The Last Fairytale (Gen Delacourt Mystery Book 2)

by Molly Greene

  “I thought about that.”

  “And you’ve tried her cell and she doesn’t answer?”

  “Goes right to voice mail.”

  “Well, let’s give it some time before we get everybody too excited.”

  “I assume you mean the boys in blue.”

  “Exactly. I’m not looking forward to what they’ll say about our babysitting skills.”

  “They couldn’t send me to jail, could they? I don’t look good in stripes. Although the dating atmosphere might work out.”

  “Good Lord. No, jail time isn’t in your future.”

  “Okay, I’m going back to her condo to wait. I’ll keep my phone close.”

  Gen’s anxiety meter had clicked over to high by the time they ended the call. Mack, waiting beside the pickup, read her expression as she approached. “What now?”

  “That was Oliver. Bree went missing again.”

  “From her house?”

  “She went to meet a friend at Swan’s for lunch but didn’t say who. She left a message on his cell that he was invited, so he went to the restaurant to meet them. She never showed.”

  “Maybe they went somewhere else.”

  “Or just got food to go and ate in the park.”

  “What would prompt her to take a chance?”

  “That’s just it. Oliver says she’s been feeling like the danger has passed.”

  “Have you tried to call her?”

  Gen nodded. “Just this minute. Straight to voice mail. Oliver said the same.”

  Mack frowned. “Garcia won’t like it.”

  “Well, let’s just hope we can watch him rip her a new one in person this afternoon.”

  “Let’s do.” He waved her into the car and shut the door, then walked around and pulled himself into the driver’s seat.

  * * *

  They found Garcia working the phones. The coffee cup on his desk was partially concealed by open files and a list of phone numbers. Ducane’s research and Yates’s surveillance photos were fanned out; he was obviously trying to tie it all together. He looked up when Gen sat down beside him.

  “Sorry Eric,” Mack said. “But there’s been another development. We’re not sure anything is actually wrong, but Bree went out alone again.”

  Garcia shook his head slowly and raised his eyes to scrutinize the ceiling. “She better not be off on another crusade.”

  “We’ve tried her cell. We’re getting no response.”

  “Same with Vonnegon,” Garcia replied. “His people at Elergene tell me he and his secretary are nowhere to be found today.”

  “Is that unusual?”

  “They say he takes meetings outside the office all the time. Today his calendar shows him on a helo down to San Jose. Some kind of confab with a supplier. He’s not answering his phone.”

  “Okay,” Mack said. “We’ll tell you what Catherine Robeson just shared, then we can discuss options.”

  They decided that Garcia would stay at his desk while Mack and Gen returned to Bree’s, to see if she’d come home or left any sign indicating where she might be.

  “Keep calling,” Garcia said. “Leave a message every time, and tell her to get her butt home, pronto.”

  * * *

  Mack paused in front of Gen’s office long enough to let her scramble from the car, then wedged his pickup back into traffic to look for a place to park.

  Gen went inside to check for messages on the chance Bree had left one, then called her answering service.

  Nothing.

  She locked up and headed for the condo.

  Oliver was wringing his hands in the living room when she came in.

  “No news,” she said. “But no sense going all worry-wart just yet, there could be a thousand explanations. Have you looked around to see if she left her phone here by mistake?”

  “Yes,” Oliver replied. “I even called to see if I could hear it ring.”

  “No luck?”

  “No, but that would only work if it was on. So then I looked in the fridge to see if she’d left it there, because it wouldn’t be the first time. I checked her spare purses, under the bed, on the dresser and side tables. The bathroom counter. You know, the usual places. I found zip. I checked her land line answering machine. Her sister called, that’s it.”

  “Let’s keep searching. I’ll take the living room. How about you take the bedroom?”

  “Right.” He stopped mid-stride as he was making a beeline for the bedroom door. “I forgot, there’s more. I checked and her car is downstairs. That’s bad, huh?”

