by Molly Greene
She shook it off.
“I loved the flowers, and I’m grateful for your kind thoughts in sending them. You’ve been nice to me. I appreciate that.” She paused and wrapped the towel tightly around her. The air was cool. She needed to go inside. “But I think it’s best if we don’t see each other. I just want to be alone and get better.”
A flash of emotion touched his face.
Was it pain or anger?
“Please forgive me, Bree. You have to believe I had nothing to do with what happened. I would never harm you. I cherish our friendship.”
“I’m sorry, but I’m freezing and I need to go.” She ducked her head and slid her feet into a pair of rubber sandals, then brushed past him and headed for the elevator.
“I won’t let anyone hurt you again.”
Bree stopped, then pivoted slowly to face him. “What do you mean by that?”
He took a step toward her. “You shouldn’t be alone. I’ll escort you downstairs.” He walked to the elevator, thumbed a button, and held the door open.
Bree was rooted to the ground.
“Shall we?”
What were her choices? She could stay up here on the roof and freeze, or ride down a few floors with Taylor Vonnegon.
She willed herself to move, and followed him in.
* * *
Mack dropped Gen at the curb in front of her office and waved as he pulled back into traffic. She returned the gesture, then stood and watched the pickup disappear in a gaggle of cars. She jumped at the weight of a hand on her shoulder and turned her head to see Oliver’s manicured nails.
“I told you so,” he said.
“I thought one of his taillights was out. I was just looking to be sure.”
When Livvie’s brows spiked, Gen smiled and batted her lashes. “Your makeup is particularly appealing today.”
“Um hmm.” Oliver grinned. “You got an early start this morning.”
“Yeah, we did.” She held up a set of keys and threw a thumb over her shoulder, indicating her office door. “Want some water? I need to check messages.”
Oliver followed her into the back office and pulled two bottles from the fridge. “How’s business?” He handed one to Gen and made himself at home on the couch.
“It would be good if I actually took the time to respond to some of the inquiries I’ve been getting.”
“Can you afford not to?”
“For a while. When Bree is right-side up again, I’ll get back to all my pressing divorce cases. Oh, and a woman whose poodle was snatched wants me to offer a reward for his repatriation.”
“Re what?”
“She’ll pay to get him back.”
“I wonder if she does that with men, too?”
“I’m betting they pay her to go away.”
“Meow.”
Gen unscrewed the cap, pulled up voice mail on the phone, then scrawled notes on a pad.
Oliver wandered over to Andrew Ducane’s case board and fingered a floor plan of the Tiburon house that was clipped to one side. “Place has a pretty big basement,” he said.
“Excuse me?”
“Nothing.” He turned away. “The house has an unfinished basement. That’s kind of unusual for Cali, but I guess it’s because of the steep lot.”
“A friend at the building department emailed that the other day. I haven’t had time to pay attention.”
“No big deal.”
“I’m done. Let’s go check on Bree.”
She locked the door behind them. They walked down and entered their complex, chatting about hair products and laughing about a brand of gel Oliver had tried with poor results.
When a woman passed them on her way to the door, Gen spun around so fast Oliver nearly lost his balance.
“You,” Gen hissed, then grabbed at the stranger. The girl rabbited off without a backward glance, and she would have gotten away if Oliver hadn’t stepped out and tripped her.
“I swear, Liv.” Gen watched as the prone girl searched for her glasses, which she’d lost on her way to the floor. “You are one cool customer.”
Gen leaned down, confiscated the heavy lenses, and pulled the woman up by one arm. She held on tight to her scrawny bicep and gestured for Oliver to secure the other side. “Oliver Weston, meet Catherine Robeson.”
“Charmed, I’m sure,” Liv replied.
* * *
Gen rifled Catherine’s pockets and took her car keys and wallet, then marched the girl to a bench and forced her to take a seat.
“Give me your shoes,” Gen demanded. She passed the billfold to Oliver and stood guard while she thumbed Mack’s number into her phone.
“Nice touch, taking her shoes,” Liv said.
“I saw that on TV once.”
Mack picked up.
“I’m calling from my building, Mack. I have Catherine Robeson. How fast can you get back here?”
She listened to his reply and ended the call, then stuffed Robeson’s trainers into her bag and hauled the girl up by the arm again. “They’ll be here in ten minutes. Let’s take her upstairs.”
They nearly dragged her into the elevator and out again, then down the hall.
Oliver hammered on Bree’s front door and she opened it immediately, her eyes wide as a startled doe. No doubt she’d peeked through the spy hole. “What is she doing here?” Bree demanded. “First Vonnegon, now her.”
She fell back two paces as Gen hauled the girl through, then closed the door and shoved the deadbolt home.
Catherine looked mild-mannered and middle class, much the same as she had the day they’d met on Ducane’s boat. She wore cargo pants, this time in olive drab. Her hair was still bushy, and the oversized glasses still made a slow descent down the bridge of her nose and had to be pushed back in place every few minutes.
She lacked the edgy demeanor people who walked a little outside the law typically displayed. Gen wondered how she’d made the trip from band practice to bong. On the other hand, the voyage had been traveled a million times before, and those who’d crossed before happily led the way.
