by Pandora Pine
He was about to check in with Tennyson to see when he wanted to break for lunch when his phone jingled with an incoming text message. He couldn’t help snorting when he saw who the message was from.
“What’s so funny? It can’t be one of our cases.” Ten set down the evidence report he was reading.
Instead of answering him, Ronan nudged his phone across the desk.
“Who the hell is Fiery Dick and what crime scene does he want us to go walk?”
“Jude Byrne. Get it? Not just his name, but I swear when he’s pissed off his eyes look like they’re on fire. Dick because he’s a P.I. and because he’s a dick.”
“I noticed that about his eyes too,” Ten said, skipping right over any talk of dicks.
“It’s interesting he wants to walk the crime scene but he doesn’t mention anything about what he found out from Tank Hutchins cable company.”
Ten’s eyes narrowed. “Maybe he’s one of those types who doesn’t trust cell phones. Any information he has he’ll give us in person rather than over the phone or in written form that can be traced back to him.”
That was an interesting point, one that Ronan hadn’t considered. “That sounds awfully paranoid to me.”
“Just because you’re paranoid, doesn’t mean they’re not out to get you. That, plus the fact we’re not Jude’s client. Tank is. He could be breaking his own bond of confidentiality by talking to us.”
Two more good points from his husband. Ronan sank back into his chair. “How’d you get to be so smart?”
Ten shot his husband a conspiratorial grin. He looked around to make sure no one else was listening in on their conversation. “Osmosis from all the bone-jarring sex we have.”
Ronan burst out laughing. “Grab your coat. I’ll text Jude back that we’ll meet him in ninety minutes. I’m gonna need to face this guy on a full stomach.”
“Yeah, we all know how bitchy you are when you’re hungry.” Grabbing for his jacket, Ten stood up.
Slipping into his own coat, Ronan realize he had no witty comeback for that. When Ten was right, he was right.
20
Tennyson
Usually, the only view Tennyson got of the Mystic River was from high above, coming into Boston on the Tobin Bridge or on Route 93. From up high, the river was bustling with the port business of the city of Boston.
The view of the Mystic River was different from its banks. Looking out over it from the site where Lorraine McAlpin took her last breath, it was beautiful and bucolic. If you didn’t know where you were, you’d never guess the city of Boston proper was a mere two miles behind you.
Brick row houses were backed up against the high banks of this part of the river. A five-foot-tall stone wall protected the properties against rising waters during snow melt or heavy rains. About twenty-five yards down was a footbridge which led to the park Tennyson was standing in. The park was popular with dog walkers and runners.
It was one of those early morning athletes, training for the Boston Marathon, who discovered the lifeless body of Tammy McAlpin and called 911. Tennyson could see Lorraine’s townhouse from where he was standing. It was to his right about seventy-five yards down river.
“Are you using your mind powers?” Jude Byrne asked suddenly from behind him.
Ten stiffened, trying hard not to yelp out loud. He shot the private investigator an annoyed look. Instead of engaging with him, Ten turned the tables. “You get anything from Tank’s cable company?”
Jude frowned. The muscle in his jaw was ticking again. “Nothing yet. Bastards haven’t returned my call. Might get a better response if the call came from a member of the BPD.”
Ten knew it cost the man a lot to say those words out loud. He nodded briefly. “I’m not trying to use my gift, I’m just trying to get a feel for the scene. Lorraine’s house is down there.” Ten pointed. “So, how’d she get here?”
“According to the autopsy, she weighed one hundred sixty-two pounds. Not a tiny girl, but for someone of Tank or Tim Hutchins size, easily movable,” Ronan chimed in, coming to stand on Tennyson’s right.
“This is an active place. People with dogs would walk them at all hours of the day and night. I have to imagine dragging a woman or carrying her over your shoulders like a sack of potatoes isn’t something you’d want to get caught doing here.” Ten turned around to survey the park. There were benches spread throughout and smaller, young growth trees. There wasn’t a lot of privacy here for a murder.
“You’re thinking she was lured here instead?” Ronan asked.
