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“Aunt Rache? You sure you’re okay?”
“Yeah. Fine. Look, I’m sorry, kiddo. You want to curl up here for the rest of the night?”
“Only if you promise not to wake up screaming again.”
I looked at the clock. 4:00 a.m. The pills would have worn off by now. “I’m pretty sure I won’t.”
“If you do, I swear, I’m gonna hit you with this bat.” She stood it up against the headboard and climbed under the covers.
Myrtle snuggled back down between us and started snoring like a chain saw.
“Hope you don’t mind sharing with a bulldog,” I said.
“She’s been in bed with me every night since you left. I kind of missed her, to be honest.”
“Yeah, she has a way of getting under your skin, doesn’t she? Good night, Misty.”
“Good night, Aunt Rache. Sweet dreams. And that’s an order.”
I turned off the bedside lamp. Of course the night-light was on. I always left the night-light on.
Saturday, December 16
Seeing Rachel again after almost a month had had an impact on Mason that he hadn’t expected. He’d thought their one-night stand had been based on the drama they were going through, and the sense of intimacy between them on the secret they shared. No one else in the world knew the truth about his brother. Or that he’d concealed evidence to protect his family—his mother, his pregnant sister-in-law, his nephews. He loved those boys like his own. No one knew what he’d done but Rachel.
He knew she needed time to figure out who the newly sighted Rachel de Luca was. He’d been relieved by that when she’d said it, because he’d convinced himself that their roll between the sheets hadn’t meant anything special. And he wasn’t ready for anything more than that, anyway. He’d just lost his brother, betrayed his oath of service, become the only father figure in his nephews’ lives. There was no room for anything else.
Even the way he kept thinking about her at odd moments, and the idiotic way he’d set his damned DVR to record anything that had her name attached to it, had seemed like no big deal. But seeing her again...that had hit him like a mallet between the eyes.
And now he was starting to wonder if maybe what connected them was more than just the traumatic situation they’d gone through together, the secret that they shared. Hell, he’d seen through her masks so easily on that talk show yesterday that she’d seemed completely transparent. But she wasn’t, she couldn’t be, or the entire reading public would see through her, too, right?
No, it was only him. And he saw more than the mask she wore, the positive-thinking public persona. He saw through the cynic she thought she was to the real Rachel. And it made him want to see her even more.
A door slamming downstairs reminded him that he wasn’t alone. It was the weekend, and his nephews, who usually showed up on Friday nights, had been delayed an extra twelve hours due to his trip into the city to see Rachel. They would not be put off any longer.
“Uncle Mason!” Joshua yelled. “Aren’t you up yet?”
He rolled onto his side and blinked at the clock. 8:30 a.m. Kids had no respect for sleeping in. Flinging back the covers, he sat up, gave his head time to adjust to being vertical, then shouted back, “I’ll be right down.” He needed a shower, but in the meantime he pulled on pajama bottoms, a T-shirt and a pair of nice thick socks, because his old farmhouse had cold floors. Giving his hair a rudimentary flattening with his hands, he headed downstairs.
Jeremy was in the living room, on the sofa, already manning the Xbox controller. His expressionless eyes were glued to the TV screen, and his brown hair was even longer than it had been last weekend. He refused to get it cut.
“Hey, Jer,” Mason said.
“Hey.”
Nothing, not a flicker. It was par for the course with Jeremy lately. Only a little over four months since his father had shot himself in the head in Mason’s apartment. Two and a half months since the teen had busted into a remote cabin where a madman was about to kill both Mason and Rachel. Jeremy had picked Mason’s gun up off the floor and shot the bastard dead. Just like that. He hadn’t even hesitated. The kid was depressed over the loss of his father, traumatized over having killed a man.
Mason scuffed into the kitchen where Marie had a pot of coffee brewing, and was taking mugs from the cupboard. She looked his way as he entered and smiled, but her eyes were dead, too. Like Jeremy’s. Her smile was fake. Forced. Her baby girl had been stillborn a few weeks ago. Her husband had killed himself three months before that. The woman was so destroyed he thought a stiff wind would knock her over. But she was putting on a brave face for her boys’ sakes, doing the best she could. It validated for him yet again that he’d done the right thing by hiding Eric’s suicide note. The family was barely holding on as it was. Imagine how much worse it would be if they knew that their beloved husband and father was a serial killer.
“Sorry we got here so early,” Marie said. “Josh was in the car with his backpack an hour ago. I put him off as long as I could.”
“It’s fine. I should have been up by now.”
“It’s your downtime. You know you could skip a weekend if you wanted.”
“And do what, sleep till noon and stare at the walls all day? Nah. I need these guys around to keep me from going to pot.”
