Girl Blue (A Brown and de Luca Novel Book 7)

by Maggie Shayne

  Ivy was lying in Reggie’s bed, pillows clutched in her arms. The only part of her that moved was her back, with the involuntary sobs that racked her.

  I moved in slowly, right up to the bed, and then, I don’t know why, I was compelled to lie down beside her, and wrap my arms around her, and hold her while she cried. She didn’t even acknowledge my presence for a minute. And then she did, her hands clutching my arm to her chest.

  “It’s not fair. It’s just not fair. It’s not fair.”

  “I know, Ivy. I know.”

  “Reggie would never hurt anyone.”

  “I know he wouldn’t.” Her words were slurred, I realized, and sat up, looking around for a bottle or a glass or anything. “Have you been drinking?” I asked.

  “No, of course not.”

  “Did you take something?”

  She nodded, her chest spasming. “My doctor gave me something for the stress.”

  "Did you maybe take too much?" I asked. I got up onto my feet. “Where’s the bottle?”

  “What?” She rolled onto her back, blinking at me. Her pupils were pinpricks.

  “Where are the pills she gave you? How many did you take?”

  “I don’t know.” She sniffled.

  I got out of the bed and went to her night stand, but there was no pill bottle, only a small brown envelope. It had nothing written on it, and it was empty.

  “I never meant for this to happen,” Ivy said. “I’m not a bad person. I just wanted to save Juan the way Reggie saved me. That’s all.”

  “I know that.”

  “Reggie told me to stay home. I can’t stand not knowing. What happened? Is he still in jail?”

  “No. No, he’s not in jail.”

  She blinked away tears. Their salt had burned paths into her cheeks and reddened her eyes. “Is he okay?”

  “He–”

  “Did something happen? Omygod omygod.” She scrambled her phone off the nightstand, tapped rapidly, then clapped a hand over her mouth as the video of Reggie's collapse played on a tiny screen.

  She lunged out of the bed and into the attached bathroom, leaned over the tub, not the toilet, and was violently sick.

  I went in behind her, held her hair, rubbed the spot between her shoulder blades. “It’s okay, it’s going to be okay. He’s being cared for. I promise. I can get an update from the hospital right now if you want.”

  Ivy got weakly to her feet, scuffed to the sink, turned on the taps and used her cupped hands to rinse her mouth. Then she brushed her teeth, and rinsed it again. “I don’t think I can drive. Can you take me to the hospital?”

  “Of course I can.” And maybe get her checked out, too. Whatever she'd taken, she'd taken too much. But I hoped she had expelled a lot of it.

  She returned to the bedroom, swayed, almost fell. I wrapped her arm in mine to help her back to her bed. She sat down.

  My phone chirped. Mason. I read it silently, then aloud, “Reggie’s stable and resting comfortably. They gave him fluids, and they want to keep him at least overnight. He’s sleeping right now.”

  She nodded and whispered, “Thank goodness.”

  “Maybe give yourself a few minutes. I’ll help you find clothes, if you want.”

  Looking down at herself, she seemed to only just then realize she was still in a pink satin robe. I texted a thank you to Mason, told him I was with Ivy and everything was good and not to worry. And then just as I tapped send, she said, "You wouldn't think it would be so hard. Killing a pedophile.”

  My eyes widened. That was all but a confession. And if she was going to confess, I couldn’t keep it from Mason and fuck things up between us even more. I quickly texted "Facetime. Be silent." Then I switched apps, tapped his image, and casually set my phone on the nightstand.

  “Is that what you’ve been doing, Ivy? Killing pedophiles?”

  She was quiet for a long moment. Then she said, “I know what Reggie’s doing.” And then she lay down, turned onto her side, and drew her knees up. “Everyone knows how much he loves kids. The big Halloween party he throws every year for the local children is his Christmas. It’s his favorite thing to do.”

  “He told the press his love for children is why he killed all those men they found by the Susquehanna,” I said, slow and careful. "He said they'd all been hurting kids, and he wanted to keep them from hurting any more."

