The Borrowed and Blue Murders (The Zoe Hayes Mysteries)

by Merry Jones

  “Or what if I do the step wrong?” She’d been listing the possible things that could go wrong. Mistakes she might make.

  “You’ll be fine, Molly. No matter what, you’ll be the best flower girl ever.” I went back and smoothed her curls, but her eyes were already closed, and she seemed to have fallen asleep. I paused, watching her even breathing before I tiptoed away.

  “Mom?”

  I stopped at the door, listening.

  “You were brave tonight, too.”

  EIGHTY-FOUR

  Apparently, Nick had been waiting for me in the bedroom; the lamp was on and he was sitting up, but he was sound asleep, snoring. God knew how much he’d imbibed at the bachelor party, but it must have been significant. Normally, Nick would be unable to rest until he’d found out every detail of what had happened in a killing, let alone a killing involving his family, let alone a killing committed by his future bride. I sat beside him, listening to the soft rumble of his snores, considered waking him up, decided not to. I couldn’t. His face was too relaxed, the purple, jagged scar almost invisible in the shadows. Instead, I watched him, comforted by his steady, noisy breathing. In less than twenty-four hours, this man would be my husband. Husband? I repeated it to myself, trying to understand its definition. But my mind was dull, my emotions numb, my head sore, my body drained. The word seemed to be just a couple of syllables with meaning I couldn’t fathom.

  I showered. I stood under hot clean water, soaping myself, scrubbing away clotted crusted blood, cleaning away the recoil, the smell, the ear-shattering blast of the gun. Rinsing away the sight of an eye socket spouting red, the agonized shimmy of a woman scalded. I washed, lathered, shampooed, rinsed and repeated the cycle until the water got cold. Then, beyond exhausted, I wrapped myself in my soft terry cloth robe and returned to the bedroom.

  Nick still slept. Damn it. Why was he sleeping? How could he sleep after everything that had happened? And then I realized that I didn’t actually know everything that had happened. The bachelor party might have been more exhausting than I wanted to know. Naked women danced into my head, slithering over, under, around and onto Nick as Sam and a battalion of men cheered and hooted. Okay, now I was pissed. I was out rescuing our children, fighting for my life and for theirs, while Nick, homicide detective extraordinaire, fiancé and father, buried his face in bare bosoms and his thighs in, well, I didn’t want to think of what. I was furious.

  “Nick—wake up.” I shook him.

  His eyelids popped open, then dropped again.

  “Nick.” I shook him harder.

  Again, the eyelids lifted. “What?” His eyes drifted, found me. Half his mouth lifted into a half smile, delighted to see me. “Zoe?” He reached for me, arranging himself on his pillows. “Zoe. C’mere.”

  He pulled me to him, but I resisted. He opened an eye, confused for a moment. “What?”

  “I need to talk to you.”

  He nodded. “Wuzzup. M’lissnin.” He closed his eyes, already snoring. I’d never seen him this way.

  I shook him again. “Nick.”

  “Pudem enyupokit.” I think that’s what he said.

  “Put them in my pocket?”

  “Notchoo. Tony.”

  It was no use. Nick was unreachable. I lay down, put my head on his chest, letting my tears dribble onto his skin. “Nick, I really need to talk to you.”

  “Sleep.” His voice was content, like a sigh. “Sokay, beyokay.” He kissed my head, his words blurred; Nick was only half-awake, and that half was in the bag.

  EIGHTY-FIVE

  EXHAUSTED, I DOZED OFF and on, but I couldn’t really sleep, unable to recover from the aching fear I’d felt for the children. I got up to check on Molly and Luke, wandering from one room to the other, and when Eli showed up a little before five I was wide awake in the rocker in Luke’s room. This time, I wasn’t surprised to see Eli. I didn’t think anything could surprise me anymore. Instead, when I looked up to see him standing in the doorway, I simply got up and gave him a hug.

  “Coffee?”

  He nodded. “That would be great.”

  Together, silently, we went downstairs. While the coffee brewed, I explained the yellow tape and the events of the night. I told him about the rehearsal dinner and how I’d spotted Bonnie Osterman in his photograph, how his picture had saved the children’s lives.

