“Good. I need to go home after I finish up here. Will you call me when I can come and get a look at the victim?”
“Yeah, sure.”
Rosie said, “The Jag in the parking area is registered to Dwayne Clark. Got an address, phone number, and email. We’re getting more info now.”
“You got a phone number, you said?”
Rosie nodded, showing Mason his iPad.
“That’s a cell number.” Mason tapped it into the keypad of his phone, then silenced it and listened.
The guy in the burlap bag started ringing.
“Guess we’ve got a probable ID.” He ended the call. “Let’s get some background on him.”
“Already under way,” Rosie said.
“Okay, good.” He looked at the ground around the makeshift grave. There were plenty of tracks in the dirt, thanks to the team that had dug the body out. “I hope you got a lot of shots of the ground before it was trampled,” he said to the cop with the camera.
“I did.” He brought his camera over and scrolled photos across its digital screen.
Mason looked at the images of the undisturbed grave. The killer had barely dug past the grass’s knotted root carpet. He’d chopped it open, rolled it back, scraped out a little of the dirt underneath, and then tried to cover the unfortunate Dwayne Clark with it again.
Mason said, “Whoever put him here expected him to be found. Anything the body and this scene have to tell us could be significant. Let’s not miss anything.”
Billie’s guys carried the dead man to an ambulance that had driven over the grass to get close. “The forensics team will finish up here,” she said. “I want to stay with the body.”
Mason said. “Listen, Carmichael, just so you know, we sometimes use Rachel as a consultant on cases like this.”
“I know.” Her elf-green eyes popped wider. “Are you bringing her in on this one? Wow, I didn’t think I’d get to work with her so soon.”
Oh, hell. “Listen, if you fangirl all over Rachel, she'll make you her slave. If you want her respect, treat her like an equal.” It was a dumb request. Rachel had no equal, but still.
The change in Billie’s expression was so sudden and deliberate he almost laughed. “I’ll be completely professional, Detective. And I’ll call you when I’ve finished the autopsy.” Then she unlocked her phone and handed it to him.
He entered his number into her contacts, then returned the phone. “Thanks.”
As he walked back to his car, Mason made a mental to-do list. He had to go home, host a family barbecue, and during a free moment break it to Rachel that her link to the darkness was back, big time.
2
Jeremy had arrived home before nine, stuffed the washer with more laundry than it could possibly clean, helped himself to 80% of what was in the fridge, and answered my, “how was your week?” while he ate it.
I stood across the counter from him, trying to interpret his food-muffled words. “Are you too short on time to chew and swallow before talking? Gonna eat the last crumb and then launch yourself out of here at the speed of teen?”
He stopped talking, finished chewing, took a big gulp of milk. “Sorry, Rache.”
“Aunt Rache.”
He grinned. “I am in a hurry, though.”
Josh, sitting opposite his big brother, sighed with all the drama thirteen can muster–which is, I have discovered, a lot. He slid off the stool and headed for the door. Hugo, Myrtle’s sighted, male mini-me, was on his heels. There is nothing in the entire universe cuter than an English bulldog puppy. Hugo had also become Myrtle’s seeing-eye pal.
Myrt remained where she was, sitting on the floor by Jeremy, who had dropped enough crumbs to make it worth her while.
Josh slammed the door hard enough to make me wince.
Should’ve made the place kid proof, Inner bitch opined.
There’s no such thing, I thought in reply.
“What’s with him, Rache?” Jeremy asked.
I sent him my patented glare, which I had learned from my sister, who had learned it from our mother, may she rest in peace.
“Aunt Rache,” he corrected. “Jeeze, what’s everybody so touchy about, anyway?”
“You’re neglecting your brother, not to mention your dogs and your uncle. These are dire offenses, Jeremy Brown. Just because you’re a big college man now doesn’t mean you get to blow off your family.”
“I’ve barely been gone three weeks!”
“Yeah, and you’re already acting like a big fat douchebag. Spend the morning with your brother.”
“You can’t tell me what to do anymore. I’m an adult.”