  “It’s easy to believe. That’s why he confessed. But it wasn’t him.”

  “I know.” I had balanced the phone against a lamp on the nightstand. I didn't know for sure if it was recording her image, but it was definitely getting her voice. “Who was it, then? Who really did kill them? Was it you?”

  “He saved me from one of those kinds of men, you know. When I was just a little girl. He protected me from then on."

  Just like I’ve been trying to do, I thought. Something about her must bring that out in people.

  “But I’m not weak."

  "I know you're not weak. I know."

  "Yes, you know," she said. "You've known from the beginning, haven't you?"

  I nodded, hoping she'd get specific.

  "But I didn’t kill those other men they found by the river. And torture, that’s…not…I couldn’t. I don’t want to hurt anyone. I just want to save children from pigs like the one who stole my life.”

  “I get that. I mean, I can’t say I understand. I don’t think anyone can understand who hasn’t been through that. I’m a full-grown adult and when some perv grabs my ass in an elevator, I want him to get the electric chair.”

  She wasn’t really hearing me. I was just filling the space in between her lines, so she wouldn’t fall asleep on me. She'd used the word "other." "I didn't kill those other men they found...." I didn't know if it was enough to count as a confession. I didn't want her to have done it. But I wanted Jeremy cleared, and I didn't think Reggie's confession would hold up under close scrutiny.

  “Reggie didn’t torture those men, either," Ivy said at length. "He only confessed because your husband suspected me.”

  “He’s not my–”

  “Reggie could never hurt anyone, though. No matter what.”

  “Then who?” I asked.

  “I don’t know. If I knew I would tell you. I don’t want Reggie to die in prison, Rachel. All he wants is to end his life in peace, here at home in his own bed. And that can’t happen until we find who really did it.”

  She was sounding a little clearer, I thought. But it didn't look as if she was going to confess. I was half frustrated and half relieved. “I should call your sister. Why isn’t she here?”

  “She and Vince went whale watching. I didn’t want to ruin their trip.”

  “They don’t even know what’s going on?” I was sure one of Chief O’Mally’s officers would’ve clued him in that Reggie D’Voe was alive and well and living with his sister-in-law.

  “I think Gloria knew who it was, though," Ivy said. "I think that’s why she died. She must’ve figured it out."

  "Or it was her, and she couldn't stand the guilt," I said.

  "No. No, Gloria...no. But I don’t know who. One of the others, I suppose.”

  “One of the others in your support group?” I asked. “Is that what you mean?”

  “It’s not like we talked about it. I didn’t know anyone else was…thinking along those lines. Much less…acting.” She shivered, and closed her arms more tightly around herself. I pulled a blanket off the foot of the bed and draped it over her.

  She pulled her necklace from underneath her robe and eyed it absently. The pendant with the vengeance goddess.

  Justice, Inner Bitch reminded me.

  “I was doing better. The private sessions with Dr. Guthrie were helping so much.”

  “Dr...Guthrie?"

  "Mmm."

  "She's the support group leader? And you had private sessions?”

  She nodded.

  “Did you talk about Juan and his father?”

  “Of course we did. It was k
illing me that I couldn’t do anything to fix it.”

  She knuckled her eyes and sat up in the bed. I glanced at the phone. I had the screen turned away from us, so she couldn’t see that it was streaming. There was a glass of water on the nightstand, and I got it for her. She drank deeply. I thought she looked a little better.

  “Dr. Guthrie said it was a gift to humanity that Dwayne Clark was dead. That’s when she gave me the necklace. A badge of honor, she said. Everyone gets one, when they make great progress.”

  I went ice cold, and flashed back to Gary, his tormented eyes, his nearly incomprehensible ranting. I can’t do it her way. I’m not strong enough.

  “Ivy, after your private sessions with Dr. Guthrie, what made you decide the only way to help Juan was to–?”

  “There was no other way.”

  “Yeah, I get that, but whose idea was it? Was it her idea, Ivy?”

  “Dr. Guthrie’s? No! Of course not.” She lowered her head, closed her eyes. And then her eyebrows crinkled a little.

