Girl Blue Read online

  “Jere wants you to stop babying him."

  “Me? You gave up your breakfast for Josh this morning."

  I shrugged. “Jeremy’s a cop in the making, and Josh is a teenager.”

  “Putting them both at more risk than a pair of ten-year-olds,” he replied. "No matter how grown up they think they are."

  I thought about that for a second, then said, “You’re right,” pulled out my phone and tap tap tapped it.

  “Who are you texting?”

  “Amy. She’ll watch them without them knowing they’re being watched.”

  “She really is an all-purpose assistant, isn’t she?”

  “I’m paying her to lounge around the lake reading pages and keeping my dog company on a gorgeous autumn day. Yeah, she’s a gem.” Then I smiled softly. “She really is. She’ll be there in ten minutes. They’ll still be sorting their tackle boxes.”

  That’s weird, isn’t it? How they sort through all those shiny, hooky things and doodads before every fishing trip?

  I think it’s some kind of man-zen exercise, IB.

  “Feel better?” I asked.

  “About Jeremy? I'll feel better about that when we find this missing professor."

  "You say that like it's not the only thing you're feeling bad about."

  Instead of answering, he pulled up to the curb a block and a half away from Town Hall. Everything closer was taken by press vans and curious bystanders. Apparently, Professor Ashton was kind of a big deal.

  As we got closer, I gave Mason’s hand a squeeze, met his eyes for a second. We could share a lot when our eyes met. It was like a 1000G connection. He said, be careful, and be smart, and I love you. But there was something else underneath all that. Something worried.

  My eyes replied, keep your gorgeous boss off my back and I love you, too.

  I hadn't told him yet. I hadn't told him Dwayne Clark had raped his child. I hadn't told him that Juan went to Ivy begging her to save him. I hadn't told him about the pink watch band. Because if there were multiple victims, it couldn't be Ivy.

  I didn't know if he would agree with me on that. But I did know that she couldn't have killed all those men. Tortured half of them. Chopped them into pieces. There was no earthly way Ivy Newman did any of that.

  But not telling him was in between us like a poison-tipped thorn.

  I sighed and tried to focus on the jobs we'd come here to do.

  Mason's job was to run interference and keep people from noticing me doing my job. My job was to get close enough to the professor’s family to feel them. I might even have to engage them in conversation, which would make it a little harder.

  I looked at the floor where Hugo sat in an unzipped gym bag at my feet. "Okay, little buddy. You ready?"

  He was still puppy-cute. I dropped a handful of tiny treats into the bag, zipped it up and slung its strap over my shoulder. I wanted the pup to go un-noticed for the first little bit.

  Myrtle had been mightily offended that Hugo got to go with us and she had to stay home in the lap of luxury. Amy had promised to keep her company, and I knew damn well she'd spoil her with calories. But everybody needed a cheat day.

  I had a book with me, too, pre-autographed. A prop, but hey, I was a semi-famous self-help author. This was probably the sort of thing people expected me to do.

  Not in front of cameras, though. That's why I had on big sunglasses and a straw visor with a sunflower embroidered on it, like something my soccer mom sister would wear.

  Or Myrtle, Inner Bitch opined.

  I nodded. Yeah, Myrt would rock this visor.

  That’s what I’m saying!

  I wove into the crowd, trying to face the “stage” (which was really just a section of sidewalk) while side-stepping my way past it. I needed to get out past stage left, where the professor’s kids were waiting with a chubby redhead who was probably their grandma but didn’t look her age.

  Who does, these days, am I right?

  You are right, IB.

  I held Hugo close to keep him safe while I got elbowed, stepped on and briefly, tangled in someone’s camera bag. I managed to get to my goal. The chief had come to the podium, so all eyes were on her. She wore a brown skirt to her knees, cream blouse, buttoned up and tucked in, jacket, unbuttoned. Brown pumps, with 2.5-inch heels. I always noticed what Vanessa Cantone wore, because she wore everything so well. All business, and all woman. It was a remarkable thing she did with clothes. I admired her for it.

