psychoactive mushrooms using cultivation methods developed for Elergene’s government project. The executive committee members verified that’s what Ducane confessed to after the break-in.

  “It jives with the Mill Valley spore house. Mack and Eric are speculating Ducane may have accidentally grown a poisonous variety and dosed himself with it.” Gen shrugged. “But I think somebody else helped him into the hereafter, and I suspect the cops do, too.”

  “Do they think Taylor had anything to do with it?”

  “No. Vonnegon is convinced his half-brother was encouraging the kid. They found stuff at the Mill Valley house that implicates Yates, so the boys agree he looks good for being partners with Ducane and Catherine. And since the burglar snatched all the kid’s research, they don’t have reason to go through the company’s files. They don’t think Vonnegon or anybody else there was involved.”

  “So we’ve reached a dead end.”

  “Oh, I don’t know.” Gen leaned back in the chair. “We won’t know what really went down until we find Catherine and Yates and convince them to talk.”

  “Where do we start?”

  “You mean, of course, after we uncover the fascinating world of the mushroom.”

  Bree chuckled. “You sound like my brother-in-law. Yes, after that.”

  “What’s the logical thread to follow?”

  “Yates,” Bree replied. “It’s curious how
Taylor always refers to him as his half-brother, as if he doesn’t want to claim the guy.”

  “Someone always has something to hide.”

  “So we’re not going with the theory Ducane accidentally killed himself.”

  “I’m not. That would be convenient, that he just slipped up and drank a toxic cocktail. Method, motive, and opportunity. That’s what the cops look for and so will we.”

  “Just be sure not to mention I’m participating in any way, because Garcia warned me off again.”

  Oliver walked in carrying a tray. “Luncheon is served. And I hope you’re all hungry, because I have been slaving over a hot stove for hours.”

  “Famished,” Bree said. “Thanks, Livvie.”

  He passed out spoons, napkins, and deep bowls of tomato soup, and placed a plate heaped with grilled cheese sandwiches on the sofa table. “I think comfort food is in order for a while.”

  “I feel like I could eat my weight in grilled cheese,” Bree said. “Especially since the chef insists on using the best gruyere.”

  “I feel like cooking myself,” Gen said. “Maybe culinary therapy will do me some good. How about meatloaf with garlic mashed potatoes for dinner?”

  “I’m swooning at the thought,” Bree said. “Sounds really good. Just make sure you don’t use mushrooms in the mix.”

  “There goes my figure.” Oliver smiled and raised a spoonful of soup to his mouth. “I might need to start borrowing Genny’s clothes.”

  “Stay out of my closet.”

  “Ha. Really, Genny, there’s nothing in there that strikes my fancy. I need to take you shopping. You could use a little help with your wardrobe.”

  “What’s wrong with my clothes?”

  “Where do I begin? Oh, right. With the proper foundation garments. The girls want something pretty.”

  “Deal. When this is resolved, we’ll treat ourselves to a little retail therapy.”

  Chapter Twenty-Eight