Deadly Obsession (A Brown and de Luca Novel Book 4) (19 page)

She hung up, and I turned to see Jeremy slogging tiredly down the stairs. He hadn’t showered or dressed yet, and his hair was sticking up every which way.

God, I was glad to have him back. Myrtle was in her dog bed in front of the fireplace already, having deduced that breakfast had ended. But her head came up when she heard his footsteps, ears perked. The puppy danced little circles at the foot of the stairs until Misty came out and picked him up. “There’s coffee,” she said. “And your uncle brought us breakfast. Come on.”

He let her take his hand and tug him toward the kitchen, but his eyes were on mine.

“Morning, Jere.”

“Morning.”

“Mason wanted to talk to you before he left, but he also wanted to let you sleep in. He’ll be back soon, though.”

He nodded, but he was still searching my eyes. I don’t know what he was looking for. Then he let himself be pulled into the kitchen by his adoring girlfriend. Myrtle got up, heaving a huge sigh that said,
You know, you people could make my life a lot easier if you’d just all eat at the same time.
And then she lumbered slowly into the kitchen to resume her handout-gathering position.

* * *

Gretchen saw them arrive. Mason, in his black car, the one she knew very well, and his partner, Rosie, who she’d only seen from a distance while watching Mason, in a bright yellow Hummer. They parked right in front of her building, got out and spoke to each other before coming to the door.

They must know. They had to know. It had been a mistake to give Mason her real address. Her other lovers had never known anything real about her. Not her real name. Not her real job. Not her real address. But he knew it all. He knew because she’d wanted to work for him, so she’d had to give real details, even if she had left a few things out.

Mistake, mistake, mistake.

She took her emergency bag off the hook near the door. It was a backpack-style bag with the Riverside logo on it. She kept it packed and ready for quick getaways because there was always a chance she would need it. Then she moved quickly through her apartment, sweeping a few extra things into the bag. Her address book. Her laptop. The calendar off the wall, where she’d marked dates and times. Then she took her jacket and her purse. Just before she left, she set the delayed start button on the microwave and put the gift she had just mixed up inside.

Mason must know it was her. He was coming to arrest her for setting his house on fire. That bitch Marie had ruined everything. She was supposed to escape, yes, but only take the fall for the fire and the deaths of her own two kids, and later, Rachel. She was
not
supposed to snatch the brats before the fire was even set.

Hell.

Mason and his big partner were pressing the buzzer down below. Gretchen hit the button that unlocked the building to let them in, and then she left her apartment, leaving the door open and heading down the hall to the stairwell no one ever used. It wasn’t obvious from the ground level. Besides, they would take the elevator. Everyone took the elevator.

She jogged down the stairs three floors, and then she was on the ground level, near the rear entrance, which opened onto the parking lot. She had her keys in her hand, ready. Unlocked the car. Threw her bag inside. Then, getting into her little car, she checked her watch and turned to stare at her own apartment window.

The explosion went off just as she’d intended. A window shattered outward, raining glass and debris down on the parking lot as she calmly drove away.

* * *

When Mason pushed the buzzer with Gretchen’s apartment number on it, there was no answer. He gave her a minute.

“So the kids are still okay?” Rosie asked while they waited.

“Yeah. They were more worried about that Xbox than anything else. You did all right with that, partner.”

“Gwen’s idea. She loves the bunch of you. So the boys... Marie didn’t hurt ’em?”

“She didn’t hurt ’em. I was afraid she might, but she didn’t. I’m starting to have a hard time believing she would, but—”

“I don’t. Not after seeing her handiwork. Marie’s a dangerous kind of crazy, Mace. You gotta know that.”

“I do know it. But she loves those boys. In her way.” He hit the buzzer again. “I’m not sold on Gretchen’s innocence, but at the same time, Marie’s still on the loose, so if she’s targeted Gretchen, then we need to warn her. And we need to know how she knows Marie, what her connection is to all this, too.”

“You think there’s more going on here, don’t you?”

“Yeah, I do. Gretchen worked at Riverside. No reason for her not to tell me that. And Rachel’s been uneasy about her from the get-go. I thought it was just jealousy at first, but—”

“Rachel?” Rosie interrupted. “I can see her angry, but not jealous, pal. If she thought you liked some busty nurse better than you liked her, she’d probably kick you in the balls and send you packing.”