  She was remembering.

  I reached out to take her hand and closed my eyes, too.

  I want you to relax, the doctor said.

  The shift in my perception was so sudden and so vivid I almost got whiplash. I was not in Ivy’s room anymore. I was in a smaller room, lying on a white leather fainting couch with a silk throw over its back. Dr. Guthrie was sitting in a chair, kitty corner, above my head, so I couldn’t see much of her without craning my neck.

  Ivy’s neck, that is. Because I was riding along inside her mind, inside her memory.

  “Relax and listen to the clock,” Dr. Guthrie said. She had a deep voice, a little bit raspy with age, but strong and confidence-inspiring. She was speaking very slowly, very calmly. “Hear it, ticking? Isn’t that the most soothing sound you’ve ever heard?”

  “It is,” Ivy said. She said it aloud in real-time, and thought it aloud in the world within.

  “Breathe nice and deep. In.” There was a long pause. “And out.”

  Ivy started breathing to that cadence, as Guthrie repeated it in a voice like gritty molasses, over and over. “Now from this very calm place, this place where your emotions are still and quiet, where panic and fear don’t exist, where there’s only the gentle, steady ticking of the clock, and your slow, perfect breaths. In…and out. From this place, without emotion, you know that Juan needs your help.”

  “Juan needs my help.”

  “No one else can help him.”

  “No one else can help him,” Ivy and I repeated in unison. Her voice was softer and higher than mine. Sort of wispy and afraid. Mine was deeper and fuller.

  “The system won’t help him. The system has failed him. His own mother has failed him. You’re all he has left.”

  “I’m all he has left.”

  “His father’s going to rape him this weekend, unless his father dies.”

  I popped back into the here and now so fast I felt the impact of the landing. Ivy sat up straight in bed at the same moment, and her eyes were very wide and locked onto mine. “It was Dr. Guthrie’s idea!”

  I wondered if every member of that support group who sported a medallion had killed a child molester.

  "Well, now, I didn't expect to see you up and around, much less with company, Ivy." A dignified, slender, platinum-haired woman stepped into the room, pointing a gun at us.

  "Dr. Guthrie," Ivy whispered.

  She pulled the trigger, and I flinched as a lightning bolt of shock shot up my spine

  18

  I spent long seconds trying to locate where the bullet had penetrated my body. Then I realized she’d shot my phone. Its pieces had exploded outward in all directions. She must've seen that I'd been streaming.

  “Now I’m going to have to kill him, too. You realize that, right?”

  “Him, who?" I asked, standing still, afraid to move and make her squeeze that trigger again.

  “Whoever was on the other end of that phone," she said. "Your husband, the cop, I presume?”

  “We’re not married. How do you know he’s a cop?”

  “I’ve been keeping an eye on the both of you since the first body was found. I read about you, your off-the-record crime solving skills, your uncanny insights. Some say you might be psychic.”

  "I am not fucking psychic," I said. But I didn't expect that to keep working much longer, if the word was out.

  "I had a patient who was a fan. Talked about your crackpot books in session all the time. It was easy to convince him to follow you around and report back."

  "Gary," I said. "Seems like you're pretty good at convincing your patients to do your dirty work, aren't you, Doc?"

  "Therapy, meds, and post hypnotic suggestion work on some. Not on everyone."

  I nodded, thinking she was a monster. But I held myself back from saying that out loud. I just needed to stay alive until Mason could get here. I just needed to stretch this out as far as I could to give him time.

  "Listen, before you shoot me, I'd really like to know why." I lowered my hands, which I'd been holding up since she'd burst in. Moving by millimeters, I sat down on the edge of the bed. I was trying to read her, but I was too scared to take my eyes off her. Visual stimulation was too distracting, and way louder than my more subtle senses.

  “You’re stalling, giving him time to get here. It won’t matter.”

  “You think the local cops aren’t already on their way? The Dilmun police chief is Ivy’s brother-in-law. You gonna kill them all?”

  She blinked at me like a robot processing my words.