  And still I heard some dick in the crowd saying, "Damn, I’d like to get with that–OW!”

  "Aw, I stepped on your foot there, didn’t I?”

  I kept moving. Didn't know or care if he replied.

  “I'm Binghamton Police Chief Vanessa Cantone and I have an update on the Professor Ashton case. We are currently analyzing evidence retrieved from his car, and we’re hopeful it will bring us closer to finding the professor. In the meantime…”

  I tuned her out, moving into the shaded area away from the crowd, where the family was standing. They could see the chief at the podium, but still remain a reasonable distance from the public. I might be stopped by one of the officers patrolling the space between, if they saw me. I waited until they were facing the other way before sidling into the small group of VIPs as if I was one of them. I unzipped the bag and scooped Hugo out, set him on the ground and snapped on his leash.

  With the part of my brain that was still listening to the chief, I was aware the missing professor's wife was going to make a public appeal to the person who’d apparently taken her husband. There had been signs of a struggle in his car, which had left campus and then been returned to campus. Mrs. Ashton was going to beg the public for their assistance, the usual bit. Then the chief would take questions.

  Hugo spotted the missing guy’s daughters, and tugged me right to them, and they responded in the way all children respond to puppies, crouching low and loving on him. I leaned in closer to the grandmother and whispered, “The kids don’t need to be here for this, do they?”

  She looked at me. She had blue eyes the same color as those dishes people collect. “Where else would they be?”

  I pointed my chin over her right shoulder. A little park, a swing set, a duck pond. She turned and looked at all of it, then crouched between the two little girls and the happiest pup on earth. “I wonder if there are ducks in that pond?”

  The girls spotted the park and bounced in excitement. The older one looked up at me. "Can the puppy come?"

  “If your grandma doesn't mind."

  I felt her ripple of suspicion and I said, “I’m Rachel de Luca. The author.” I took off my sunglasses in case that helped. “I’ve brought one of my books for Mrs. Ashton. People say they’re quite uplifting, and I thought it might–”

  “I’m familiar with your work,” she said. She took the book from me, looked at it, flipped it over for a glance at the author photo on the dust jacket, then dropped it into her tote bag. “Thank you. That was kind of you." She started walking again.

  The girls had run ahead to the swing set.

  I fell into step. She didn’t object. A few cops looked our way, but since I looked like part of the family, not an eyebrow was raised. Hugo was tugging like crazy at his leash. I opted to keep him on until we caught up to the kids. He wouldn't go anywhere they didn't go. Once attached to a child, Hugo did not allow much space between himself and said child.

  We caught up, and I unhooked the leash at last. The girls and Hugo hopped, skipped and giggled their way behind us as we walked around the pond. When we found a bench, we sat, me and the grandma, whose name I didn't know. The girls started finding things to throw into the shallow water. Sticks, twigs, pebbles. Hugo waded right in to fetch the things back out again.

  Why is every little kid’s first act upon seeing a body of water, to throw something into it?

  The girls giggled, and I was glad I'd brought the pup. Anything that could make them happy in the middle of all this drama in their lives was fine
by me.

  “What would you say about all this, Ms. De Luca?” their grandmother asked slowly. “You embrace the theory that we somehow create the events of our lives. Why would my son-in-law have created something like this for himself? For his family?”

  “I’m sure he didn’t. Not on purpose. A simpler understanding is that like attracts like. Energy matches up with similar energy.”

  “You’re suggesting Peter’s energy matches the energy of whoever took him?"

  “In some way, maybe. Or maybe he was fearful. Was he a fearful man, Mrs..."

  "Santiago. And no, I would not call my son-in-law fearful. But he is not a kind man."

  Her eyes shot to the girls.

  The two of them were floating leaves on the water, like little boats, and Hugo kept snatching them out of the water and shaking them.

  “They’re going to get soaked,” she said, “Becka and Kate, get away from the water now, that’s enough.”

