Last Fairytale, The (10 page)

“You have a good memory. I’ll need to be careful what I say around you, Miss Butler.”

“A good memory isn’t always an asset.”

Vonnegon pursed his lips and nodded. She wondered what memories he would like to put to rest.

Two beats later, he stood and held out his hand.

“Ready to go?” she asked.

“Not just yet.”

She grasped his palm and he helped her up from the sofa. When she began to move toward the door, he eased his arms around her and ever so slowly drew her toward him.

His arms were strong and calm. Her fear receded, but confusion remained. Although she searched his face for a message, there wasn’t a clue to reveal what was going through his mind.

She understood, though, when his face moved toward hers, and he covered her lips softly with his own.

Gen put on a black suit and low heels, aiming for comfort during the memorial service. As she dressed, she thought about the family who had to bury their only son today. So far, life had spared her the tragedy of that kind of loss. She’d not yet been in their place. Who knew how long it would take before they could truly get on with their lives?

Her land line rang twice, the signal that Bree was leaving her condo. Gen smoothed her skirt and took a final look in the bedroom mirror. Her makeup was understated and her curled hair flowed over her shoulders. She wouldn’t mind losing fifteen pounds, but otherwise she was good to go.

She grabbed her bag, went out into the corridor, and waited for the elevator. When the door opened, Gen stepped in and leaned against the wall, facing Bree.

“What’s wrong?” she asked. “You look like you’re headed to your own funeral.”

“Ehhh.” Bree waffled her hand. “Just trying to figure out what’s going on.”

“It’s a little early to expect clarity about the murder.”

“Not that.” She pulled a face. “Vonnegon.”

“Ah. Have you heard from him?”

“He’s left a couple voice mails. I haven’t called back.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t know how I feel about him.”

The door opened into the downstairs parking garage. Gen and Bree skirted cars and headed toward the BMW.

“I thought your plan was to get to know him and see if you could learn anything about Ducane. Can’t you just enjoy the sights with the guy?”

“I’ve never been a good casual dater.”

“Then it’s time to practice. The goal was to get information. And oh, by the way, I can’t wait to see where he takes you on your second date.”

“Isn’t that being a user?”

“How?” Gen unlocked the car and Bree slid into the passenger seat.

“Stringing someone along when they like you and you’re not certain you feel the same. My conscience is bugging me.”

“You just said you’re not sure how you feel.” Gen stared at Bree as she keyed the engine to life. “What about the quaking gut when he handed you the roses?”

“I felt a twinge. I did. But it could’ve been lust. He’s very attractive. That’s impossible to ignore.”

“What about the kiss? What did you feel then?”

“It was nice to be kissed.”

“Well, there you go.” Gen backed out of the space and turned toward the street. “I’m no expert, but I think you’re scared.”

“Of what?”

“That he might turn out to be another rat bastard.” She flipped on the turn signal, waited for an opening, then pulled into traffic. “And while it’s true he might not be the man of your dreams, not all men are asshats.”

“But he’s completely unreadable. I have no idea what’s going on in his head. That kind of shield is scary.”

“It’s not out of the ordinary for a successful businessman to have a poker face. It gives him the advantage in negotiations. People take seminars to learn how to hide feelings. Hell, we raise most of our men to be that way from birth.”

“I’d just like to know what’s happening on the inside. Who he is on the outside is obvious.”

“I’m not advising you to ignore your intuition. I’m just saying wait until you get a better picture of what makes him tick. Guidance comes in a lot of different ways.”

“Maybe. But why is he interested in me?”

“
Pfffft
.” Gen blew out a breath. “Oh, I don’t know. Intelligent, beautiful, charming. Can’t imagine what a man would see in that.”

“I wasn’t fishing for a compliment. He probably has his pick of women who are used to the kind of lifestyle he lives.”

“That could be the issue, right there. Most of the women he meets take that treatment for granted. It might be fun to share life with someone who could really appreciate what he has to offer.”

“Someone who’s impressed, you mean.”

“Is that what I mean?” Gen braked, then turned into Grace Cathedral’s parking lot. “Thanks for clearing that up.”