  “It happened to you, didn’t it?” I asked, and I softened my tone. “Someone hurt you when you were a little girl.”

  “I’m not a victim.”

  “You’re certainly not. But she was. The little girl you used to be. She was.”

  She averted her eyes. I forced myself to close mine, so I could feel her. “You thought helping other women heal from the same kind of abuse might help you figure out how to heal yourself.”

  I tapped into her mind, just briefly. Foul breath in her face, the feeling of being split in two. I couldn’t take it, so I opened my eyes again.

  “There is no healing from what happened to me. To any of us," she whispered.

  “YOU TOLD ME THERE WAS!” Gary Conklin burst into the room behind her, and she swung around, her gun leading the way.

  I jumped to my feet and shot past her holding out my hands. “Don’t shoot him. Don’t shoot him. First do no harm, right? Don’t shoot Gary. Don’t do that. Stay still, Gary. Just stay still.”

  “No! She said the only way to make it stop hurting was to kill my old man, and I did it! I did it, but it’s still there! Everything he did to me is still there. She lies. You lie, Dr. Guthrie, you lie, you lie!” He lunged toward the doc, and like an idiot I got between them and put my hands firmly on his shoulders. “Gary, she’s got a gun.”

  He stopped, seemed to realize that for the first time. He blinked into my eyes, and reminded me of my brother again. He said, “I won’t let her hurt you, Rachel,” he moved me gently aside. "She told me you might be in danger. To follow you and tell her everything you did, everywhere you went, to keep you safe, but she lies. I shouldn't have listened. I won't let her hurt you, though."

  “She doesn't want to hurt me," I said. "She doesn't want to hurt innocent people the way a bad man hurt her when she was just a little girl. But she’s broken. She can’t tell you how to make your pain go away, because she hasn’t figured out how to make her own pain go away.”

  “What are you doing?” Guthrie demanded. “Are you playing amateur analyst with me?”

  She was facing me now. I saw Ivy looking at my shattered phone, probably just then realizing what I’d been up to. Her head was clearing. I wondered if throwing up had saved her life.

  "It's all gone wrong, hasn't it, Melissa?" I used her first name, hoping it would help. "You wanted to make things better and wound up becoming the very thing you hate."

&nbs
p; "I have not become like them!" she shouted.

  "No?"

  Shut up, Rache! You're gonna get us shot!

  Maybe so, IB, but she’s gonna hear the truth before I go out. I was good and pissed.

  "I think you've become exactly like them. You hurt innocent people who don't deserve it. People like Gary. People like Gloria."

  She flinched. I saw it. "Gloria figured it out. She would've talked."

  "So you killed her. To protect yourself. And you tried to kill Ivy tonight, too, didn't you? Because you knew she wasn't going to let Reggie take the fall for this. She'd have told whatever she knew and the police would figure it out from there. Another innocent. Another one of your victims. You're just like the men you killed."

  "Stop saying that!" She stood there, still pointing her gun at Gary and me, her entire body shaking with rage or fear or both.

  I heard cars skidding into the driveway, doors slamming.

  “Go to the window,” she said, waving her gun at me. “Now.”

  I gave Gary an “easy” signal with my hands, and did what she said. She had nothing to lose, and I was still hoping to get out of this alive. I got to the window, and she came right up behind me, smashed the pane with her gun then pressed it to my head. “I have hostages," she shouted. "Stay outside or I’ll kill them all.”

  There were two Dilmun Police SUVs down there. Chief O’Mally must've got the word and returned from whale watching early. He and both his officers were crouched behind open car doors, weapons drawn. Mason must’ve called them. They were closer than he was.

  “We won’t come in,” O’Mally shouted. “Don’t hurt them.”

  She dragged me away from the window and around near the foot of the bed with one arm locked around my neck. Ivy was sitting in the bed with her knees drawn to her chest. Gary was standing near the nightstand on the side away from the window.

  “Killing them didn't help, though, did it, Melissa?” I asked.

  "It wasn’t enough.”

  “You planned it all. How to make the garrote. Where to bury the bodies. So it would look like a single killer and throw the police off the trail.”