“Nice to meet you,” she said, wiping her hands on the dish towel she carried and quickly accepting his handshake. I could smell onions and poultry seasoning wafting from inside. She nodded hello to me, too, as Mason went on.
“I’m was hoping to talk to your husband. Melvin? He did some plumbing work for me, and, uh, I wouldn’t be here on a holiday but it’s an emergency, and the service isn’t picking up. Is he home?”
“Sure. Would you like to come in?”
“Who is it, honey?” called Mel, whose balls were going to be in my fist in about two seconds.
“The Smiths. You did some work for them?”
He came up behind her muttering, “Smith?” as if he’d never heard the name before, then caught sight of me standing at the door and went white. I’d heard that described before. Hadn’t seen it firsthand. Turns out it’s literal. That liar’s face went two shades paler right in front of my eyes.
“Talk to you a minute, Mel?” I asked sweetly.
“Yeah, sure. Um, Joanne, I left the burner on under the celery and onions. Will you...?”
“I’ll get it.” She smiled a goodbye and rushed back into the house, while Mel Brandt, husband of the year, came outside pulling the door closed behind him.
“What’s this about?” he asked, and he was whispering even though his wife was in no danger at all of overhearing us.
“It’s about Amy,” I said. “It’s about how she left my house heading for Erie with you last night, and how she never got there. And how you’re still here. You got your car keys on you, Mel?”
“What do you mean, she never got there?” He opened the front door and reached inside, pulling a set of keys from somewhere nearby and closing it again.
“Just what I said. She never got there. What did you do with her?”
His eyes flared. “What’s that supposed to mean? I didn’t do anything with her.” He looked from me to Mason. “Who are you?”
Mason pulled out his badge and flashed it, and I thought the guy was going to fall over. It wasn’t fake. He was scared. I felt it emanate from him like a shock wave.
“Open your trunk, Mel,”I said.
He didn’t have to, of course. I waited for him to ask to see our search warrant. Instead, he moved past us, down his three porch steps and across the paved drive to his Jaguar. He hit a button on the key ring and it unlocked, hit it again and the trunk opened. “Look to your hearts’ content. I’ve got nothing to hide.”
“Except from your wife.”
Mason nudged me when I said that, then went around to look in the trunk. After that, he poked around the inside the car. Mel and I stood close enough so Mason could still hear every word of our conversation.
“What happened after you picked Amy up from my place last night?” I demanded.
Mel swallowed hard. His Adam’s apple surfaced and submerged like a dolphin. “I took her to pick up her car from the garage. It was having an oil change and inspection. Then I followed her br.llowed ack to her place so she could pack. Just like we’d planned. I...thought it was best to tell her there.” He sighed, lowered his head.
“Tell her what?”
He kept his head down. “That I was married. Jo and I had been...living like strangers for a long time. I—”
“Yeah, right. She doesn’t understand you, I’ll bet.”
He did raise his head then, and looked me in the eye, a hint of anger finally appearing in his own. Took it long enough. “I care about Amy,” he said. “But I’d decided to try to make my marriage work. I had to let her go. I had to tell her it was over.”
My jaw was clenching so hard my teeth hurt. I consciously eased it. I hated that this part of his story rang true. The vibe he was giving off, the body language... I wanted to see lies, but I wasn’t. “How did she take it?” I asked.
“She shoved me out the door, threw a vase at my head, swore at me, called me a thousand names and told me to get out.” He shrugged. “So I did.”
“And that’s the last time you saw her.”
“Yes.”
“You didn’t talk to her on the phone after that?”
“No.”
“When my detective friend pulls her phone records, he’s going to verify that?”
“Yes.” He frowned. “Is he going to do that?”
“You better believe he’s gonna to do that, and if you’re lying to me about anything, if I so much as find out she threw a cup instead of a vase, Melvin, I’m gonna start questioning your wife instead of you. You reading me?”
His lower lip trembled a little. He said, “Please don’t destroy my marriage.”
