The Last Fairytale (Gen Delacourt Mystery Book 2)

by Molly Greene

  And if that was true, it was time to stop living in fear. Her all-night swim had been like a trip from hell to home, and she felt as if she’d stared down the devil and had shaken off his bitter grip once and for all.

  Now it was time to celebrate life.

  She powered up the computer and reviewed her editorial calendar. The replacement article for Ducane’s interview was due; she pulled up the document and reviewed the notes she’d jotted during her phone conversation with the successful alumni they’d invited to step in. An hour later the bones of the piece were done, and she pushed the laptop aside.

  She was headed for the kitchen and a glass of water when she heard her cell phone buzz. She changed her route and picked up the phone.

  It was a text from Taylor Vonnegon.

  But as she honored her first reaction and moved her thumb to delete it, a bead of guilt morphed into a reminder of his kindness. She had a change of heart, and she read it.

  How about a late lunch with me today. You have to eat, right? No strings. Just friends. No expectations.

  While she was pondering how to rebuff him graciously, another text came in.

  I promise.

  That made her smile. She sighed, confused and once again ambivalent about the man. What harm could come from sharing a meal in a public place? She could invite Oliver as a chaperone. Garcia didn’t have to know the truth.

  Where? she typed.

  What kind of food you in the mood for?

  Seafood. Crab salad?

  Swan’s makes the best in town.

  Meet you there in an hour.

  Perfect - see you then.

  Bree put down the phone. Work was under control, her hair was clean, the weather was pleasant. What better time than now to get out in the world?

  She speed-dialed Oliver’s cell but he didn’t pick up. She hesitated, but in the end she decided to go without him. They wouldn’t be alone. Swan’s was a very popular place.

  When Liv’s voice mail picked up she left a message. “Livvie, don’t be mad. I’m meeting someone for lunch because I really need a change of scenery. I was going to invite you but you must be busy, so I hope whatever you’re doing beats a crab salad at Swan’s. I won’t be long, and I’ll call when I get home. Don’t tell on me.”

  She rummaged through her closet and settled on jeans and a sweatshirt. With her bag on her shoulder and a final glance in the mirror, she was out the door and on her way to the parking garage.

  She blew a kiss at the VW waiting patiently in its spot, and felt a surge of excitement to be back in the driver’s seat. As she unlocked the car, a Lexus SUV with a woman at the wheel pulled up behind her, effectively barring her exit.

  The window rolled down. The woman waved her over. She was wearing a stylish, large-brimmed hat that dipped low over her eyes, obscuring much of her face.

  Bree leaned down. “Can I help you?”

  “Yes dear, I’m lost.”

  “Where do you need to go?”

  “My son marked it for me.” She pointed at a folded map of the city on the seat beside her. “But I’m afraid I’ve ended up in this parking structure and not at the doctor’s office where I’m expected. Do you think you could direct me?”

  “Sure.” Bree opened the door and sat on the edge of the passenger seat, and the woman tapped the map where a street was circled in blue pen. “It must be nearby.”

  “We’ll find it.” Bree took the page and focused on the grid depicting the city’s streets. In the upper left corner, an address was written in bold letters.

  “You’re really close,” she said. “It’s just a block or so away. In fact, I’m just heading out. You can follow me there–” A movement from the driver caught her eye, and she looked up with a smile.

  A hard expression had blown across the woman’s features.

  Bree knew that face.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Mack came up over the lip of the bag clutching a brown wig. “Will you look what we have here.”

  Gen fingered the thick shank of hair pinned into a coil at the back. “That’s the same hairstyle the cross-dresser wore during the Elergene break-in,” she said. “I recognize it from the tape.”

  “You sure?” Garcia asked.

  “Hey, I’m a girl. I notice stuff like that.”

  “And look at this.” Mack leaned back over the bag and surfaced with a lab coat and a slim black skirt that were remarkably similar to the burglar’s attire.

  Garcia took the wig and examined it. “This sure makes it look like Yates was the thief.”