Strange how some good kids born lucky took the downhill path, while others with a bad start had the guts to claw their way up.
“Wait a minute.” Gen’s eyes bounced from their guest to Bree. “Vonnegon was here?”
“Yeah, up on the roof, just a while ago. I was in the pool, and he scared the bejesus out of me when I came up for air. I lost my zen when I saw him standing over me. Screamed like a twelve-year-old girl.”
Catherine was hunched on the couch, contemplating her hands. Oliver, Bree, and Gen took a seat around their huddled charge.
Gen took the lead. “What are you doing here?”
Catherine looked up, then back at her laced fingers. “I wasn’t looking to run into you, that’s for sure.”
“What then?”
“I was following the woman who was following Andy’s boss.”
Gen took in some air and let it out. “A woman was following Taylor Vonnegon and you were sneaking after her. And she came here. Is that the best you can do?”
Catherine was silent.
Oliver and Gen exchanged a glance and Oliver shrugged. He hadn’t seen a woman, either.
“Okay, let’s pretend there was someone. What’s the significance?”
“Andrew’s dead. I want to find out who killed him.” Catherine sat up straighter, reaching for a little bravado. “Obviously I didn’t know he was coming to see you. I’m not stupid. I wouldn’t have just let you grab me like that.”
“So tell us what’s interesting about Vonnegon,” Gen said. “You’ll have to tell the cops anyway.”
“I’m not saying anything.” Catherine slumped back against the couch. “I want a lawyer.”
“I am a lawyer,” Gen replied. “Ask and ye shall receive. What happened to Andrew Ducane?”
The girl’s face crumpled.
“Was he your boyfriend?”
She nodded. Tears squeezed out from between her clo
sed lids and down her pale cheeks. Bree retrieved a box of tissues and held it out, waiting patiently until Catherine plucked several and pressed the wad against her face.
“I loved him.” Her voice wavered with her tears. “We were sick of doing what everyone expected us to do. We wanted to have some fun. To see what it was like to live a different life.”
Gen pressed her. “What does that have to do with Taylor Vonnegon?”
A wave of emotion gripped Catherine and she wagged her head side to side. “I don’t know anything about him. I just think someone at work had something to do with what happened.”
“Why? Did you ever see Andrew with anyone from Elergene?”
“No.” She slouched forward again and avoided eye contact.
“Were you and Andrew selling drugs? Did you ever talk about making drugs?”
“Why should I tell you?”
The three of them sat, silent and waiting, watching the girl.
“He swore we’d only do it for us,” Catherine finally said. Her voice was subdued. “For now, anyway. He promised. It was just for us.”
Gen fidgeted, struck by a thought. The woman Catherine was following might have been Yates in drag. Wouldn’t that be something. “So who is this woman you’re following?”
Catherine shook her head, but the gesture lacked determination “I don’t know.”
“Kid, your story makes no sense,” Gen said. “If you’re following someone, you have to know who she is, or at least where she lives.”
“I followed her home once.” Catherine looked up. “I need to be sure about her. I don’t know if she–” She choked back the words. A fresh torrent threatened. “He was my boyfriend, and now he’s dead.”
Gen felt a stab of compassion, but the girl would clam up the minute the detectives arrived, and for the moment Robeson had forgotten about a lawyer. She had to keep the pressure on. “Were you growing the mushrooms for poison or drugs?”
“Poison?” Catherine looked up in surprise. “No way. Where’d you get that idea? We were growing magic mushrooms. I showed up in Mill Valley one day and the cops had cleaned the grow room out, so I ran.”
Gen and Bree exchanged a glance. Police?
“What were you doing that day on the boat?”
“I’d been staying there. I just stopped by to pick up my stuff. After you left, I opened the cabin door and saw the place had been tossed. I freaked. I thought you did it.”
“Was there a reason why Ducane’s boat was so close to Vonnegon’s property in Tiburon?”
“I told you, I don’t know Vonnegon. Never saw the guy up close before today, when I made the mistake of coming here.”
“I’m not convinced he had a shadow,” Gen replied.
“Think what you like.” Catherine pointed at Gen and made a half-hearted attempt to turn the tables. “You lied to me when I saw you that day. What else are you lying about?”
“Come on, Catherine. We’re trying to find out what’s going on, same as you. So Andrew never talked about Vonnegon, or Elergene, or Russell Yates?”
“I don’t know any Yates. All I know is that Vonnegon was Andrew’s boss.” She rolled her eyes and looked away. “We didn’t talk about work or that part of his life.”
“What did you talk about?”
“Our grow room. My picking expeditions. It was going to be my job to find fresh mushrooms for the culture.” She looked up at them. “I liked it, being alone in the forest. I liked being in charge of it.”
“Nice to see you’ve aspired to such lofty goals,” Bree said. “Didn’t you understand that it was wrong? Didn’t your gut ever tell you to walk away?”
“Andrew was all I had.” She pushed the glasses up, but she didn’t meet their eyes. “I couldn’t leave.”
“Honey,” Oliver said, “it’s never too late to change, to choose another way.”