I shrugged. “An adult wouldn’t act the way you’re acting.”
“And how am I acting?”
“Like a selfish little shithead.”
That pissed him off. I was kind of pissed too, but since I was technically the grownup in the room, I notched myself down a few degrees. “We’re having a barbecue here at noon. My sister and Jim and the twins will be here. You and Misty can take off after, and you’ve got the rest of the long weekend to be together. I’m gonna come crash in your dorm room if you don’t spend some time with the fam. Mason’s moping like Myrtle when her dish is empty. Josh is heartbroken, and don’t even get me started on the dogs.”
Myrtle chose that moment to whap him in the shin with her paw. He’d stopped dropping crumbs and she didn’t like it.
He looked down at the dog, then out the window at Josh. His kid bro was walking slow with his head down. Hugo was trotting beside him with a frisbee in his mouth, but Josh didn’t even notice.
Jeremy said, “I’m sorry. I had a hard week.”
“You wanna talk about it?”
“I’ve got this one professor who’s a Class-A asshat.”
“Language. You want me to come down there and kick him in the balls?”
The trouble in his eyes evaporated. He even smiled a little. “Yes, Aunt Rachel, I want you to come down there and kick him in the balls.”
He slid off the stool, smacked his thighs and said, “Wanna go hunt some froggies, Myrtle? Froggies? Hmm?”
Myrt sprang upright and started wiggling her butt.
“I’d like to hear more about the asshat professor, though,” I said.
“Later. And…I’ll do better. With the family.”
His mea culpa look was so much like Mason’s that my heart melted.
“I know you will. We miss the hell out of you, you know.”
"You, too?"
"Me especially," I admitted. "I love you, kid."
"I love you, too."
"Well, duh."
Mason grilled steaks, looking like the most content man on the planet for the first time in three weeks. My sister Sandra had brought mac salad and coleslaw. I heated up a can of baked beans in the microwave, poured chips into giant bowls and scooped dip into small ones.
Yeah, I don’t cook. It’s not what I was put on the planet to do.
“Let’s eat down by the water,” Sandra said. We had just exited the house, our arms full of plates and silverware. “Pretty soon it’ll be too cold.”
“I concur.” And then I whistled to get the kids’ attention. “Will you guys move the picnic tables down by the water for us?”
Jeremy and my niece Misty, who’d been sitting side by side on the dock holding hands, got up and came running. Josh, too, dogs flanking him. Christie stayed put and returned her attention to her phone. Misty and Christie were twins, blue-eyed blondes like their mother, although you’d never know it today, as Christie wore a crocheted hat, with bright colored concentric circles, and it covered every lock. Jim, world’s greatest brother-in-law, left his position as official grilling commentator to help them lug the old-fashioned wooden picnic table.
“Jeremy got over being mad at you?” Sandra asked.
“He couldn’t deny his own assholery.”
“Is that a real word?”
“It is now. As an author, I get to add new
words to the language.”
“I don’t think that’s true.”
“I’m pretty sure it is. Sprounce is one of mine. You know, what Myrt does when she finds a froggie. Sprounce.” I made claw hands under the plates and bounced a little.
“I love you,” she said.
“Me, too.”
We walked across the dirt drive that wasn’t really a road, because we were the only ones who used it, to the picnic table on the grassy patch of shoreline. The kids had already taken off, but Jere was still within earshot. I said, “I appreciate you hanging out with us today. I won’t be upset if you two want to go do your own thing after we eat.” I was careful not to sound like I was giving permission in front of everyone. I knew how I would react to that–instantly and with great fury–and presumed he’d be the same.
“We’ll probably hang out for a while,” he said. “Maybe take off later, though.”
Sandra and I put the plates on the table, and I glanced over at Christie. Her full attention was on her device. I pulled out my phone and texted her, “Get off your fucking phone.”
She looked up from the screen, grinning at me. “You are so ridiculous, Aunt Rache,” she said, getting up, pocketing it, and walking in that way only super tall, super lean teenage girls can do. Then she pulled off her hat to release a cascade of dead-straight, jet-black hair.