  Gen palmed her forehead. “Oh, my gosh. Oliver said something like that when he saw Russell’s picture.”

  “Said what?”

  “That he looked like he could be the break-in babe. I didn’t take it seriously.”

  Mack tossed the coat and skirt onto a nearby chair. “Yates is comfortable in makeup and costumes.”

  “It would fit,” Garcia added. “As a Board member, he had a key and access to Ducane’s lab.”

  “Still lacks motive,” Mack said.

  “Maybe we just haven’t found his motive yet,” Garcia replied.

  “But it’s awfully convenient,” Gen said. Garcia passed the hairpiece to Gen and she looked at it again.

  “Meaning?”

  “She thinks finding this was too easy,” Mack replied.

  “Criminals implicate themselves all the time.” Garcia toed the bag. “But it is curious, why he’d send an ex-girlfriend the key to a place where he kept this stuff.” He paced away, hands on hips, and returned to contemplate the wig.

  “Could be he didn’t care if it was found,” Mack said.

  “Or he wanted someone to find it,” Gen countered.

  “That would suggest he had nothing to hide. But we’re still operating on the theory he was working with Ducane,” Garcia said, “and if he was, why would he need to take the research? If Yates was the burglar, what was his reason?”

  “Their partnership was going south,” Mack replied. “Or Ducane was holding out on him, so he stole the formula.”

  “If that’s true, it could have been a reason for Yates to murder Andrew after he got it,” Gen replied.

  “We need to find those files. There’s a chance they’re here, too.” Mack pulled down another bag.

  Gen looked around. “Yeah, well. If we found them, it will help tie this case up into a neat little package. Except, of course, for Yates himself. You haven’t found him.”

  “The guy had money,” Garcia replied. “He could be on a beach in Costa Rica right now, soaking up the sun.”

  “Why would an actor with no criminal background steal paperwork,” Gen said, “then kill somebody and run?”

  “We found drugs,” Garcia said. “He was into something.”

  “But you also said his friends never saw him take anything but alcohol,” Gen said. “And if I remember correctly, even that wasn’t in large quantities.”

  “Even better,” Mack said. “A dealer who doesn’t partake in the product doesn’t waste the profits on his own habit.”

  Gen grinned. “You sound like Confucius.”

  “Nobody’s background in this case suggests they’d stoop to murder,” Garcia said.

  “Maybe someone’s does,” Mack replied, “and we just haven’t turned it up yet.”

  “Well, let’s do it.” Garcia flipped the cover off the couch and lifted the cushions. “If Ducane’s stolen research is here, I want it.”

  Mack and Gen fanned out to opposite ends of the room and began to yank sheets. Gen’s first reveal was a squatty, leather-topped coffee table. Not much to look at. She upended the wooden square and checked the bottom in case he’d strapped a file or an envelope beneath it.

  Nothing.

  Across the way, she saw Mack slice through plastic with his blade, then rifle an antique mahogany dresser. From what she could see, it was nearly empty. He pulled each drawer to check the underside before moving on to the armoire beside it.


  She followed suit and twitched the drape from an old oak desk. A padded 1880’s piano stool was stashed in the keyhole. When she balled up the cloth, she noted a distinct lack of dust compared to the layer that tippled the coffee table. She tossed it aside, then pulled out the stool and sat.

  The top drawer opened easily, revealing a felt-lined interior with a molded plastic separator glutted with old pens. A roll of stamps and a staple puller, a few paperclips, and a jumble of coins kept them company. She scrabbled around in the back and came up with an empty check book cover and a couple of fresh transaction registers.

  The three drawers on the left gave up squat, beside the fact it looked like he was using the desk to store paperwork. She found AAA trip guides for the East Coast dated the previous year. A half-empty box of white legal envelopes. A stack of blank note cards.

  Nothing worthwhile here.

  Gen tugged at the bottom right pull and got solid resistance. It was deeper than the others, and, apparently, it was also locked. She returned to search the mishmash of office supplies for the key. Nothing. She emptied out the plastic divider and examined the bottom.