“Yeah.” Mason smiled when he said it, then hit the buzzer again.

This time the lock disengaged with a noisy clack, and he pushed the door open and went inside. The elevators were front and center, so they got in, and he punched the number three button, then waited. The car moved like it was being cranked by hand.

“What do you think about her, Mace? The nurse?”

“I think I was an idiot not to run a background check myself.” The doors finally opened. He looked left and right, then headed in the direction the letters told him to go, toward 3-F. As he approached the door, he saw that it was standing open.

“That’s odd.” Rosie knocked on the open door.

“Gretchen?” Mason called. “Gretchen, it’s Mason Brown. Are you in there?”

“Shit, I hope Marie didn’t get here first,” Rosie said. He pulled out his gun.

Mason did the same, then shoved the door open wider with one arm, holding his gun in the other hand, and turning to step inside.

There was a sound. The hum of something running.

Rosie grabbed Mason’s shoulder and jerked him backward into the hall just as the place exploded. The shock wave sent them smashing into the opposite wall and slammed the apartment door closed. On the floor, Mason held one arm over his face as debris fell like hailstones and the building’s fire alarm screamed him deaf.

He pushed himself up off the floor, still holding one arm in front of his face, because the apartment was on fire. Looking around, he spotted Rosie on the floor, up against the wall, nodding that he was okay. Then he spotted a fire extinguisher and smashed the glass so he could yank it off the wall. “Get out to the parking lot, see if you see her anywhere.”

“Marie?” Rosie asked, getting to his feet.

“No. Gretchen. I don’t think Marie has the know-how to do this. Could be Rachel was right.”

“Isn’t she always?” Rosie jogged down the hall as Mason blasted his way into the apartment with the extinguisher.

* * *

Misty came stomping into the kitchen while I was cleaning up the breakfast mess and making myself a fresh pot of coffee. “I need a ride home,” she said, slamming herself into a chair.

I had just pressed the brew button and turned around to eyeball her. She was working up a good fit about something. “I can’t leave the boys, hon. I’m sorry.”

“Fine, I’ll walk, then.” She shot to her feet. “I’m not staying here.”

It was a few miles, but she could probably manage it. I wouldn’t let her, of course, given all the crap we had going on and the fact that my nearly three-mile-long road was a dirt track that wound through county-owned forest before hitting the village of Whitney Point. “You want to tell me what’s wrong?”

“Jeremy’s being a jerk.” She crossed her arms and paced my big kitchen. “Says he’s not in the mood for company. Says he wants to be alone.”

“Yeah. I imagine when you get kidnapped by your own mother, who’s criminally insane, and you risk your own life to get your kid brother to safety, and then you watch an army of cops kick in the door of the bathroom where you think your mother’s hiding while you sit there helplessly waiting to hear the report of the bullet they’re probably about to fire into her skull, you need a little downtime. So again, I ask you, what’s the problem?”

She stopped long enough to glare at me. “I knew you’d be on his side.”

“Of course I’m on his side. Jesus, Misty, when did you turn into one of those stereotypical teenage girls who can’t see beyond her own makeup mirror, anyway? I never pegged you as one of those.”

Her mouth dropped open. She snapped it shut again. “I know he’s been through a lot, but he doesn’t need to take it out on me.”

“Telling you he needs some time alone isn’t exactly taking anything out on you. It’s being honest with you. And you’re falling into the trap of the ignorant. Letting what he says or does decide your mood for you, instead of picking it for yourself.”

She rolled her eyes. “It’s ‘quote the latest book’ time, isn’t it?”

“Yes, it is. Now sit your impossibly tiny ass down. We’ll have coffee and hash this out. And don’t even think about arguing.”

Sighing heavily, the poor, put-upon teenager returned to her chair and sank into it.

“Three cleansing breaths,” I told her. “You know the drill.”