  Gen was already looking under the sofa cushions, and she straightened from her task. “Didn’t you say she was meeting someone?”

  “That’s what she told me.”

  “Is she a fan of public transportation?”

  “Not in this lifetime.”

  Gen’s expression soured and she dropped like a stone onto the couch. “Unless she changed her plans and her friend picked her up, I’d say the fact that her car is here is definitely not good. Her purse is gone though, right?”

  Oliver nodded yes.

  A knock announced Mack. Gen opened the door and stared at him, but couldn’t bring herself to speak.

  “Tell me,” he said.

  “Bree’s car is downstairs.”

  Mack filled in the blanks. “And she was supposed to meet this person at the restaurant.”

  Gen nodded. She sat down again, then stood and paced to the kitchen door and back. She was turning to repeat the route when Oliver intervened.

  “Well, I have to do something, so I’m going to keep looking for her phone.” Oliver started for the bedroom.

  “Seen her car keys around?” Mack asked.

  “No,” Oliver replied. “I’ll look for those, too.”

  “I’ll check the garage. What’s her space number?”

  “Same as the condo,” Gen said. “I’m going, too.”

  The elevator took a lifetime to begin its trek up the shaft. Impatient, Gen led the way to the stairwell and they raced down eight flights to the garage.

  “Over here.”

  They made their way among the dozen or so vehicles that separated the VW from the entrance to the stairs. As they grew closer, Mack slowed and trained his eyes on the ground. Gen followed his lead and swept the concrete corridor, up one side and down the other.

  She reached Bree’s car first and was going for the handle when Mack warned her off.

  “Don’t touch anything.”

  Of course. They might need to check for prints. She wandered around the vehicle instead, looking in the windows. No purse, no keys. No sign she’d been anywhere near it.

  “Here,” Mack said.

  She returned to the driving corridor and found him directly behind the car, crouched over a black tire mark etched onto the slab.

  “Looks like someone laid down a little scratch.”

  “Does it mean anything?”

  When Mack looked up, she could see the compassion on his face. He shrugged and looked away. “Might mean someone picked her up.”

  “And they were in a hurry to get away.”

  “We can’t know that actually happened.”

  “Does enough of the tread show to match it to the manufacturer?”

  “Let’s hope so.” Mack snapped pictures of the track with his phone and emailed the shots to Garcia.

  Gen called Oliver and told him they were going back to the station. “There’s nothing we can do here.”

  “Just find Bree,” Oliver replied.

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  They’d been waiting on the rooftop helicopter pad for forty-five minutes when the sound of a chopper came into range. A two-seater model approached from the southeast and hovered overhead, then began its slow descent.

  The helipad provided an unimpeded view over San Francisco. By late afternoon, the sun had come roaring out from behind the clouds, lighting up the town like Emerald City. It was magnificent. Hard to imagine anything bad coul
d happen down there. At the same time, it was impossible to avoid the reason they were here, killing time.

  Going forward, Gen would forever associate Taylor Vonnegon with heights, and views, and somehow always being above the rest of them. She stayed in the shadow cast by the shed housing a single set of access stairs. There was only one way down, aside from the aerial route. Three, if you wanted to count a triple gainer off the roof.

  Garcia and Mack hung back with their hands in their pockets and waited for the blades to stop. Vonnegon’s face appeared in the passenger window, his features obscured by his Wayfarers and an oversized headset.

  He nodded at them, pulled the mouthpiece away, and shed the earmuffs. Gen was impressed once again by his total lack of surprise.

  Nerves of steel, indeed.

  The pilot geared the engine down and waited for his passenger to disembark. Once he was clear of the whirring rotors, the helicopter cranked up and rose off the deck.

  Pilot and passenger each raised a hand. With a flash of sunlit metal the bird was gone, floating away like a dragonfly along a trajectory that retraced its approach.

  The sound faded.