I bit back the sound of horror that jumped into my mouth. Well, mostly bit it back. Half a squeak escaped. Sandra elbowed me in the small of my back, where her kid couldn’t see. When I could speak, I said, “Wow, what an…extreme change.”
The guys were carrying the steaks to the table, and everyone was finding a spot to sit.
“I got sick of people not being able to tell us apart.”
“So you decided to become the evil twin?”
“Rachel!” Sandra scolded.
“She knows I’m teasing. You know I’m teasing, right?” I took a plate and a seat on the bench. Mason slid in beside me.
“I know you’re teasing," Christie said. "Besides, I already was the evil twin. At least now I look the part.”
“I’ve seen evil, kid,” Mason said. “You ain’t it.”
“But it’s nice to have goals,” I added in my best Sandra tones.
That made her smile. Christie wasn’t such a puzzle to me. She kind of was me. Ninety-nine percent attitude and convinced of her rightness on all subjects, regardless of evidence to the contrary.
She wasn’t evil. If she were suddenly orphaned and I left the planet, she could probably go either way, but as things stood, she was going to be okay.
I looked her over thoroughly, nodding slow. “You should darken your brows a little bit.”
“I hate makeup.”
“Not makeup. Dye. I’ll have Amy text you her brand. You now, she’s naturally a redhead, right?”
“No way!”
“Way. Not since she’s been my goth-Friday, but I was at her mother’s place once, and there are pictures. Total ginger.” A platter of food came my way before we could discuss my assistant any further. Amy does a million jobs. Most importantly, she posts as me on social media because I have zero tolerance for idiots. If I were Tweeting every day, my career would go up in smoke, you know, unless I were president.
I stabbed a big juicy steak, dropped it onto my plate, and enjoyed the friendly chaos of conversation going on around me. We talked so much when were together I didn’t know how anyone ate. But we managed to decimate the meal, and get through dessert–apple pie with ice cream. It grew eerily silent once we had that in front of us.
We really were a family. Not officially or anything, but I was starting to wonder if Mason was ever going to ask.
Right. And it’s what year, now?
I know, Inner Bitch, I know…but if I ask, he might say no.
He won’t.
He could.
He won’t.
Myrtle growled, which Myrtle almost never did. Hugo immediately jumped in front of her and started snarfing. (Snarf: Snuffly barking, which is what bulldogs do. Yes, it’s another of my words, and also the only perfect word to describe this sound.) We looked where Hugo was looking, at a tall, young man with terrible posture, walking up our seldom used dirt road toward us.
I got to my feet, still nervous from last night’s murder dream. Mason got up, too, stepped over the picnic bench and headed toward the guy. The stranger lifted a hand. He was looking right at me and smiling. “Rachel? Wow, it’s really you!”
Oh my God, a fan, Inner Bitch said.
Fans put these steaks on the table, IB.
Yeah, but they don’t get to show up at our house.
I kind of agreed with her on that one. The thing about writing airy-fairy self-help books like mine was that you occasionally attracted a batshit fan. Apparently, straight to your front door.
I went to stand beside Mason. Jeremy was on his feet, too, and so was the dark twin, with a distinctive touch-my-aunt-and-you-die glint shining from within her eyeliner. She hates makeup, my ass, Inner Bitch noted.
“It’s really me,” I said, polite, calm, not inviting or friendly. He had brown leaning-toward-gold eyes and thick lashes. His long brown hair hadn’t seen shampoo in a while. He slouched like his backbone was tired. “What can I do for you?”
He was smiling really hard. “I just…there’s so much. There’s so much. I’m Gary. Conklin. I read everything of yours–” As he spoke, he came toward me, and Mason stepped right into his path.
He looked up at Mason. He was a head shorter. Had kind of a baby face. Round, with big eyes set deep that turned downward at the corners. “Whoa, man,” he said, “You don’t need to be worried about me.” He leaned sideways, to see me around Mason. “I just…your books, it’s like you’re talking right to me.”