“Why not? From what I read in the newspaper article it was a hot July night. Perfect for a walk. No one in the neighborhood would have looked twice at a couple out for a stroll.”
“There were no fingerprints or foreign DNA in her condo, Grimm,” Jude said with a sneer.
Ten turned a sunny smile on the private dick. “I realize you might not have many friends, Jude, so I’ll roll play the scenario with Ronan.” Ten rolled his eyes and turned to his husband. He made like he was pressing a pretend doorbell. “Ding, dong.”
Ronan acted like he was opening a pretend door. “Oh, hey, Tennyson. It is so good to see you.” His voice was deliberately mechanical.
“Would you like to go for a walk in the park with me?” Ten imitated his husband’s stiff language.
“Sure! Let me grab my keys.” Ronan turned and gave Jude a see-nothing-to-it look.
“Doing it like that, the killer never came into the house. And before you say it, he never had to touch the doorbell either. He could have used a knuckle or used the fabric of his shirt to cover the pad of his finger so he wouldn’t leave a print or touch DNA.”
“God, you two are assholes.” There were the beginnings of a smile on the P.I.’s face.
“We aim to please.” Holding up a picture of the body, Ten walked over to where it had been found. There was a dense outcropping of trees next to the bank of the river. It was a pretty spot to stand and watch the water pass by.
From out of nowhere, someone grabbed Ronan, slipping a hand over his mouth and shoving something sharp into his lower back. He tried to buck out of the death grip but couldn’t.
“Okay, Jude. I think you made your point,” Ten sighed. “You can let him go now.”
“Just one more minute? I’m kind of digging the quiet.” Jude released Ronan giving him a small shove at the end.
“Jesus, you could give Ironman a run for his money. You eat steel bars for breakfast or something?” Ronan gave his shoulders a shake.
“We know from the autopsy that the victim was stabbed in the right kidney. The blow incapacitated her. Neighbors didn’t recount hearing any screams. For a stabbing this brutal you would think there would have been some sound.”
“Unless the wind was knocked out of her.” Ten turned to Jude with a wicked smile on his face.
“Oh, no! No! This guy is built like a concrete linebacker. I’m still recovering from being shot three times in the chest.” Ronan held up both hands and took a quick step backward.
“Jesus, Ronan, don’t be such a baby. You’re fine. Your endurance wasn’t a problem last night when you were…Never mind.” Ten felt color flaming his face. It was a good time to shut up, as Carson would say.
“When he was what?” Jude asked with the first real smile he’d flashed in the time Tennyson had known the surly man.
“That’s none of your business, Ironman. Just do it but watch my jewels. I’ve got a baby to make,” Ronan grumped, turning around and bracing for impact.
Jude backed up a few paces and winked at Tennyson before he came at Ronan. He hit the detective full-force, driving him to the ground. Ronan hit chest first, but the way Jude drove him down, he landed on his knees, straddling Ronan’s backside with his hands on Ronan’s back. When Ronan was down, Jude continued to demonstrate how Lorraine was stabbed.
“Can’t…breathe…dickhead…” Ronan gasped.
“Ah, the sound of silence,” Jude mused before hopping up
off of Ronan and helping the panting detective to his feet.
“As painful as that looked,” Ten grimaced, shooting Ronan a sympathetic glance, “maybe now we know why no one heard Lorraine cry out for help the night she was killed.”
“Yeah,” Ronan half-growled as he brushed himself off. “Are you feeling anything here, Ten?”
Tennyson’s nerves were jangled for some reason. He tried to close his eyes and get a read on this place, but he wasn’t getting anything at all. It was like there was a strange kind of interference. This feeling reminded him of when he’d be stopped at the set of lights near his bank in Salem and the XM Radio signal would inexplicably go out. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Jude Byrne lurking around and couldn’t help but wonder if he was the culprit.
Instead of trying to focus in on Lorraine McAlpin, he tried to get a read on the private investigator. Nothing. Aside from being able to gather data with his five senses, Ten was getting nothing at all. In all of the years since he’d first gotten his gift he’d never met a human being who’d been able to block that gift as effectively as Jude Byrne was doing. It was eerie.