“You don’t need any help doing that. You want me to keep quiet, then help me find my friend.”
Mason came to stand beside me. “I don’t see any sign of anything in the car. No sign it’s been recently cleaned, either.”
“I’ve been meaning to have it detailed, but—”
“Don’t even think about it, you lying fuck. You clean it now, it’ll just make you look more guilty,” I said.
“Guilty of what?” He frowned at me, shaking his head. “I thought you were some kind of spiritual writer. What the hell kind guru talks like that?”
I lunged forward a little, getting all up into his face, but Mason put a hand on my shoulder and drew me back. Myrtle woofed loudly from the Monte Carlo. Like me, she used senses beyond the normal five. And right now she clearly knew I was fighting mad and she wanted to come and provide backup.
“She’s just upset,” Mason said, trying to inject some calm into the situation. “We’re both very worried about Amy. Just tell us what she said to you before you left.”
“I told you, she called me every name in the book and said if she ever saw me again she’d claw out my eyes. Shoved me outside, threw the vase at my head, then slammed the door in my face and that was it. I left.”
“She didn’t say whether she intended to go to Erie alone?” Mason asked.
He shook his head. “No. She didn’t say.”
“Can you think of anything else? Anywhere she might have gone? Anyone she might have wanted to see or—anted toor—a
“No. Nothing.” He took a deep breath. “I’m concerned about her, too.”
“Sure you are. Pig.”
Mason squeezed my shoulder a little. “We’ll be in touch,” he said. “C’mon, Rachel.”
I jerked free of Mason’s hand and leaned up into Mel’s face. “If I find out you did anything to hurt Amy, there won’t be a place on this planet where you’ll be safe, pal. I promise.”
Then I turned and got back into Mason’s beast of a car, hugged my dog and told her what a good girl she was. I wondered if she’d have chomped the bastard’s leg if she’d been out there with me. I liked to think so.
Mason said a few more words to the lying cheater, and then he got in, too.
“What did you think?” he asked as he backed out the driveway.
“He’s lying.” I bit my lip. “But not about everything. I think they had the fight and went their separate ways pretty much like he said. Maybe he went back later.”
He nodded. “Maybe she got mad and threatened to tell his wife everything. Had a case a year ago where that was the motive.”
I closed my eyes and didn’t ask what kind of a case. I didn’t have to. It was murder. It was in the waver beneath his words. “Let’s head over to Amy’s. See what we can find there.”
I didn’t know what, if anything, I was hoping we’d see. I knew for sure what I didn’t want to see, though. Amy lying dead and cold and alone on Thanksgiving.
Chapter Four
Amy’s place was a brick duplex in Endicott with a driveway so steep that if you forgot your emergency brake you’d find your car in the road. The other half housed three guys who were an aspiring rock band. She’d dated two of them. Not at the same time, of course. They probably qualified as good-looking if you liked the scrawny, pale type. Which Amy did. Usually.
“Right here,” I said,
and Mason pulled in and up. Then he stepped on the e-brake while I fished in my purse and struck gold.
“You have a key?” he asked. Rhetorical, since I was currently holding one in my hand.
“She asked me to feed her cat last time she went to visit her folks. Usually has the guys next door do it, but they were out of town.” He got out, and then I slid over his still-warm seat and got a little naughty thrill from that. Really sad, right? Myrtle was snoring on the seat, so we left her to finish her nap. I saw the Venetian blinds part as one of the band members peeked out at us. I waved. He nodded and let the blinds snap together again.
On the sidewalk leading up to Amy’s door, pieces of blue glass glinted in the morning sun. I nodded at the ground. “Look like a vase to you?”
“Yeah, it does. Did you get the feeling Mel was lying to us about that?”
I hadn’t. I’d wanted to, but I hadn’t. “Guy’s so used to lying he’s probably good enough to fool even me. Hell, the Wraith did. I was in his presence twice and didn’t know it. This guy could’ve jammed my radar the same way.”