“Don’t be mad.”

“Look, I give. You’ve got your mind made up he’s not what he seems. You might be right. A lot of people aren’t who they appear to be at first. Sometimes they turn out to be better, sometimes they’re worse.” She found a space close to the church entrance and shut off the engine. “But you won’t know until you take a closer look.”

Gen waved at a well-suited man sauntering toward the church. “Good gracious me, look at Hackett.” He held up a hand in return. “Come on. I gotta see this up close.”

They walked among the cars. As they approached, Gen was surprised she’d known Mack at first glance. He’d shaved and slicked back his hair. His dark suit was stylish and well-cut.

“Hey Hackett,” Gen said, hands on hips. “You clean up good. I barely knew you in your shiny shoes.”

Mack flashed a grin, then stopped and nodded hello. “Ladies.”

“Bree, meet the alter ego of Garcia’s partner. I wonder if this is the real Mackenzie Hackett.”

“Nice to see you again, Mackenzie,” Bree said.

“Just Mack,” he replied. “Thanks for the tip about the cross-dresser, we’re following up on the lead. After what happened yesterday, we’re sure it will help resolve this thing sooner rather than later.”

Gen jumped on his comment like a cat on a cornered mouse. “What happened yesterday?”

“Simmer down, it’s not that earth-shattering,” Mack replied. “We found a mess on Ducane’s boat. Lots of clothing and papers tossed around the cabin. Apparently somebody rifled luggage that was stowed aboard.”

“Did the stuff belong to Ducane?” Gen asked.

“Not a single item of men’s wear in the jumble. Could be this Catherine person was staying there. A couple owners nearby gave us a description of a gal who’d been around. Their verbals match the general picture of the woman you met.”

Gen sputtered. Mack turned to walk on, but she clutched at his arm. “Wait, you can’t just drop a bomb and take off. What do you think it means? Where do you think she is now? Why would she toss her own stuff around and split?”

“I have no idea.” Mack held up both hands and shrugged. “Look, you’ve been helpful, but that’s all I can say. Garcia is the lead on this, and he’ll bust my chops. Anything else will have to come from him. By the way, you and Miss Butler need to look through mug shots to see if we can get a positive ID on this Catherine person.”

“Come on.” Gen was like a dog with a bone. “Just nod yes or no. Do you think she’s connected to Ducane’s death, maybe even his murderer?”

“Who knows?” Mack replied. “What’s your interest, anyhow? I assume you and your client both have alibis for the weekend. Or did you break in and tear the place up yourselves while you were there?”

Bree gasped. “No way.”

“Get real, Mack,” Gen replied. “You know we didn’t do it. Any timeframe when the boat was ransacked? It could have already been that way while we were there, sitting on the deck, shooting the breeze with Catherine whoever-she-is.”

Mack gave her an appraising look. “Maybe.”

“If it was last Friday night, that lets Bree off the hook. She was on a helicopter with Elergene’s CEO.”

Bree elbowed Gen.

Mack’s eyebrows shot up. “Care to elaborate?”

“Are you looking at Vonnegon for any reason?”

“No.” The detective resumed his pace toward the church, and the girls fell in beside him. “Just nosy. It’s my small town country boy nature. Works out from time to time.”

“We went to Napa for dinner.” Bree’s voice was muted. “I was home by midnight.”

Mack stopped on the bottom step of the ornate stone stairway that ascended to the cathedral. He buttoned his jacket. “What time did he leave?”

“He walked me to my front door and left about midnight. I didn’t invite him in. I was all by myself, just like every night.”

Mack smiled, then turned and took the stairs two at a time. “See you after the service.” He stopped mid-step and looked back. “In the spirit of disclosure, Ducane’s parents are offering a reward for information leading to the conviction of whoever murdered their son.”

“Thanks for letting us know,” Gen replied.

“Yeah, well, take this as a friendly warning. Don’t use that as a reason to withhold evidence you might come across. You need to give us everything, as soon as you get it.”

Gen turned to Bree as Mack resumed his climb. “What’s with the announcement you sleep alone?” she whispered. “Did you want that to get back to Garcia so he won’t think you’re a loose woman?”