I got fresh cups and my favorite pumpkin spice creamer, which contained a ridiculous number of calories, and plunked them on the table. Then I dug around for the leftover doughnut I knew I’d stashed in the bread box, took it out and broke it in half. The coffeemaker took six minutes. It was one of my favorite miracles of modern science. So I was pouring almost before she’d finished taking the three deep, cleansing breaths. I know, I used to roll my eyes at the method, too, but you couldn’t argue with success, and it worked. It always, always worked.

I sat down with my mug, pushed her half doughnut toward her (doughnuts always work, too) and said, “So do you
like
being mad enough to choke him?”

“No.” She sighed.

“Sometimes you do. Admit it. Sometimes the drama is fun. Sometimes you’re just waiting for your boyfriend to screw up so you can bitch him out. Sometimes you’re practicing your bitch-out before he even screws up because you’re so sure he’s going to.”

She looked me right in the eyes. “I don’t do that.” But she was nodding all the same. “Other girls do. I’ve seen it. A lot. But I really don’t do that, Aunt Rache.”

“Then you’re a rare female indeed. Most of us do it well into our thirties.”

“Mom has called Christy on it so many times that I guess I know better.” She shrugged. “She still does it, though.”

I nodded. Sipped my coffee. Gave her time to get a little sugar into her bloodstream, where it could trigger happy endorphins to spill into her brain. Then I said, “I don’t think Jeremy could hurt more if you spent the next hour slicing his skin with razor blades. He spent the night afraid his own mother was going to kill him, honey. I don’t think we can even begin to imagine what that does to someone. I don’t think
he
even knows.”

She nodded slowly. “You’re right. God, I’m an idiot.”

“No you’re not. You’re almost as enlightened as your auntie.”

“Oh, please. Believe your own PR much?” But she was smiling, teasing me, so it was okay. She dunked her half doughnut and took a big soggy bite, nodding and mulling. After she swallowed she said, “There’s something else bugging him, though. Something his mother said to him, but he won’t tell me what. I think that pissed me off more than anything.”

I nodded. “Just because you love someone doesn’t mean they’re obligated to tell you everything the second you decide you want to know, though.”

“Yeah.”

“He might be working through it himself. He might tell you someday, or he might not. You have to be okay with that. You have to be okay with the fact that not everything is about you. This is his journey, and it’s been a rough one. Whatever he has to do to get by, that’s got to be his call. You get to decide if you can live with that or not. But you don’t get to decide what
he
can or can’t live with.”

She was looking at me as I spoke, nodding slowly. “Wow. That’s good stuff, Aunt Rache. No wonder you and Mason are so good together.”

I had to clap a hand over my mouth to keep from spitting out my doughnut. Lowering my head, I tried again to swallow, with an assist from my mug of deliciousness.
Oh, pumpkin spice, how I love you.

“What?” she asked, looking at me, amused.

I shrugged. “Just because I can dispense wisdom doesn’t mean I can practice it. Look, I’d probably get all pissy if I thought Mason was keeping secrets from me, too.”
Although in hindsight, it’s kind of easy to see why he did. And if Jeremy is keeping the same secret, that his dad was a serial killer, well, can you blame him for not wanting to tell his girlfriend?
“I mean, I’d know I was being an unreasonable bitch, but I’d probably do it anyway. At least until I got over myself. Which seems to take less time these days than it used to.” I patted her hand across the table. “I’m a work in progress. We all are. The trick isn’t to be perfect, the trick is to recognize where there’s room for improvement and then to improve.”

She heaved a heavy sigh. “I should apologize to him.”

“Yeah. But you should do it later. He asked for space. Maybe we should both let him have it for a little while.”

“Okay. Yeah, you’re right.”

“I know I am.” I got up from the table, taking my by now nearly empty mug back to the pot for a refill. Halfway there, I stopped dead as I felt a bomb go off inside my head. No other way to describe it. There was a blast, flashing light, a shock wave that hit me square in the chest so hard that I staggered backward, and my mug smashed to the floor.

The next thing I knew, Misty was in front of me, shaking me until I blinked away the vision of flames and fire and saw her. I didn’t know when she’d gotten up and come to me. I’d missed that part.

“Aunt Rache! What the
hell
?”

I took an openmouthed breath. Then I took another. And then I felt a sickening clarity come over me. “Mason. Oh, Jesus, Mason.”