Catherine stared at nothing from behind her thick lenses, then closed her eyes and hunched over.
They could barely hear her when she said, “Well, I’ll have to make some changes now, won’t I.”
Chapter Thirty-Five
By the time Mack and Garcia arrived, the girl had stopped answering questions and shut them out. The detectives managed to pry her name out of her, but that was it. Garcia began to recite her legal rights, and Mack was pulling out handcuffs when she stopped them.
“Wait a minute.” Catherine poked her glasses flat against the bridge of her nose. “Don’t you have to tell me why you’re arresting me?”
“We suspect you’re involved in growing an illegal substance, and in the death of Andrew Ducane. We also found marijuana and traces of meth in a Mill Valley house leased to you.”
“Whoa, wait up. I had nothing to do with Andrew’s death, and if you found drugs in that house, you cops must have planted them. I don’t toke, and I don’t tweek.”
“Miss Robeson, you can explain that to a judge.”
She shot a killing glance at Gen and mouthed a single word. Liar.
Mack took her to the car.
Garcia stayed behind to hear the story.
Gen explained the capture, and what the girl told them once she was upstairs. And why she’d been in the building in the first place.
“She said she thought the police cleaned out the garage up north,” Gen said. “Was there something you wanted to tell us?”
“We didn’t do it. But it helps to know she thinks we did, so we’ll work it that way.”
“If there really was a woman following Vonnegon today, it could have been Yates.”
“We’ll show his picture around downstairs,” Garcia said. “But there’s another issue here. I thought someone was staying with Bree around the clock. This time it was Vonnegon, but what if the guy at the pool had been one of the guys who tossed her in the bay?”
“My fault,” Bree replied. “I’m supposed to stay inside with the door locked. It’s just that I woke up this morning with the urge to get back in the water, and I wanted to do it before my confidence passed.”
“I’ll go with her next time,” Gen said. “It won’t happen again. We won’t let her out of our sight.”
“Maybe Oliver can take over this afternoon,” Garcia replied. “We tracked down a storage yard across town. The numbers stamped on the key the actress gave you is in their system. We checked the client list, and sure enough, Yates rented a garage there a few months back.”
“Can I tag along when you check it out?”
“That’s why I mentioned it. We’ve got a warrant and we’re heading over today. Why don’t you come along as our videographer? As long as Oliver stays with Bree, and you understand you’re only there to observe.”
“Go ahead,” Bree said. “Livvie doesn’t have to babysit, I’ll stay put alone and catch up on work.”
“With the door locked,” Garcia said.
“Triple locked,” she replied. “Cross my heart.”
* * *
The manager was waiting in the parking lot when they arrived. Mack flashed his badge and the warrant, and the man opened the gate and led them to a ten-by-twelve in a building near the back.
They stopped before a corrugated metal garage door painted with the number 525. “This is it.” The guy produced his own key from a jacket pocket and slotted it into the hasp. When the catch released he swung the door skyward and hit the overheads.
Light flooded the room. The gleam from the recessed cans made them blink and highlighted a stack of boxes against the far wall. Several pieces of furniture were swathed in clear plastic and strewn about the space.
A couch and a couple of tables were shrouded in old sheets. Utilitarian metal shelving held garbage bags filled with God knows what. A car wash air freshener hung from a nail on the wall, but it wasn’t strong enough to hide the smell of lemon paste wax and dirty socks.
“Lock up when you’re done,” the manager said. “Happy hunting.”
Garcia stowed a police-issue tool box on an inlaid mosaic table near the door, th
en strolled through the hodgepodge of Yates’ belongings.
Mack checked the video camera, then handed it off to Gen with a few simple instructions. He indicated she should take her first shot, they checked the quality, and he gave her a thumbs up and moved out of range.
She panned the room from one wall to the next, then stood before the furniture and shot it all.
Garcia was already lifting sheets and examining the gear. Mack moved to the back and ran his fingers along the stack of boxes. He lifted one down, pulled a pocket knife from his jacket and opened the blade, then used it to slice through the strapping tape on the top.
Garcia pulled a razor knife from the open tool kit and followed Mack’s lead, lifting down boxes, slicing through the tape, examining the contents.
Gen rolled film as they opened each container. She felt the creep of frustration when they’d reached the last and were still empty-handed. She lowered the camera. “Looks like a dead end.”
“We’re not done yet.” Mack moved to the garbage bags. “Bring the camera and shoot these, too.”
Gen complied. He swung an over-stuffed bag to the floor, then opened the orange ties that held it closed. He shuffled through a bundle of folded shirts, tied the bag back up, grabbed another, and went through the drill again.
“Bingo,” he said.
“Find something?”
“Yeah.”
“What is it?” There was anticipation in Garcia’s voice as he moved toward Mack, picking his way among the open containers.
* * *
Bree locked the door behind them, then threw the deadbolt and latched the chains installed by a police department tech, thinking the whole time that Garcia’s idea of security was overkill.
She’d developed a theory that her kidnapping was a random thing. It could be she’d just been in the wrong place at the right time. The men were a couple of psychos who had seen her and wanted to inflict pain and, well, mission nearly accomplished.