Once again she smiled because she was supposed to. Her eyes remained stark. Dark circles under them told him she wasn’t sleeping. Her pale skin and sunken cheeks told him she probably wasn’t eating right, either.
How did you know when a grieving wife or son moved from ordinary mourning into a dangerous depression? Where was the line? He was going to have to find out.
The coffee was done, so he took the mugs from her and filled them. “Sit down, Marie. I’m cooking you some breakfast.”
“We already ate.”
“They did. You didn’t. Bacon and eggs, whaddya say?”
She shook her head, but accepted the filled mug and sank into a kitchen chair, holding it between her hands as if she was cold. He spotted Joshua running past the window, red parka, knit hat with a fuzzy ball on top like a character from South Park. He’d taken one of the plastic toboggans from out in the barn. Mason had bought them right after the first snow. Josh was heading up the hill out back with it.
“He loves it here with you,” Marie said. She’d slugged back half the coffee, though it was piping hot.
“I love having him.” Her boots were still on, making puddles under her chair. He frowned. “Are you in a hurry, Marie?”
She followed his gaze and shook her head. “No, just absentminded. I’m sorry about the floor.”
“I’m not worried about the floor. I’m worried about you.”
She met his eyes, but quickly shifted hers away. “Some of my girlfriends are taking me out shopping today. They think it’s time I...got over it. I just don’t know how they think that’s possible.”
“It has to be possible,” he said. “Marie, we all miss Eric, and I know you’re devastated about the baby.”
“Lilly. Her name was Lilly.”
He knew that. It was engraved on the headstone with the little angel above the plot right next to her father’s.
A dozen platitudes came in and out of his mind, things he’d read in Rachel’s books. But he didn’t say any of them, because he thought Marie needed to hold on to her grief a little bit longer. And that was okay. “You have a right to your pain, Marie. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.”
“Thank you for that.”
“When you’re ready to start to heal, though, you put your focus on those boys. They’re just as precious as they were before all the losses you’ve suffered. They need you to come back to them.”
She thinned her lips and nodded as if she was hearing him, but he didn’t think she was. “I appreciate you picking up the slack in the meantime.” Then she pushed away from the table and stood up. “I’ve got to go.”
She headed out the door to her car and took off—a little too fast for the road conditions, in his opinion. He’d had a set of studded snow tires put on for her, though, so she should be all right on the road.
But she wasn’t all right emotionally. He knew that.
He carried his coffee mug through the house to the back, passing Jeremy again on the way. He was as morose as his mother. Poor kid. But Mason kept going into the back room, the coldest room in the little farmhouse, which had no real purpose and would, he thought, make a great woodworking shop if he ever followed his intention to learn how to do that sort of thing. Right now it was a catch-all area for anything he didn’t know what to do with. He passed the piles of junk, opened the back door and hollered out to Josh, “I’m making breakfast. You hungry?”
Joshua was at the bottom of the hill, picking himself up out of the snow and preparing to head up again for another ride. He hollered, “Come out and sled with me!”
“I need food and a shower, and then I’ll sled with you.”
“Awwwwl-riiiight.”
“So you gonna eat?”
“How long?”
“Half hour?”
“Okay.”
“That’s about six more trips down the hill, Josh. Count ’em off and come on in, okay?”
Josh nodded and started back up the hill at a pace that made Mason smile. No question. The kid was going to try to get in ten. At least. Mason headed back into the living room, stopped behind the sofa and put both hands on Jeremy’s shoulders to be sure he had his attention. “I need to take a shower. Ten minutes, tops. Keep an eye on your brother, okay?”
“Yeah.” He didn’t look away from the TV screen.
“Jeremy, that means put the controller down, get up, walk to the window and check on him at least three times while I’m gone.”
“He’s eleven.”
“That’s not an answer. Come on, Jer, help me out here.”
“All right, I’ll check on him. Jeeze.”
Mason closed his eyes and prayed for patience. The kid had lost his father, his baby sister and, for all intents and purposes, his mother, he reminded himself. Add to that the typical brooding of a seventeen-year-old male, and you had a recipe for frustration that couldn’t be beat.
Mason headed upstairs for a shower that would compete with his record for brevity. When he came back down, hair wet, pulling on a long-sleeved green thermal shirt with a big black bear on the front, he heard voices. Female voices. He popped his head through the collar and pulled the shirt down over his belly.
Rachel was standing in the living room, eyes glued to the chest he’d just covered up and making him want to pull the shirt right back off again.