  Vonnegon turned to the trio. “To what do I owe the pleasure of your company today?”

  Gen pushed off the wall and shaded her eyes against the glare, wanting to see the look on his face when she told him. “Bree is missing again.”

  A single, fleeting spark of fear marred his features and was gone. Was that concern for himself, or for Bree?

  “I’m sorry to hear that.” A tiny line of sweat crept down his temple. “But as you can see, she’s not with me.”

  Garcia rattled the loose change in his pocket, and the sound reminded Gen of clanking chains. “Any idea where she might be?” he asked.

  Taylor pursed his lips and played his eyes out over the city. “I hope not.” He swiped at the moisture on his forehead and moved toward the door. “We can talk downstairs.”

  They followed him down the steps and into a private elevator. Vonnegon stared at nothing as they descended to the floor housing his suite. No one spoke. The silence was a rope of tension connecting them all like an invisible wire.

  He waved them into his inner office and took a seat. Mack and Garcia followed his lead, facing him and the million-dollar view behind the massive desk.

  That view again. Gen moved to the bank of windows. Bree was out there somewhere.

  Garcia shifted in his chair, almost as if he’d heard Gen’s thoughts and they struck a nerve. “Did you know about your mother’s involvement with Andrew Ducane and Catherine Robeson?”

  Vonnegon toyed with the phone cord. “I am not familiar with the name Catherine Robeson. But Patience Vonnegon is my secretary, and in that capacity she interacts with the Elergene staff on a regular basis.”

  Gen swore she heard concern in Vonnegon’s voice. She just couldn’t tell whether it was surprise at what he’d heard or worry over his own position.

  “Catherine Robeson was Andrew Ducane’s girlfriend,” Mack replied. “She says Ducane hired your mother to teach them to pick certain wild mushrooms.”

  Vonnegon’s smile was tight. “I mentioned that Andrew and I weren’t close. I’m not shocked to learn he had a hobby I wasn’t aware of. ”

  “Does the word Rapunzel mean anything?”

  Gen glanced over her shoulder in time to see Vonnegon’s jaw flex. “A fairytale,” he replied.

  “I’ll ask you again,” Garcia said. “Do you know where Bree is?”

  Vonnegon shook his head.

  “Where is your mother today?”

  Vonnegon turned his palms up, indicating he had no idea, than rested his elbows on the arms of the chair and steepled his fingers.

  “She is your secretary. Don’t you stay in close contact for business purposes?”

  “I seem to have misplaced my phone,” he replied. “It happens. I couldn’t find it this morning, my secretary was away from the office, and the pilot had a busy schedule today and asked me not to be tardy. So I left without it.”

  “Don’t you think it’s a coincidence that both Bree and your mother are missing?” Mack asked.

  Garcia leaned forward. “Does that worry you?”

  Gen felt her impatience rise. How could they be so calm? She wanted to grab his tie and choke him until his composed veneer cracked. Instead, she moved to the wall of photographs and forced herself to look at them, one by one. Like counting sheep.

  Vonnegon flipped through an old-fashioned Rolodex, then reached for the land line handset and dialed a number.

  “Joanna, this is Taylor Vonnegon. Will you please tell Michael I need him in my office? Yes, immediately. Thank you.” He returned the phone to its cradle and pushed back in his chair.

  “My attorney is on his way. I think it’s best that I don’t answer any more questions until he arrives.”

  Garcia stood and walked toward the window, probably to give Vonnegon some space. Either that, or he was afraid he’d slug him if he stayed too close.

  “You’ve worked with the feds for a long time, right?” Mack asked.

  “For decades. The family business has provided this country with, let’s say, solutions to difficult problems, for a long, long time.”

  “You come up with answers that may not always be socially acceptable,” Mack said. “I think that’s what you mean.”

  “I don’t know where you’re going with this.” Vonnegon laced his fingers together, then rested his elbows on the arms of his chair once again. “And I’m not allowed to reveal the nature of my company’s work on behalf of the United States government.”