“It feels like that to lots of readers,” I said. “It means I’m doing something right.”
“I have to talk to you, though. I walked all the way here.”
I looked down at his feet. He was wearing sneakers that were more holes than canvas. “From where?”
“The shelter, um, St. Mary’s.”
“In Binghamton?” It was twenty miles south on 81.
He nodded.
“You want something to eat, Gary?”
“Rachel–” Mason turned fully, hands on my shoulders, leaning close, speaking soft. “This guy looks unstable,” he said, for my ears only.
“Yeah, trust me I know. His head’s a fucking cyclone. But his belly’s empty.”
“He could be dangerous.”
“He reminds me of my brother.”
The brother card got to him, but that’s not why I played it. It was nothing but the truth.
“Gary, see the dock right there?” I asked, pointing at the square wooden dock that extended out from the shore. It was redwood stained with a railing all the way around and fish-pole holders mounted in four places. We had two Adirondack chairs out there, and a new one on the way, a double-wide one, for proper snuggling. “You go wait for me there. I’ll bring you a plate of food and we’ll talk a little, okay?”
“You don’t have to feed me.”
“We’ll talk. Go, sit. Look at that peaceful lake. It’s so calm. It always makes me feel better.”
He looked at the water for a moment and I did, too. It was particularly placid today, its surface a smooth mirror reflecting the bright September sky. Finally, he gave a nod and went to the dock. He stood at the railing, despite the big chairs.
“I don’t think this is a good idea, Rachel,” Jim said. Jim, the quiet guy, who never rocked a single boat.
“I agree, but he’s here and he’s hungry. Besides, he’s scrawny. Look at him, Jim. I could take him even if I was still blind. And you’re right here, and Mason is coming over there with me, and I’ve got two strong kids here who’ll kick his ass if he gets out of line. Not to mention Jeremy and Josh.”
Misty smiled. Christie did not. She had the guy in her laser sites and wasn’t even hearing
me. My goodness, my niece was growing up kinda kick-ass. I liked it.
“Give me a few minutes.” I was filling a plate as I spoke. We always cooked an extra steak to split up between the bulldogs, but they were going to have to muddle through with scraps this time.
“Keep the dogs here,” I told Josh, who was my resident canine whisperer. Mason put an arm around my shoulders. We hadn’t had a chance to talk about the body that had been found this morning, because everyone had already arrived by the time he’d got back. And now certainly wasn’t the time.
I said, “Hang back a little. I want him to feel safe.”
“I want you to be safe.”
“Perfect. Pick a distance that does both.” I kissed his nose. “I love you.” I said, in case the stranger was going to pull out a weapon and off me within the next few minutes. And I think Mason knew it.
The timing wasn’t lost on me. This guy showing up the morning after a murder dream that might’ve been a…I don’t want to say vision. It sounds so hokey. But yeah. That. Coincidence?
No such thing.
Sandra handed me silverware and a napkin, and I carried the food over to the dock. “Sit right here, Gary,” I said, standing beside the chair. He came away from the railing, sat in the chair, and I handed him the food.
“Thank you. I haven’t had anything today.”
“I’ll box you up some leftovers to take with you when you go. Go ahead, dig in. Get your belly full first, I can wait.” And I wanted to wait. I wanted to feel him first, you know, with my NFP. I went to the railing myself, leaned my forearms on it, gazing out at the water while he ate. It was always easier to feel someone with my eyes closed, probably because I’d done it blind for so long, without even realizing I was doing it. It only became a full-blown thing though, after I got my new corneas. Mason thought, in hindsight, his brother must’ve had a touch of…what I had. But in Eric’s case, it had made him crazy.
I closed my eyes and opened my radar. What I got felt like sparks from a live wire. I tried to focus harder, but it was just chaos.
Eventually the sounds of fork hitting plate went silent, and I turned to see that Gary had cleaned it. He leaned forward to set his empty dish on the decking.
Girl Blue (A Brown and de Luca Novel Book 7) Page 2