  The girls came running, puppy right behind. I felt a little bad about that, until Mrs. Santiago leaned low and said, “I’ll take you to the big park, later on, with even more water. But you’re wearing your good clothes now. Why don’t you go play on the swings for a while?”

  “Is Mommy done talking to the TV yet, Gram?” the smaller one with the dark ringlets asked. “Will it make Daddy come back?”

  “I hope he never comes back!” the honey blonde said. She had that pre-adolescent chub that would vanish by middle school. I figured her for around fifth grade, maybe ten or eleven years old.

  I closed my eyes, feeling for her anger, and there was a flash, a scene in my mind. The professor holding her down on a twin bed with a purple comforter, his hand between her legs. She was twisting away, “No! Stop! I don’t like it!”

  “Yes, you do. You know damn well you do.”

  My eyes popped open, my stomach lurched, I wobbled on my feet, pressed my hand to a tree trunk to keep myself upright.

  “Are you all right, Miss. de Luca?”

  Another flash, bang. My head snapped backward, and I was in the car again, strangling Dwayne Clark again, my knees in his back again. I looked at my wrists, and the familiar watch, and then at my hands. They were small, and sporting a shiny pink French manicure.

  I opened my eyes.

  "Miss de Luca!"

  “Um, yeah." I brought my head level, opened my eyes. "Yes. I’m okay. I probably need to drink more water. It’s a warm day, for September.”

  “You should get inside, out of the sun. Here, here." She took the leash from my hand, clipped it to Hugo's collar. "Thank you for the book. We’re good now. You can go.”

  I got it. I was weirding her out. I was weirding me out.

  I couldn’t protect Ivy anymore. I didn't know how it could be her, but somehow it was her. She'd killed Dwayne Clark. The watch might've been a coincidence, but now the watch and the manicure.... She did it. She killed him, and she'd done it to protect Juan.

  And now there was another child molester missing.

  Was this the connection? Were all the men whose bodies had been buried along the banks of the Susquehanna pedophiles?

  It was kind of ridiculous to think that Ivy could have done one and not the others. But God, she didn’t feel like a murderer to me. She felt like an angel.

  I had to come clean with Mason and hope for the best. Frankly, if what I suspected was true, and all the victims were pedophiles, I’d rather throw Ivy Newman a freaking ticker tape parade.

  I texted Mason the all-clear. He’d been with his partner Rosie and a handful of other cops, watching the presser go down. I saw them as I wended my way back out of the crowd. I walked a block and a half, then around a corner to the waiting car, got in, started it up. I did not want to believe Ivy was behind this. Not after I’d given her the benefit of the doubt.

  What if all you gave her was the chance to prove you wrong?

  Everything in me said it wasn’t her. But the evidence was saying otherwise.

  Mason joined me in the car, and I started driving as soon as he closed his door. “Well? What did you get?”

  “Not what I wanted to get.”

  “What’s that mean?”

  I took a deep breath. “We have to talk.”

  “About Professor Ashton?”

  I shook my head. “About Ivy Newman.”

  He exhaled so thoroughly I think he deflated a little. “It’s about time.” I frowned at him. “Ever since you said you didn't think she did it I’ve known you thought she did.”

  “If you knew, why didn’t you say something?”

  He shrugged. “You want to keep shit from me, it’s your prerogative.”

  He was hurt, and maybe a little bit mad at me. Mason almost never got mad at me. This was happening too often. “I just…I was unsure. And I–”

  “You like her.”

  I pressed my lips and didn’t look at him.

  “You don’t like anyone. But you like her.”

  “You almost sound jealous.” He didn’t answer that. “She doesn’t feel like a killer to me. It’s confusing. I’m getting mixed signals and that just…threw me. I’ve been struggling with it.”

  “When I’m struggling with something, you’re the first person I want to talk to about it.” He was looking at me and I was not looking back. “I thought we were on the same page.”

  “We are. I’m sorry, Mason. And I’m talking to you about it now.”

  He nodded. “So, talk then.”