  “What about Andrew Ducane? Was he bound by that agreement?”

  “On paper he was. In reality, Andrew was not bound by anything but his own ego. He was immature, self-absorbed, and duplicitous.”

  “Is that why you killed him?”

  “I did not kill him.”

  The detective fell silent. When the quiet stretched out, Gen focused on the photographs again. A phone rang in the outer office. Machinery began to whir; she recognized the sound. Who sent faxes anymore?

  She was mulling the rapid change of technology when a picture caught her attention. “Look, here’s Patience Vonnegon in front of the Tiburon house.”

  She and Vonnegon turned to face one another.

  “My father loved the place,” he said. “My mother loves the fact he doesn’t get to enjoy it anymore.”

  Garcia came over to take a look. “I thought you said no one used that house but your brother.”

  “Half-brother,” Vonnegon replied. “Russell is my half-brother.”

  Mack’s chair creaked as he leaned forward. “And that means he gets half of everything, doesn’t it. Half of everything you’ve worked for here. Half of everything you spent years waiting to acquire.”

  “That’s the way my father set it up, Detective. I have nothing to say about Russell Yates, and I didn’t kill Ducane.”

  “No, I don’t think you did. Poison is a woman’s preference.”

  Gen watched Vonnegon draw in a deep breath, then lace his fingers so tightly together his knuckles went white.

  “And he’s dead, isn’t he?” Garcia’s voice was calm and sure. “Yates is dead.”

  Vonnegon rolled his chair around and stared out over the city. “I believe he must be.”

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Bree came to with a rush, and this time there was no temporary amnesia. The minute she opened her eyes, she knew perfectly well she was in deep trouble.

  The last thing she remembered was something striking the back of her head. Hard. She fingered a lump just behind her ear and winced. The lady packed a wallop.

  She was lying on a cold floor, and her head was throbbing like a drum. The air was heavy with the smell of dirt. Not a single pinpoint of light pierced the gloom. The darkness was the color of her mother’s hair, but nowhere near as soothing.

  She rolled to her side and sat up with care, grateful at least tha
t her hands and feet were free. But that could be a bad sign; this time her captors might know there wasn’t a chance in hell of her getting away.

  Bree stretched out her arms and wrapped her fingers around a steel pipe, then tried to pull herself up. Whatever the strut was attached to moved beneath her grasp.

  It was on wheels.

  She shifted to hands and knees, stood, and reached again. Her fingers plunged into damp earth. She pulled them out and ran a hand along the surface, skimming the rounded caps of a hundred mushrooms.

  Another grow room.

  Using the rail of the raised bed as a guide, she felt blindly along the edge, then crossed an aisle and tapped her way past three similar carts until her outstretched fingers struck a concrete wall.

  Not a single light switch marred the surface.

  She continued until she found a corner, then turned with the angle of the building. A fan came on overhead, flooding the room with fresh air. Bree reached up, wondering if she could touch the ceiling, but the action rocked her head with pain.

  She stumbled.

  Another cart stopped her fall.

  She grabbed for the planked edge but overshot and sank into the mulch to her elbows, crushing mushrooms as she flailed. The mat of fibrous roots below the surface was like a woven blanket, nearly strong enough to grasp.

  She pulled her arms through, feeling for the edge of the bed. Her fingers struck something solid. Curious, she drew her hands toward it to explore.

  She screamed and thrashed wildly away, then struck the wall with enough force to knock the breath out of her.

  She crumpled to the floor.

  There was a body in the mushroom bed.

  * * *

  She’d been dozing, and when she opened her eyes there was no way to tell how many hours had passed since she’d first awakened in the dark. But the sound of moving hinges was unmistakable.

  A door opened and the room was flooded with light. The flash was almost painful; Bree covered her face to block it out. Before she could react, handcuffs were slapped on her wrists and she was dragged across the floor.