  Pay dirt.

  The key was taped to the back.

  She peeled it off and stuck it into the brass-faced lock, then opened the drawer. The interior was set up with hanging files. The first hand-lettered tab read PV.

  Gen lifted out a professional-looking dossier and thumbed it open. A stack of surveillance-style photos were pinned at the top with a two-punch metal tab. On the other side was a handful of typed pages. She laid it out on the desk. “You guys will want to come look at this.”

  Mack and Garcia strode across the room and took up positions on either side of her.

  “Looks like he hired a firm to track someone.” Gen traced the company name with her fingernail. “Anybody recognize the logo?”

  “Yeah,” Garcia replied. “That’s an outfit out of Oakland.” He pointed to the top photo, a woman with dark hair and sunglasses, behind the wheel of a car. “Why would they be dogging Vonnegon’s secretary?” He flipped up a few of the photos. “They’re all her.”

  Mack ran a finger down a paragraph of type, then rested a hand on Gen’s shoulder. “I’ll be damned,” he said. “Her name is Patience.”

  She looked up at him. “His mother’s name.”

  “So his mother is his secretary.” Mack looked at Garcia. “There was bad blood between Russell Yates and Patience Vonnegon, from what the second wife had to say.”

  “Yeah,” Gen said. “Did Vonnegon mention his mother was answering the phones?”

  “No,” Garcia replied. “But we never asked. Wasn’t any reason to look into the secretary’s background.”

  Gen snapped her fingers. “Nadine told us he had Patience. I thought she was talking about his character, but she meant it literally, that Vonnegon had his mother with him. Why is it important?”

  Garcia turned up the last of the pictures and stopped. “Here’s your answer.” The next grainy image showed Catherine Robeson and Patience Vonnegon on the deck of Andrew Ducane’s sloop.

  “Catherine said she never saw Andrew with anyone from Elergene.”

  “Catherine lied,” Mack said. “We should have another talk with her to find out what else she didn’t tell us.”

  “Why would Vonnegon’s secretary have anything to do with a podunk operation to grow wacky mushrooms?” Gen slid the packet over to Garcia and went back into the drawer for more.

  She pulled out a dog-eared folder and thumbed through pages of hand-annotated documents. “Here we go. This must be Ducane’s stuff.” She held up a drawing that resembled the rolling grow bed they’d seen in the Mill Valley garage.

  “Okay,” Garcia said. “How about you and Genny go visit Catherine. Take the picture of her and the secretary. I’ll try to track down Vonnegon and see what he has to say. If I can’t find him, I’ll head back to the shop. We can hook up there.”

  * * *

  “Hey, Gramps.” Mack shoved his hands into the pockets of his worn Levi jeans. “We’re here to interview one of your guests, Catherine Robeson.”

  The gatekeeper was a grizzled veteran. He looked as though he had the motor home outfitted and ready to go and was crossing off the days, just waiting for his gold watch so he could hit the open road. He winked. “Who’s your friend?”

  “Genevieve Delacourt. Sign her in, she’s going with me.”

  Gen showed her ID and scribbled her name in the log the old cop pushed across the counter.

  They were buzzed through a heavy metal door. Mack led her into a cubicle with a window that revealed the inmates’ side of the lock-up. Five minutes later, Catherine Robeson appeared and took a seat. Mack picked up the telephone and indicated she should do the same. Her response was slow.

  Apparently, she wasn’t in the mood to talk.

  “What do you want now?”

  “You forgot to tell us something important.” He pushed the photograph of Catherine and Patience Vonnegon flat against the glass.

  Catherine looked unconcerned. “What about it?”

  “Explain why you said you’d never met Ducane’s co-workers.”

  “I haven’t.”

  “Lady in the picture with you. Tall older woman, short dark hair. Secretary to Elergene’s CEO. Also happens to be his mother.”

  “Yeah, I know Patience, so what? That’s who I was following when your friend here tackled me. But I didn’t know she was Vonnegon’s mother, or his secretary. Nobody ever told me that. Why would she be tailing her own son?”