15

M
ason managed to douse the flames before choking to death on the smoke. The explosion had been huge, but the resulting flames were just getting started. Having learned respect for them the hard way, he ducked back into the hallway as soon as he was done, meeting the firefighters who came trooping into the hall from a stair door at the far end. He absently registered that the stairway was at the rear of the building. Probably led down to a parking lot.

He blocked the firefighters’ paths, holding up his hands. “It’s out. Before you head in there, just know we’ve gotta preserve evidence as best we—”
Hack cough choke.

The firefighters, there were five of them in the hall now, radioed their chief. “We’ve got a cop up here says he put the fire out. Apartment’s a crime scene.”

“That him coughing?”

“Yeah, Chief.”

“Give him some fucking oxygen and stay where you are. I’ll be right up.”

True to his word, Fire Chief Tony Fuscillo arrived a few minutes later, almost as winded as his EMT seemed to think Mason was. He was past due for retirement, but fighting it hard, and he was built like a taller Danny DeVito. He had as much attitude as you’d expect from a gangster, which, he claimed, he had plenty of in his family,
you know whaddahm sayin’?
He saw Mason and shook his head. “You decide to make running into burning buildings a fuckin’ hobby or somethin’?”

Mason took off the oxygen mask and sent a quick look at the EMT reaching down to put it back on. It was enough to make the guy back off. “Screw you, Chief,” he said affectionately. “It’s a crime scene. I had to try to preserve the evidence.”

“Yeah, but my job is to protect the residents by making sure this bitch is out.
Capiche?
” He crooked his head to one side. “I’ll send one guy in alone.”

Chief Tony nodded at a firefighter thirty years his junior whose badge read Kenneth Howe.

“You know the drill, Kenneth,” Mason said “This could be the arsonist we’ve been looking for.”

“Yes, sir.” Kenneth Howe went inside. Mason stood in the doorway, watching him move almost catlike despite his heavy gear, through the apartment. He stopped every few steps and took a careful look around him.

Mason’s cell phone rang. As he picked it up and saw it was Rachel, the elevator doors opened and Rosie, who’d gone out to look for Gretchen, emerged, Chief Cantone at his side. She had a worried-mother look on her face, which she came by honestly since she had a kid with her partner, Sally, but also a little surprising, since she was younger than he was. Go figure. Women baffled him.

That was why he liked Rachel. She was brutally honest, straight up telling him what she thought, like it or not. In fact, he liked it. There was no guessing, no wondering where you stood with her.

He held up a finger to the chief and took Rachel’s call.

“Was there...some kind of explosion?” she asked the second he answered.

“Hell, has it hit the news already?”

“No,” she said. And she didn’t say more. She didn’t have to. Sometimes the shit she knew sent shivers right up his backbone. This was one of those times.

“Yeah, we had a little blast at Gretchen’s apartment. I’m all right,” he told her. “Everyone’s all right.”

“Do you think Marie...?” She stopped for a second, then whispered, “Or Gretchen?”

“I don’t know, but I hope we’ll find some evidence.” He was looking in through the open apartment door again; Vanessa Cantone was behind him doing the same, like his shadow. It looked as if the kitchen area was pretty blackened and the windows back there were blown out, but the rest of the place seemed almost intact. “I put... I mean, the fire was put out fast. Not too much damage.”

“You put it out, didn’t you? Mason, did you walk into another burning house?”

“Of course not.”
It was an apartment.
“I’ve gotta go. I’ll call you when we finish up here, okay?”

“All right.” She paused, then, “You’re okay? Really? All the way?”

“Not even a blister,” he said.

“Okay. Go, then. Do your cop thing.”

“See you soon.” He disconnected. Vanessa had moved up beside him in the doorway, crowding him so she could get a look for herself, but they parted to let the young firefighter out.

“What did you find in there?” Vanessa asked.

Howe stood up straighter when he saw her and introduced himself, pulling his mask and helmet off as he came out the apartment door. Several more cops had arrived. “C’mon,” Howe said. “It’s too smoky up here.” He nodded toward the stairs, then headed them down the hall.