“Or else he was telling the truth.”
“Then where’s Amy?” I unlocked the door and we went inside. It was a mess. Not he @signs-of-a-struggle mess, though. Just Amy’s usual, enhanced by what must have been some pretty angry packing. The closet was open, shoes spilling out of it. Every possible surface had wadded-up, makeup-stained tissues all over it. There were clothes strewn on the sofa, more on the bed. Most of them black. A few dark red. A white piece here and there for contrast. I looked in the closet. “I’m pretty sure that’s where the suitcase lives. It’s not there or anywhere else now.”
“It looks like she packed, then,” Mason said as we both headed back into the living room.
I nodded. “Looks like. And her car’s not here.” Then I frowned. “Where’s the cat?”
“He’s hanging out at our place,” said a male voice from just beyond the front door. We’d closed it behind us, but he was standing there holding it open.
I recognized him. One of the guys from next door. “Jerry, right?”
“Yeah, and you’re the writer she works for. Rachel.”
I nodded and turned to Mason. “Mason, this is one of the guys who lives next door. Jerry, this is my friend Mason Brown.”
“The cop?” Jerry’s eyes widened a little. Amy must have shared some of my recent adventures with her neighbor. I wasn’t upset. I trusted her completely. She’d never discuss anything personal or sensitive. If she did, the whole world would know what a fraud I was and she’d be cashing royalty checks for her own tell-all book. She was loyal.
I loved her, dammit.
“What’s going on?” Jerry asked.
“Why don’t we talk about it outside?” Mason said with a quick look at me. I got it. If it did turn out something had happened to Amy, this place was evidence central. We didn’t want a lot of people traipsing in and out.
So we all headed outside and Jerry led us around to his side of the house, right up to the door, and then sort of hesitated and changed direction. I knew why. I could smell the lingering hint of weed wafting from his apartment. He wasn’t about to invite a cop inside. He sat at a little patio set—table and four chairs, with the umbrella and cushions missing, probably put away for the winter. So did we. “So what’s up?” Jerry asked.
“That’s what I’d like to know. Nobody seems to be able to find Amy. When’s the last time you saw her?”
He looked worried and leaned forward, laying his forearm on the metal tabletop. “Last night, when she asked us to watch Stallone for the weekend. You try her mom’s? That’s where she was going.”
“Her mom’s the one who called me.”
Jerry’s brows went up. The front door opened, and dude number two—and a stronger whiff of weed—came out. Mike, a Jerry clone sans the dark hair. His was blond. “S’up?”
“Amy never made it to her mom’s last night,” Jerry said. “They don’t know where she is.”
“Better ask her dick boyfriend.”
Mason and I exchanged a look. “You know him?” Mason asked.
They both shook their heads no. “They had a big fight last night. She was crying when she came to ask us to cat-sit.” That was Mike. Jerry was nodding in agreement.
“Could you hear what they were fighting about?” I asked.
Mike looked at Jerry. Jerry nodded. “Couldn’t hear anything frovitanythinm him. But Amy was screaming loud enough for both of them. He was married. Hadn’t told her. Apparently had an attack of conscience. Man, was she pissed.”
“Anything else?” Mason asked.
Jerry shook his head. “Dude left. A little while later Amy came over. Eyes all red, you know, from crying. Said she was going home for Thanksgiving and asked us to keep an eye on Stallone for her.”
“We ended up bringing him over. He likes it here.”
“Yeah. When we play, he curls right up next to us and just blisses out.”
Secondhand smoke, I thought. Stallone was apparently a stoner.
“You play?” Mason asked.
“They’re a band,” I informed him. “MSG, right?”
“Red Dye Seven,” Jerry corrected.
Hell, I knew it was some kind of food additive.
Mason just nodded, as though that made perfect sense.
“So, Jerry, when Amy left, did you see her? Was she driving her own car and was she alone?”
“Yeah. Was about....what, eight?” he asked Mike.