  He wasn’t over it yet. Shit. I had some serious kissing up to do. “Dwayne Clark was abusing his son, the gorgeous little sweetheart with the biggest, brownest eyes in the known universe.”

  He shot me a look of surprise and dismay. “Ivy told you that?”

  “No. I saw it, there in Ivy’s kitchen the day I had tea with Reggie. He got tired and went to his room, asked me to clean up after us before I left. I think he just wanted me to be alone in that kitchen. I think he knew I’d pick up on it. And I did. I saw little Juan there with Ivy. He was crying because he was going to have to spend a weekend with his father, and his dad was going to hurt him again. I felt Ivy decide that someone had to stop him.”

  “So you know she did it?”

  “I saw her wristwatch when she was strangling him. It was the same one she was wearing at Vince and Holly’s.”

  He nodded slow. “And you didn’t tell me because….”

  “I just…hesitated. That’s all it was, hesitation. Because I keep thinking I must be wrong. And a wristwatch could be a coincidence. Same town, same jewelry store, that kind of thing. I haven’t had any hint at all that she killed any of those other men you found along the river banks, Mason. Not one. But now….”

  “Now?”

  “The manicure was the same, too. And it turns out Professor Ashton was abusing one of his daughters. The older one, Kate. I got it just now.”

  He shifted into cop mode so fast I got whiplash. “We need to find out if the other victims were also sexually assaulting children. If that’s the connection–”

  “If that’s the connection, then whoever killed them deserves a medal.”

  He looked at me like I’d lost my mind. “Jeremy is a suspect in what’s looking more and more like a murder. Did you forget about that?”

  “Of course I haven't forgotten about that. That's all I'm thinking about here. We have to catch whoever did this to clear Jeremy.”

  "Even if it's her?"

  "Of course, even if it's her. Shit, Mason, how can you even ask me that?"

  “We need to tell the chief. Ivy Newman needs to be under surveillance until we can–”

  “Based on what? My gut feeling? My NFP? We don’t have any real evidence. Just a connection we can’t prove.”

  “They could question the kids.”

  I sent him a look that should’ve melted his face. “We don’t have enough yet. And if we put Ivy under surveillance, we’ll be blowing Reggie’s cover. He wanted to spend his final days in peace.”


  “And that would be a shame, but Rachel, we’re talking about a serial killer here.”

  I shook my head. “That just doesn’t feel right.”

  “In what way?”

  “In the way that I’ve known too fucking many serial killers.” I shook my head angrily and pulled off an exit ramp and into a fast food joint. “I know it makes no sense, I know that, but I’m telling you–there’s something else going on here. And if we jump on the wrong person, it's gonna look like we're just trying to scapegoat anyone we can to clear Jeremy. And that makes him look even more guilty. We need proof, Mason."

  “Why are we at McDonald’s?”

  I put my window down. “Because I need to take out my frustrations on a quarter pounder with cheese, okay?”

  “You want to make that a meal?” the crackly-speaker-voice asked.

  “Yes, I do. With a vanilla shake.”

  “Anything else?”

  I looked at Mason. He rolled his eyes. “Make it two,” I said. “Only make the second shake strawberry.” I put the window up, pulled ahead, and waited for the person in front of me, who was apparently counting out payment in nickels.

  “Don’t bring the chief in on this yet," I said. "We have no evidence. Let me surveil her, instead.”

  “Yeah, right.”

  “Yeah. Right. Me. You don’t have the evidence to do it officially, and you can’t do it off the books because you want to keep your job. I’m self-employed. I’ll surveil her.”

  “It’s dangerous.”

  “If I was going to get hurt or killed, I’d know it.”

  “You would not.”

  It was our turn to pay. I put my window down again and handed over my plastic. She rang me up with a smile that died at my return scowl and handed it back.

  At the pickup window, the guy ahead of us was checking each item in each bag. Dick.

  “Would you, Rachel? Would you know?”

  “Seems like.”

  “You’ve got yourself into some risky situations before without knowing you were in danger. Most recently with Gary Conklin.”