  Mack placed the photograph face up on the table. “How do you know her?”

  “Andrew hired her to show us how to identify different kinds of wild mushrooms. He never told her why we were looking, just that he wanted to study them, find some edible ones, stuff like that. Pretended we were back-to-the-landers.

  “We asked about everything we found so we’d know which ones were psilocybin. I thought she was clueless. But after he died, I wondered–” She stopped. “I wanted to talk to her, that’s why I was following. I wanted to catch her alone.”

  “Why did Andrew ask Patience to help?”

  “She grew up in the woods back East. She knew all about wild plants and trees and stuff. What to look for, what to avoid. Said her mother taught her. They picked wild mushrooms, too.”

  It was starting to make sense.

  Mack drummed his fingertips on the table. “So he never said anything about Patience working at Elergene?”

  “I said no.”

  “Did you spend much time with her?”

  “We hiked around a bunch of times. She pointed out all the stuff you could eat that grew wild. She was a good teacher, and she was at home in the woods. Quiet, like an Indian. Knew how to walk so the leaves didn’t even crackle underfoot. It was kind of spooky, really.”

  “No small talk? No chit-chat while you looked?”

  “Not really. Once she said she spent a lot of time outside when she was a kid so she didn’t have to be around her father. I guess her old man was a prick. Patience was intense, you know? When she was focused on something, that lady really dialed in. Nothing else seemed to matter. So when we were out mushroom picking, she was obsessed with the hunt. That was it.”

  “How did you arrange to meet for these expeditions?”

  “She’d text. We had a silly code. When she texted me the word, it meant we’d meet the next day. Always at the same time and the same place.”

  “What was the word?”

  “Rapunzel.”

  Gen froze.

  Mack angled his head and regarded the girl. “Why did you need a code?”

  “It was her idea. I thought it was just a goof.” Catherine raised her palms up toward the ceiling, then dropped them back into her lap. “You know.”

  Mack asked Catherine a few more questions, then summoned the guard and led Gen back to the entrance. They exited the building and stood on the front steps.

  “Mack, it
isn’t a coincidence.” Gen clutched his arm. “Patience knows all about picking mushrooms in the woods because she grew up doing it.”

  “Yeah, that’s what the girl said.” Mack took her hand. “What’s up? You look like you saw a ghost.”

  “Remember the contact who told me about the mushroom-related operation he’d gotten wind of? He’d heard a name associated with the setup. The word was Rapunzel.”

  Mack pulled out his cell. “We better tell Garcia.”

  Gen started to jog toward the car, but stopped when her own phone rang. She waved Mack on. “And we better go see Vonnegon again,” she said. “We need to talk to him about his mother.”

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Oliver’s voice on the other end of the line was subdued. “You’re about to be very upset with me.”

  “Sorry Liv, I’m in a rush,” Gen replied. “We just heard something that could blow this whole Ducane thing open. What’s up?”

  “I must have been taking a nap because I didn’t hear the phone. Bree left a message. Said she was going out for a late lunch with a friend. She wanted to invite me. So I got dressed and decided I’d surprise her and give her hell for going out alone.”

  “Cripes. Why would she do that?”

  “Something she said yesterday. That she’d walked over burning coals that night in the bay and she didn’t think she’d be tested again. She said she was ready to live, that she didn’t want to waste another minute.”

  “She had to get out and live all by herself?”

  “I guess. She knew she shouldn’t do it because she told me not to blab. But I have to. Because she’s not here. I’m outside Swan’s on Polk. That’s where she was going. I’ve walked the place a dozen times, and no Bree. The manager was about to throw me out so I’m standing in front, waiting to see if she shows up.”

  “Couldn’t she have come and gone already?”

  “I have a picture of us in my purse and I showed it around. I knew that’s what you would do. None of the wait staff has seen her.”

  “Who was she meeting?”

  “She didn’t say.”

  “Her friend might have picked up food and they met somewhere.”