  “If I hadn’t seen her face there, I wouldn’t have hurried home and, instead of playing dead, she’d have gone after Ivy and taken the kids.”

  Eli listened without interrupting. I told him all about Anna’s murder, Ivy clunking me on the head. I talked about the kidnapping, burning, knife wielding and shooting, and when I got to the part about Nick being sound asleep, Eli set his mug of coffee down and reached out, gathering me in muscled arms. He didn’t say anything. He just held me. And he kept on holding me until I stopped shaking.

  EIGHTY-SIX

  IT WAS AWKWARD WHEN he released me. I’d felt his heart beating, had learned his scent. Standing beside him, I felt chilled and bare, and I averted my eyes. He watched me, though, as if waiting for me to signal what would come next. Stop it, I told myself. This man is Nick’s brother. The attraction you feel is for Nick, and Eli looks exactly like him except younger. Which means that you are, by the way, more than a decade older. Still, Eli’s eyes pulled at me, and I didn’t dare look at him, his square jaw, his wide—very wide—shoulders. Good Lord. What was happening to me? My wedding was today. To Eli’s brother. And I’d just been through a night of hell. How could I feel steamy attraction after a night of death and fear? Especially for Nick’s baby brother?

  It was nothing, I told myself. I was in shock, that was all, and Eli was comforting me. And I needed to change the subject before mentally pursuing the subject of Eli’s rippling shoulders or tight torso any further. He didn’t speak, just watched me. Waiting.

  “How come they call you a spy?” I clutched my coffee mug, wandered to the steps and sat.

  He followed me, chuckling. “They still do?”

  I nodded. “Or secret agent. Even an assassin. They say nobody knows what you really do.”

  Eli shook his head; his smile seemed forlorn. “Those guys.”

  I sipped coffee, watching his eyes. I couldn’t read them.

  “It’s just a game. They know what I do. I’m a photographer.”

  “They say that’s just your cover story—”

  “Because they never could accept that I’m who I am. I’m shy. I’ve always been shy. They take that as secrecy; they assume I’m hiding something. But I’m just—I don’t know. I’m what you see. I live on the sidelines, observing. I guess that’s why I take pictures. The camera gives me an excuse to keep apart.”

  To keep apart? On the sidelines? I didn’t buy it. The man was too compelling, too imposing. Too gorgeous. There was no way people wouldn’t notice him standing on the sidelines and pull him in. “Even as a kid?”

  He shrugged, twinkling. “I don’t know.”

  “They tell stories about you. Stuff you did. You didn’t sound all that shy.”

  He didn’t answer. We sat quietly, comfortably. In a little while, the sun would be up. Luke would want to nurse. But for now, we sprawled on the steps, Eli and I, holding coffee mugs, our backs leaning against the walls, facing each other, oddly intimate, silent.

  “My unit was ambushed.” His voice was hushed, almost a whisper.

  I waited, not sure how to respond.

  “Did you know I was a Ranger? In Afghanistan?”

  “Yes.”

  “Most of the guys were killed. Nick, Sam, Tony, our parents, everybody thought I was dead, too, because they couldn’t find me. But I wasn’t there. I’d been sent ahead, secretly, to do recon and take pictures. While I was away, my buddies—everyone got blown up.”

  I watched him. “Eli. I’m so sorry.”

  “Like I said, for a while everybody here thought I was dead, too. I had a girlfriend then. When I came home on leave a few months before t
he ambush, she got pregnant.” He shook his head. “Nobody knew. She didn’t even tell me for a while. But when she thought I was dead, she had an abortion.” He waited for me to respond.

  “I’m sorry.” I didn’t know what else to say.

  “Imagine. A baby like Luke. And she just got rid of him like—”

  “Eli. She thought you were dead. She must have been devastated. I’m sure she didn’t know—”

  “She killed my kid.” His eyes were steely, his jaw set. A warrior. “Whatever.” And, in a breath, his face relaxed again. “It’s history. Thing is, she died, too.”

  What? “What happened?”

  He shrugged. “Car crash. Not long after I got back.”

  Oh my God. “Eli. How awful for you.”

  “Whatever.” Another tough-guy shrug. “What goes around comes around.”