Cantone called out over her shoulder to the other officers who’d arrived by then. “Just tape it off and come downstairs until the smoke clears out. No one inside until the arson investigator arrives.”

Then she led the way, with Mason and Kenneth right behind her, down the first flight of stairs. The fire chief came behind them, as did Rosie. The two of them had to take the stairs single file, both being big guys.

The air on the landing was clear. Smoke rises, after all. Four of them stood on the landing, way too close for Mason’s comfort. Rosie stayed on the step just above, because there was no room for him to squeeze in. Firefighter Howe ended up looking directly down into the cleavage of the Binghamton police chief, and he clearly appreciated the view.

“Quit looking at my tits and tell me what you saw in that apartment, Howe.” Vanessa was 100 percent in police chief mode. Mason had seen her step into the role as if she’d been born to it. She commanded respect, and she got it in spite of her good looks and killer figure, not because of them.

Howe’s cheeks got red, but he jerked his eyes up to meet hers. Poor kid was moonstruck. Maybe thunderstruck was a better term. He didn’t know, or maybe just didn’t care, that she was not only married but to another woman. Ah, youth.

“Chief Cantone,” Howe blurted. “Um, sorry about that.” He shook his head as if he’d been about to say more and then thought better of it. “There’s no one inside. The origin point seems to be the microwave oven on the kitchen counter. Looks like whatever was inside it exploded.”

“What, exactly, makes you so sure the microwave is the source of the blast?” she asked, slightly sarcastically. Clearly she was pissed about his unprofessional behavior.

“Its door is in the living room.”

“Oh.” She lowered her head, seemed to regroup, then leaned close to Mason’s ear. “Was this Marie or was this your nurse? Because I’m damn sure it was one of them. It sure as
hell
wasn’t an accident. Not with that kind of timing.”

“I don’t know. I don’t see how it could be Marie. I just don’t think she would’ve known how to rig something like that. She certainly didn’t before she went in. And it’s not like she’s got access to that kind of information from inside.”

“No, it’s not.” Vanessa took a deep breath. Mason didn’t notice the way it expanded her chest until he saw Howe gaping at it. Then he edged himself in between them, blocking the view. The kid was either stupid or he had a death wish.

“At your significant other’s suggestion,” Chief Cantone said to Mason, either not noticing or choosing to ignore the exchange, “I showed Gretchen Young’s photograph to Peter Rouse today. I called him to the station, showed him four other photos along with it, random female mug shots I pulled. I asked him if he knew any of them.”

Mason’s heartbeat sped up. “Did he?”

“Yeah. He picked out your nurse without even looking at the other four, even though she used to be a brunette. Said she was the other woman, the one who went stalker on him when he tried to break it off. The one he said set his wife’s house on fire and killed her.”

“Holy fucking hell. Rachel was right. It’s Gretchen. It’s been Gretchen the whole time.”

“It’s beginning to look that way. I’ve got a full investigation into her history under way. Ran into some sealed files from when she was a minor. Got a judge unsealing them for us as we speak.”

Mason looked at Rosie on the step above them. “You see any sign of her outside?”

“No, and her car’s not in the parking lot. At least, not the one you mentioned. But there
is
a silver Chevy Cruze out there.”

There was probably a silver Chevy Cruze in every parking lot in town, Mason thought. But it was too much not to check out, since there’d been one seen at two recent fatal arson fires.

“Mason,” Chief Cantone said, “you and Rosie get outside and start talking to the residents before they’re allowed back in. I’m going to wait for the arson team to get here, then see what they think happened in that apartment.”

Mason continued downstairs with Rosie. When they got outside they circled to the front of the building, where about twenty people were standing around.

“Everyone, if I can have your attention for a second. I’m Detective Brown, this is Detective Jones. We’re gonna need a few words with each of you.”

“Is the building on fire?”

“When can we go back inside?”

“What’s going on in there? Was it a gas leak?”

He held up his hands. “There was an explosion, but it was contained to one apartment. The fire didn’t spread. Your stuff is safe. Your homes are fine. We still don’t know the cause, and you’ll be able to go back inside as soon as the fire chief says it’s safe.”

They nodded, muttering.

“First question, who owns the silver Chevy Cruze in the parking lot out back?”