“Eight-fifteen. She was alone. And yeah, her own car.” He lowered his head, shook it. “I sure as hell hope she’s all right.”
“Me, too.” I got up from the table. Mason followed. “Thanks for your help, Jerry. Mike.”
“Will you keep us posted?” Jerry got up and started patting himself down. “I’ll give you my digits. Text me, okay?”
I handed him my phone and he quickly tapped in his contact info, then handed it back. “If we can do anything...”
“Take good care of Stallone. That’s the best I can think of for now. Have a nice Thanksgiving, okay?”
“Okay, Ms. De Luca. Will do.”
We got back to the car, where Myrtle was snoring and taking up the entire front seat. Mason sent me a look. “She has to go in the back.”
I sighed, but nodded. “Go ahead, if you think you can lift her.”
He made a face, like, Duh, of course I can lift her. Then he slid his arms under her, and when he straightened, he grunted and possibly gave himself a hernia. I opened the back door and he put her down carefully. “Jeez, woman, what are you feeding her, anyway? Boulders?”
“Large chickens and small cattle,” I said. Then I went around and got in.
We sat there a minute after Mason started up the engine. “I think it’s time we filed a missing person’s report,” he said.
“Can we? We don’t we have to wait twenty-four hours or—”
“No. And we’ve done reasonable diligence. We need to get an APB out on her car. You know the make, model and plate number?”
“It’s a light blue Ford Focus. Twenty-twelve. I don’t know the plate number.”
“We can get it using her name and address,” he said.
“Then is that all we need to file the report?”
“Basically. Description. Date of birth.”
“Okay,” I said. “Will you take me home and then file the repandfile thort without me?”
He blinked slowly, then turned to look at me. “What are you gonna be doing?”
“Driving to Erie. Tracing her route. Catching up to her, I hope.”
He nodded. Then he shrugged. “We’ll call in and get the report started on the way.”
Swinging my head toward him in an exaggerated way, I said, “You’re coming with me?”
“I told the family I’d be gone all day.”
“When did you do that?”
“After I got your text.”
“All I said in that text was that I
needed you.”
He put the car into reverse, released the e-brake and cranked his head around to look behind him as he backed down the driveway. That way he didn’t have to look at me when he said, “That’s all you had to say, Rache.”
Chapter Five
Really? That was all I had to say? Just a simple Need U in a text message from me had him ditching his recently bereaved family on a holiday and rushing to my side?
I hadn’t thought about the rushing part before. But in hindsight, yeah, he must’ve rushed. He lived in Binghamton. I was in Whitney Point. He must’ve left the house almost immediately, barely taking the time to print up Mel the lying plumber’s vital stats first.
What was I supposed to make of that?
“Seventeen is the logical route,” he said, interrupting my thoughts.
I nodded, happy to let his topic distract me from my own. The stuff between us was complicated. Electric. Exciting. Magnetic. But freakin’ complicated. “Yup. It’s pretty much a straight shot until you’re almost there.”
“We’ll be out of my jurisdiction. I won’t be able to do anything official.”
“Par for the course, though, right?” He bent one eyebrow at me. “You’re never doing anything official when we’re together. Usually it’s super-duper unofficial. Like stuff-that-could-derail-your-career unofficial.”
“I doubt you’re going to turn out to be a suspect in this case, Rache. I shouldn’t have to hide any weapons or conceal any evidence to cover your cute ass this time.”
He just said I had a cute ass.
Focus on the topic, Rachel.
But he was going all dark now. Going back to that place that I knew was eating at his soul. He didn’t have to tell me. My sixth sense or whatever it was seemed to work overtime where he was concerned. “Besides, you weren’t with me when I decided to hide my brother’s suicide confession. That wasn’t you. It was all me.”
“It was the right thing to do. It’s over.”
He nodded as if to say he agreed. But he didn’t. The guy was so honest that his one lie was torturing him. Of course, it had been a pretty big lie. A whopper.
Dream of Danger (A Brown and De Luca Novella) Page 3