  Wait. Did he mean that his girlfriend had deserved to die? I touched his arm, rejecting that idea, telling myself that he’d had nothing to do with the “accident.” What was the matter with me? Not every death was a murder. “You’ve been through a lot. I’m sorry.”

  “Nick’s the only one who knows about the baby. I never told anyone else. Just him and, now, you.”

  “I’m glad you did.” I met his eyes, saw something burning there. An expectation? A threat? I looked away.

  “Well, you’re going to be my sister now. Family. So, we can turn to each other.”

  “I’ve never had a brother before. I was an only child.”

  He grinned. “Really? And suddenly you have three brothers, none of us easy.”

  Upstairs, Luke whimpered. Waking up, hungry again.

  “You guys aren’t so bad.”

  Eli’s eyes laughed, beaming a message impossible to read. “Oh, you have no idea.”

  I excused myself to get Luke. A minute later, I came back with the baby, but no surprise, once again Eli had gone, faded into the early-morning light.

  EIGHTY-SEVEN

  WITH ANNA OUR WEDDING planner lying in the morgue, the big day did not go as planned. Most of the house was a crime scene, I had a cut in the back of my head, Nick was hungover, Molly seemed to have developed a cold, and Susan arrived at first light, fluttering, hovering and offering endless commentary and items borrowed and blue. Susan was nervous, worrying her hands and pacing, but she poured me yet more decaf and got me moving. Without her, I’d have forgotten my hair appointment, never would have remembered about my scheduled makeup, pedicure or manicure. Like a drill sergeant, Susan led me through the day, imitating Anna in her officiousness, herding our straggling wedding party toward the evening.

  In fact, by 9:00 a.m., Susan had gathered a staff of my friends to help her. She delegated the catering, flowers and hotel setup to Karen and Davinder. She assigned Tim the tasks of getting my father dressed and delivered to the ceremony. She ordered Nick, once he’d slept off the effects of his party, to focus not on the murders but on his bride and to take care of Molly and Luke because their mother wouldn’t be available all day. And she hustled me into the shower, reminding me that I should bathe early because, later, I wouldn’t want to ruin my hair. Wow. How could she think ahead like that? How could she focus on my hair? I obeyed. But in the shower, the water didn’t drown out Ivy’s agonized moans; it didn’t wash away Bonnie’s lethal sweet smile. The water poured over my head, but nothing could cleanse the guilt I felt about Anna. Everything we did, every preparation or errand, reminded me that she was gone and that her death was my fault. If I hadn’t asked her to babysit, she’d still be alive, pestering florists and bothering chefs. I kept imagining the fatal encounter. Had Anna been afraid, anticipating the knife? Or had she been fooled, seeing Bonnie as a kind and grandmotherly soul? Again, I saw Anna seated in the wingback, her empty gaze staring at air. I closed my eyes, letting the hot water run. I could take shower after shower all day; nothing could make my trembling or my sorrow go away.

  “Get a move on, Zoe,” Susan called through the bathroom door. “You’re going to be late. My appointments are the same times as yours, and you’ll make me late, too.”

  There was no room in Susan’s voice for debate. I had to get out of the shower. Somehow I dried off and pulled on a sweat suit. Susan stood at the bathroom door, waiting while I peeked into Molly’s room; she was still asleep. Susan went with me to peek in on Luke. In his crib, he held his toes, gazing happily at his musical mobile. I started for my bedroom to find Nick; we still hadn’t had a chance to talk about what had happened the night before. I wanted to connect with him. I was shaken. In fact, I was shaking.

  “What are you doing?” Susan stopped me at the bedroom door.

  “Why do you need to know?” She was in my way.

  “Are you going to see Nick? Because you can’t, not today.” She blocked my way.

  What? “Susan, move.”

  She wouldn’t. “Trust me. It’s your wedding day. A bride and groom cannot see each other on their wedding day.”

  “Who says?”

  “It’s common knowledge. It’s a rule just like the borrowed and blue rule. Don’t go in there. You can’t see him.”

  “Susan—it’s too late. We slept in the same bed.”

  “That doesn’t count as today. That counts as yesterday.”

  I started for the door. “I have to talk to him.”

  “Whatever you have to say can wait.”