People looked at each other. One guy raised his hand. He was blond, obese and had an unfortunate case of acne.

“Okay, I need to talk to you, then,” Mason said. “Rosie?”

Rosie nodded and took over. “All right, this explosion was in the apartment of Gretchen Young, and she wasn’t home at the time, so I need to get hold of her so we can tell her what’s happened. If anyone knows Ms. Young or saw her today, I’d like to talk to you. Let’s take this one by one, all right?”

As he started sorting through people, still talking in his friendly, easy way, Mason made his way to the blond guy and extended a hand. “You can call me Mason,” he said. “You are...?”

“Ross Van Deusen. Did my car get damaged in the blast?”

“No. It’s fine,” Mason said, leading him a few steps away for privacy. “I’m just wondering, does anyone else ever drive it?”

“No. Well, not as a rule.”

“That sounds like a yes.”

“I did loan it out once.”

“Yeah? To who? Relatives, I’ll bet.”

He frowned. “No. To Gretchen”

Mason tried a casual smile and shook his head slowly. “Why would she borrow your car, Ross, when she has one of her own?”

Ross shrugged. “Her inspection sticker had expired and she had a home care visit to make one night. It wasn’t for long. I didn’t mind.”

“And what night was that?”

Ross lowered his head, furrowed his brows. “Gosh, it was three or four weeks ago. A Friday night. I remember that much.”

“I’m gonna have to know which Friday night.”

Ross pursed his lips, then held up a finger and pulled out his cell phone. “It was the same week the new WoW expansion pack was released.”

“Wow?”

“World of Warcraft. I downloaded it on release day, which is almost always a Tuesday, and was looking forward to the weekend so I could really get into it. I started it the same night Gretchen borrowed the car.”

He thumbed through screens on his phone, until he said, “There it is.” He turned the phone to face Mason, the calendar date highlighted with a bright red
WoW.

The date was the night of the fire that had killed Rebecca Rouse. “What time did she take the car?”

“Around seven, I think. I told her to just leave the key in my mailbox.” He pointed at the building, and Mason turned to see a grid made up of neat rows of black mailboxes each with an apartment number in gold foil stickers on the front. They hung on the wall beside the door, four rows of six. “So I have no idea how late it was when she brought it back.”

“Okay. She borrow it at any other time?”

“No. Just the once.”

“And do you leave the keys in the mailbox a lot?”

Ross shrugged. “Almost always. I lose them around the apartment. It’s easier if they’re on the way out.”

Mason nodded. “What about a few nights ago?” He had to think to remember the night of the fire that had killed Dr. Cho. “Wednesday night?” he asked. “Were your keys in the mailbox then?”

Ross shrugged. “Probably.”

“So, Ross, how did she manage to drop your car keys in your mailbox? They’re all locked, aren’t they?”

Ross nodded. “I gave her an extra key so she could. I
really
didn’t want to be interrupted in the middle of game night.”

“I see. And, um, did she ever return it? Your extra mailbox key?”

Ross frowned. “You know, I don’t think so, now that you mention it.”

Mason nodded. “I might need to talk to you again. Do me a favor and jot down your contact info for me.” He was reaching into his pocket for a pad and pen, but the kid pulled out a business card and handed it over. Geek Squad.

Mason tucked it into his pocket. “Thanks.” Then he said goodbye and headed back to help Rosie interview the other residents.

* * *

When Mason came home, I was hard at work at my desk, trying to focus on outlining
The Ultimate Guide to a Luscious Love Life
, and I was staring hard at the screen, which is what I do when I’m really staring into the depths of my mind, trying to spot an answer. I’d started the book like I do all of them, by listing the questions I figured your average reader would have on the subject, then shorthanding my answers underneath one, and finally scribbling the further questions those answers would elicit. When I untangled it all later, it would make sense. In the beginning it was chaos. Darkness upon the face of the deep. It was freewriting.

But I’d come to question number thirteen and hit a snag.

What happens if my significant other and I want completely different things?

It was a great question, and it brought me to a grinding halt. So far, Mason and I had been pretty much sympatico. But now that we were cohabiting, there would be decisions about how things should go. Every single day.