“Tennyson?” Ronan nearly shouted. He was waving a hand in front of his husband’s eyes.
“Sorry, I was lost in space there for a minute.” He offered his husband a weak smile.
“Yeah, you were.” Ronan looked concerned. “What were you thinking about?”
Ten could see Jude standing a few feet behind them and wasn’t going to talk to Ronan about this in front of the man. “I was thinking how messy stabbing Lorraine like Jude showed us would have left the killer. Yes, it was dark, but he still would have been pretty bloody.”
Ronan narrowed his eyes, but kept his mouth shut.
“If it was dark enough and the killer was wearing black, people who encountered him might not have noticed he was bloody. Or he could have had a backpack with him that he could have shoved the stained shirt in,” Jude suggested.
“He could have changed at his car.” Ronan pointed to the parking lot behind them. “It’s possible he parked here, crossed the bridge, and walked to Lorraine’s house this way. He would have avoided parking on her street.”
“Where does Tank live in relation to where we’re standing?” Ten asked.
Jude turned toward the footbridge and pointed. “Five blocks in that direction. It’s about a ten-minute walk from here. Tim lives on the other side of town. It’s about a fifteen-minute drive at that time of night,” Jude said, seeming to read Tennyson’s mind.
That put Ten even more on edge.
“Are you okay?” Ronan whispered.
Ten gave his head a little shake. He wasn’t feeling okay at all. Jude was really putting him off his game. Not being able to pick up one bit of information from the P.I. was completely unnerving him. Whether there was something physical to it or that was all in his head remained to be seen.
21
Ronan
“Okay, Nostradamus. You want to explain to me what happened back there?” Ronan had barely shut the door to the Mustang before those words were out of his mouth.
“Hi, babe. How was your day?” Ten raised an eyebrow and pulled his seatbelt over his shoulder.
Ronan sighed. Okay, maybe he was being a bit of a pill. “Fine. I’m a rude bastard, but I’m worried about you. Can you blame me? You were standing out there, staring into space like Cindy Brady when the game show camera turned on.”
Tennyson burst out laughing. “Okay, that’s probably an apt description of how I looked. It’s Jude Byrne.”
“Don’t tell me you were standing there fantasizing about that golden-eyed Adonis.” Ronan rolled his blue eyes.
“Seriously, Ronan? You described him twice as Ironman and now as an Adonis and you think I’m the one having fantasies about him?”
Figuring the best defense was a good offense, Ronan turned the key in the ignition. “I’m sorry, babe. Were you able to get a read on him at all today?”
Ten shook his head. “No,” he whined. “I got nothing. What’s worse, he made me feel edgy. Not the way I do when you’re being annoying, but him being close to me put me on edge.”
“Like you were attracted to him? That kind of on edge?” Ronan wasn’t worried that Ten would leave him for the golden-eyed private dick, but he still needed to know what his newlywed husband was feeling.
Ten shook his head. “I really don’t know how to explain it. I’m on edge psychically, like there’s something about him that’s upsetting my sixth sense.”
“Upsetting like disturbing it?” Ronan pulled out of the parking lot and turned the car toward the highway. “Like there’s a disturbance in the force, Luke?”
Ten laughed. “Maybe. I’m thinking it’s time I talked to Carson and Cole about this. Bertha and Erin too if we can round everyone up.”
Ronan reached a hand out to Ten. “We’ll figure it out and even if we don’t, it’s not like we’re going to be stuck with this guy for the rest of our lives, right? We’ll finish the Hutchins case and then we’ll never have to see him again. Piece of cake.”
Ten had a weird feeling in the pit of his stomach it wasn’t going to be that easy to get rid of Adonis Ironman, Jude Byrne.
***
An hour later, Ten and Ronan walked into absolute chaos at Truman and Carson’s house. From the sound of things, a fight was about to break out any second in their kitchen.
“The only way to cook a turkey is to brine it!” Fitzgibbon shouted. “It makes the meat more juicy.”
“Deep frying!” Truman hollered back.
“Whatever happened to stuffing it?” Carson challenged.
“I just want gobbler sammiches the next day,” Cole said.