  “It’s about last night—”

  “Listen to me, Zoe.” Susan’s voice was firm, her hands on my arms. “I understand that you’re freaked out about Anna. So am I. And I know about last night. I know you shot that patient of yours—”

  “I killed her.”

  Susan nodded. “Fine, so you killed her. But there will be plenty of time to deal with that. Tomorrow and the next day and the day after that. But not today. Today, you are getting married. And even though it sounds superficial and selfish, today you are not going to even try to deal with anything else. This is your day and Nick’s. It’s going to be a day you’ll remember forever. And you don’t want to spoil it by breaking the rules.”

  Was she crazy? “Susan. I killed a woman last night. I also hurt Ivy pretty bad. I need to find out if I have to see the police today. I need to talk to Nick—”

  “I’ll talk to him. I’ll tell you what he says. But you are not going to lay eyes on that man. Not until the wedding. It’s bad luck.”

  “That’s ridiculous. It’s a superstition—”

  “And you’re going to risk it? The way your life’s been going?”

  There was no point arguing; Susan was adamant. And the truth was, she was right. The way my life had been going, I didn’t want to risk a thing.

  EIGHTY-EIGHT

  THE PUPPY SCHOOL TRAINER came for Oliver at four to board him for the weekend. He went with her joyfully, as if she were his true owner. While I waited for her, I called the hospital again to check on Bryce, and I almost keeled over when he answered the phone himself. At the sound of his voice, I was instantly in tears, in danger of ruining my makeup. He couldn’t talk much, but he let me know he’d awakened the day before and he had no memory of the accident. Unaware of what had happened, he still wanted to warn me about Bonnie Osterman. I explained that there was no danger, that she’d been found, but for now I spared him the details that she had been the driver who’d run him down and that I had shot her. Promising to visit him in a day or two, I got off the phone relieved; Bryce was going to recover. Maybe it was a sign that life would be normal again.

  The limo came to pick up the bridal party at four thirty. It was silver and took up half the block. The driver rang the doorbell and waited in the foyer, and for some reason, I didn’t want him in my house. Get over it, I told myself. He was not going to kidnap the children; he was merely there to drive us to the hotel. Still, his presence made me uneasy. Why? Maybe it was that his uniform was too big for him. Or that his hair, beneath his driver’s hat, was kind of long and scruffy. But bad fashion wasn’t illegal. The fact was I’d kill
ed a former patient the night before and I hadn’t stopped spinning since Agent Harris had died. The problem wasn’t the driver; it was me.

  Susan gathered up all the garment bags containing the dresses. And Molly skipped down the steps, her blond hair bouncing in perfectly formed ringlets. The limo driver stared into the house, as if trying to see past the yellow tape. It’s normal, I told myself. He’s curious, doesn’t usually pick people up at crime scenes. I showed him what I needed him to help us with: my overnight bag, the bag of our shoes, the diaper bag, Molly’s book bag stuffed with whatever miscellany she’d packed in it. Finally, I went to get Luke. When I came downstairs, I stopped halfway; the limo driver wasn’t at the door. He had stepped farther into the house, had moved into the hall and stood at the yellow tape, trying to see what lay beyond. He turned when he felt me watching him, and I noticed, beneath his professional uniform, he was wearing blue and white sneakers. Odd, I thought. Maybe his feet hurt in other shoes. Maybe he had bunions.

  He smiled, revealing shiny white teeth. “Need help, ma’am?”

  I shook my head no. No, I didn’t need help. I rushed down the last few steps and out of the house, leaving behind the yellow tape and the scene of two murders in one week. The limo driver helped Luke and me into the car where Molly and Susan were waiting.

  “Look, Mom—there’s a TV And snacks. And a refrigerator.” Molly already had helped herself to a bottle of cranberry juice and a bag of popcorn.

  As Luke and I got comfortable, she fiddled with the remote, trying to pick a program.

  “Ready, Zoe?” Suddenly, there was a pop; I jumped, ready to bolt before realizing that Susan had opened a bottle of champagne. Foam spilled over the top onto the leather seat as she reached for two glasses. “Oops. A little bubbly for the bride?” She poured.

  I rearranged Luke on my lap. “Susan, I’m nursing.” What was going on? She knew I couldn’t drink alcohol.