* * *
I had known from the second I woke up this morning that I had to tell Mason about the dream, because I knew damned well it wasn’t a dream. I was pretty certain it was, instead, a murder. A real one. Maybe the murder of the woman he’d said was missing. I was shaken and trying not to show it to Misty, but she didn’t miss much. Still, she was happy to go along to meet my friend Detective Brown. She was even a little excited. She knew that Mason and I had worked together to solve a string of serial killings, though she didn’t know about my personal connection, that I had the damn killer’s eyes in my head. And she knew Mason’s nephew had saved my life by shooting the killer.
We pulled into Mason’s driveway, and I saw an unfamiliar green Jeep parked beside his classic Monte Carlo. Since he had mentioned that his nephews would be with him for the weekend, I’d stopped at Mickey D’s for a gigantic breakfast order and brought it along. No use showing up empty-handed, right? When we got out of the car, and headed up onto the porch, Myrtle walking with her side touching my calf, my stomach went all queasy. Seeing Mason again was a big deal and not only because I was pretty sure I knew the fate of his missing person.
Joshua came running from somewhere out back and pounded up the porch steps, and I could have sworn he was going to hug me, but he skidded to his knees and hugged Myrtle instead. His smile was huge and aimed up at me, though. “Hey, Rachel! Where you been? It’s been like ages.”
I went soft inside at the enthusiastic welcome. “I’ve been busy jetting around being a famous author. I would so much rather be hanging out with you. But I brought food so you’d forgive me.” I held up the bags and nodded at Misty, right behind me, who was carrying two more. “This is Misty, my niece.”
“Hi, Josh,” she said.
Josh said hi, getting to his feet but keeping one hand on Myrtle’s head, scratching while she wriggled in delight. “If there’s hash browns, you’re my favorite writer,” he said and, Myrtle at his side now, he opened the door and we all trooped inside.
“There are indeed hash browns,” I promised.
“Yeah, and at least two sandwiches for each of you,” Misty added.
At that moment Mason came down the stairs pulling a green shirt over his head, his chest and abs bare. My stupid stomach clenched up into a hard little knot, and I was still staring at his chest like my bulldog would stare at a steak—well, if she could see it—when his head popped into view. Misty elbowed me in the rib cage, and I dragged my focus from his chest to his face.
“Rachel.” Mason seemed surprised and maybe a little flustered, but his smile was genuine. “What are you doing here?”
“I needed to talk to you about something.” I tore my eyes away from him, glimpsing Jeremy, who was gaming and hadn’t even said hello. “The gorgeous blonde bearing additional food is my niece Misty.”
Just as I had intended, that got Jeremy’s attention. He looked our way, and then he paused the game and got to his feet. “Hey, Rachel.”
“Hello, Jeremy,” I replied. Then I turned to Misty and said, “This is the young man who saved my life.”
Misty smiled. And there had not been a teenage boy born who didn’t turn to mush at that smile. It was bright and white and made her vivid blue eyes, fake tan and white-blond hair even more attractive. “So you’re the one. Thanks for saving my aunt.”
Jeremy shrugged and looked at his sneakers. At least he was on his feet now.
Mason clapped his hands together and said, “Well, let’s eat. Fast food is best served piping hot, right?”
The kitchen table only seated four. Mason and I unloaded the bags and stacked the food in piles on paper plates. McMuffins on one, hash browns on another, French Toast Sticks on a third. The younger crew helped themselves and headed back into the living room, where Josh served as the ice-breaker, getting the conversation going while plying Myrtle with way too many treats. Pretty soon it was noisy in there, which was good, because it gave me an opportunity to say what I’d come here to say.
But Mason spoke up before I had the chance. “Look at Jeremy,” he said in a stage whisper.
I glanced through into the living room, where the kids were all on the couch, wolfing junk food, playing with Myrtle and yacking, the Xbox still paused and possibly forgotten.
“I haven’t heard him say more than two words at a time since October,” Mason marveled.
“My niece has that effect on many of the male species.”
“You should bring her around more often.”
“I will.”
He looked at me, our eyes locked and I stammered, “You know what I mean. If it would help Jeremy.” Damn, Rache, idiot much?
“It would.” He held my eyes a beat too long, and I looked away to pick out a breakfast sandwich.
“I, um, noticed the Jeep. Yours?”
“Yeah. I finally broke down and bought something more suited to winter driving. The Black Beast is going into the barn for a well-deserved winter nap soon.”
I smiled. “I did the same.”
He glanced out the kitchen window at my new Subaru and nodded. “Nice.”
“Thanks. I, um, didn’t get coffee, ’cause I figured—”
“Right, I’ve got a fresh pot right here. Marie made it when she dropped the boys off.” He got up, got mugs, poured, served.
“How is she doing?”