“I want to spatchcock it, like Bobby Flay!” Greeley chimed in.
“What the hell is that?” Cassie practically screeched.
Ronan slapped a hand over his forehead. “You want to go away on a tropical vacation with this group of knuckleheads?”
“RO!” Laurel called out, as she toddled toward him on unsteady legs.
“Busted. Too late to go back home now.” Ronan scooped up Cole and Cassie’s daughter. “Hello, cutie pie. What’s all the fuss about?”
“Loud!” The two-year-old put her hands over her ears while Ronan carried her into Carson’s busy kitchen.
“Guys, what’s all the ruckus? My niece would like to file a formal complaint!” Ronan giggled and poked Laurel’s tummy.
The baby laughed and wrapped her arms around Ronan’s neck.
“We’re discussing Thanksgiving. Pull up a chair. I’ll grab you a bottle of water.” Truman moved to the fridge.
“Discussing?” Ten grimaced. “I’d hate to hear your definition of fighting. I could hear you from the sidewalk.”
“Well, why don’t you offer an opinion about the bird then.” Cole raised an eyebrow.
“I think they all sound good.”
“That’s such a cop out, Uncle Ten. Trying to be a people person.” Greeley waved a hand at him.
“I don’t think Ten was trying to cop out of anything,” Ronan said. “I think he sees an opportunity to start a family tradition.” Ronan took the bottle Truman was offering him.
“He does?” Greeley looked confused.
“Yeah, I do?” Ten looked equally confused.
Ronan nodded, while he twisted the cap off his bottle of water. “Cap, you brine a bird. Tru, you deep fry one. Greeley will slap and tickle a bird, and Carson will do one the traditional way.”
“Uh, that’s spatchcock, Uncle Ronan.”
“Uh huh. That sounds like a made-up word to me. Just an excuse to say cock in mixed company.”
“Cock!” Laurel announced in her sweet little voice.
“Nice going, butt wipe,” Cole muttered, yanking his daughter out of Ronan’s arms.
“Uncle of the year!” Ronan crowed. “Vote early. Vote often. Anyway, you all make the birds. Me and Ten and Cassie and Cole can make the sides. There will be plenty
of turkey left over for sammiches and soup and casserole, or whatever else you crazy people want to do with it. What do you think?” Ronan looked around the kitchen.
“I like the idea of starting family traditions,” Carson said. “This is the babies’ first Thanksgiving. I was thinking of coming up with an idea that we could go with every year that they would think of as special.”
“Me too,” Truman agreed. “Having our crazy family around sure counts. I want lots of pictures of them with yams splattered all over their little faces.” Truman pressed a kiss to Carson’s face.
“Count us in.” Greeley pointed back and forth between himself and Fitzgibbon.
“Invite Jace,” Ten said.
Kevin blushed, but managed a brief nod.
“Cole, what do you and Cassie think?” Ronan asked.
“I don’t know.” He pressed a kiss to his daughter’s head. “Do you want to have Thanksgiving dinner with your loudmouthed Uncle Ronan, sweetie?”
“Ro!” Laurel shouted, reaching for the man in question.
“Ha!” Ronan plucked the toddler out of his arms. He peppered her face with kisses.
“Fine, we’re in too.” Cole laughed. “What kind of sides are we making?”
“Traditional stuff like mashed potatoes and gravy. Yams for Uncle Truman. Maybe a root veggie mash.” Cassie was all smiles.
“I like cornbread,” Ten chimed in.
“Green bean casserole!” Truman called out. “The real thing though. Not that crap out of a can.”
“Bobby Flay has a kick ass recipe for that, Uncle Truman.” Greeley started tapping on his phone.
“Swear jar, buddy! You can be the one to research the recipe though.” Truman grinned.
“I’ll do research on other recipes too. Thanksgiving sides from around the country. Same with dessert. I want to try pecan pie.”
“That’s my favorite too, honey,” Cassie smiled. “We’re trying pie orders for the first time this year at the bakery. Pecan is one of the pies I’m offering.”
“Do you need any help? I know a teenager with too much time on his hands.” Greeley pointed at himself.