“Look, Garcia is the last thing on my mind. I don’t feel the need to raise his low opinion of me. I just wanted the good cop to tell the bad cop I’m not involved with Vonnegon, in case he gets it into his head we were friendly before this started.”

“If you say so,” Gen replied. “Let’s go, I hear organ music. Sounds like the gig is about to get underway.”

* * *

Forty-five minutes later Gen grasped Bree’s forearm when she began to rise at the close of the service. Bree kept her seat.

They watched the attendees file out. The group was an eclectic mix of individuals, ranging from the red-eyed parents to an assortment in business attire Bree assumed were co-workers. A somber Vonnegon was among them. He nodded politely as he passed.

“No one stands out to me,” Gen whispered. “You?”

Bree shook her head.

Garcia and Mack made their way to the front doors at the back of the throng, and the pair rose and followed them outside. When she brushed past Garcia on the landing, he quietly spoke her name. “Miss Butler.”

She stopped and turned to face him. “What?”

Garcia kept his eyes on the people milling down the concrete stairs toward the parking lot, and the sparse crowd queuing up below. “I appreciate the lead about the break-in.”

He jerked his head toward the parking lot. “Mack said he told you what was going on. I’ll apologize if I offend you by pointing out if you’d told us about the boat upfront, we might have found this woman. We could have already questioned her by now.”

Bree’s mouth dropped open. She closed it quickly and clenched her jaw. When she spoke, her voice was as tight as the fists inside her jacket pockets. “Wow, that’s the most words I’ve ever heard you string together all at once.”

She pinched her lips into a forbidding line and stayed quiet until her hands relaxed. “I’ll point out that if you’d done your job and found the boat first, you would have been there before us. You might have met her that day instead.”

Garcia regarded her with cool detachment. “We need you to come down to the station and see if you can ID photos of the girl.”

“Mack already said.”

“The sooner the better.”

Bree turned and bounded down the steps without a backward glance.

Gen was speaking with a group of mourners on the sheltered flagstone patio adjacent to the church, and Bree could tell they were family. They looked shell-shocked. She felt a wave of anxiety as she approached. How do you tell someone you found their beloved son dead?

She grasped the trembling palm of a woman she was sure must be Andrew Ducane’s mother. Her mid-century-style coif was like a helmet. Tidy curls marched in measured steps across her worry-creased forehead. She appeared every inch the country club golf maven in her classic Aerosoles pumps and pearls.

Although the petite woman’s eyes told the story of her life since she’d heard the news about her son, her stoic expression showed her determination to contain the grief.

“Mrs. Ducane,” Bree murmured. “I’m Cambria Butler.”

The name registered. The woman wavered, then regained her poise and pumped Bree’s hand with an earnest I-know-you-didn’t-do-it grip.

“Call me Martha.” Mrs. Ducane’s lips quivered with the effort as she smiled.

“I’m so deeply sorry for your loss.”

“And I am sorry for your trouble, dear.” Martha’s voice was as quiet as an empty house. “The police have assured us your presence was an unfortunate coincidence.”

Bree would bet big money Martha Ducane’s lifelong job had been to comfort and care for others. She felt a stab of compassion. Andrew was her only child and hadn’t left any grandchildren behind to ease the pain of his loss.

Martha reached behind her and grasped her husband’s arm. He turned toward them. “Dear, this is young Cambria.”

“Richard Ducane.” He shook Bree’s hand. “I must ask,” he began. “I do apologize if my question makes you uncomfortable–” His voice trailed off. He swallowed carefully before continuing. “Did he say anything? Before he passed, I mean.”

“No.” Bree’s eyes filled against her will. She blinked rapidly and blew a quick breath upward to dissipate the gathering tears. “I’m so sorry, Mr. and Mrs. Ducane. He was already gone when I found him.”

Richard nodded once and placed a protective arm around his wife.

Taylor Vonnegon’s deep voice came from behind. “But I know if he’d been able, he would have used his last breath to beg us to tell his parents how much he loved you.”