brother up to bed, because he argued about just about everything these days. But when Rachel’s gorgeous blonde niece turned to him and said, “Well, what are you waiting for? You don’t think I’m gonna carry him upstairs, do you?” he scooped his sleeping brother out of the beanbag chair, and the three of them trooped up the stairs.
Mason helped Rachel up off the floor. She kept putting her hands to her back, as if it hurt.
“There’s another one, Mason,” she said.
He searched her eyes. “Another...murder?”
She nodded. “What did you find out about the last one? You never said.”
“Kids were around. And frankly, I didn’t want to think about it.”
“Think about it now,” she told him, eyeing the empty glass, then the cabinet across the room.
He sighed. “Full autopsy results won’t be in for a day or two, but on initial exam, the coroner said the pancreas was missing.”
“The pancreas? So...what organ did that woman get from your brother?”
He lowered his head. “His pancreas.”
She rubbed her back again, left of center. “I think maybe someone should check on whoever got his kidneys, Mason.”
“I will.” He pulled out his phone.
She put her hand over his. “Wait, I want to get this all down while it’s fresh. Everything I saw.”
“Shit, Rachel, you were memorizing details while someone was cutting out your kidney?”
“Just before. Get a pen and a notepad or something, will you?”
He nodded and let go of her for the first time. Hell, he hadn’t even realized he’d been holding on to her until then. Her hair was tousled, plastered to her face on one side by her tears. Her eyes were red, like she’d popped a blood vessel or two. Her cheeks were tear-stained, and he could see the pulse beating in her neck.
“Stop looking at me like you think I’m going to keel over, and go get a pen and paper, Mason.”
“I’m going.”
He looked around the room, moving to the same cabinet Jeremy had left standing open. It had cupboards above and below, a row of three drawers in between. He pulled open one of the drawers, rummaged around for a pen, yanked out a notepad, closed the drawer and reached up to close the cabinet door, too.
He paused when she said, “Bring that BV over here with you.”
He nodded. “I could use a shot myself.” He grabbed another glass and the bottle. Then he set the bottle, pad and pen on the coffee table, went to the kitchen for some ice and ginger ale. A minute later he was back.
She took the makings from him, and put the pen and pad into his hands instead. Then she poured the drinks and started talking.
“I was in a house, facedown on the floor. I think it was the victim’s house. There was a hardwood floor, light-colored, maybe maple. A brown sofa with claw feet. Mint-green walls. A god-awful afghan with a dozen garish colors. Looked like someone made it out of all the leftover yarn they could find. An orange throw pillow. I saw a couple of pictures on the wall, little kids, but they were old. You could tell by the haircuts and the fading. Looked like school pictures. Two kids, a girl and a boy. The boy’s a little older. Carrot curls and freckles, both of them. He had a plaid shirt on. She had a yellow dress with a white collar.”
He was scribbling as fast as he could. “Was there a clock on the wall that you could see?”
“No.”
“How about windows, anything that would tell you whether it was day or night?”
“No uncovered windows.” She bit her lip, nodded once. “There was a ceiling fan light fixture thing.”
“You said you were facedown.”
“I was face-up at first. I saw this ceiling fan with palm frond–shaped blades, ivory or cream. The fan was off, but the light was on. I think it was nighttime, because it was darker where the light didn’t touch the ceiling. Then someone kicked me over.”
“Did you see them?”
She shook her head.
“Not at all?”
“No, not at all.”
“Rache, if you were face-up, and
Mason helped Rachel up off the floor. She kept putting her hands to her back, as if it hurt.
“There’s another one, Mason,” she said.
He searched her eyes. “Another...murder?”
She nodded. “What did you find out about the last one? You never said.”
“Kids were around. And frankly, I didn’t want to think about it.”
“Think about it now,” she told him, eyeing the empty glass, then the cabinet across the room.
He sighed. “Full autopsy results won’t be in for a day or two, but on initial exam, the coroner said the pancreas was missing.”
“The pancreas? So...what organ did that woman get from your brother?”
He lowered his head. “His pancreas.”
She rubbed her back again, left of center. “I think maybe someone should check on whoever got his kidneys, Mason.”
“I will.” He pulled out his phone.
She put her hand over his. “Wait, I want to get this all down while it’s fresh. Everything I saw.”
“Shit, Rachel, you were memorizing details while someone was cutting out your kidney?”
“Just before. Get a pen and a notepad or something, will you?”
He nodded and let go of her for the first time. Hell, he hadn’t even realized he’d been holding on to her until then. Her hair was tousled, plastered to her face on one side by her tears. Her eyes were red, like she’d popped a blood vessel or two. Her cheeks were tear-stained, and he could see the pulse beating in her neck.
“Stop looking at me like you think I’m going to keel over, and go get a pen and paper, Mason.”
“I’m going.”
He looked around the room, moving to the same cabinet Jeremy had left standing open. It had cupboards above and below, a row of three drawers in between. He pulled open one of the drawers, rummaged around for a pen, yanked out a notepad, closed the drawer and reached up to close the cabinet door, too.
He paused when she said, “Bring that BV over here with you.”
He nodded. “I could use a shot myself.” He grabbed another glass and the bottle. Then he set the bottle, pad and pen on the coffee table, went to the kitchen for some ice and ginger ale. A minute later he was back.
She took the makings from him, and put the pen and pad into his hands instead. Then she poured the drinks and started talking.
“I was in a house, facedown on the floor. I think it was the victim’s house. There was a hardwood floor, light-colored, maybe maple. A brown sofa with claw feet. Mint-green walls. A god-awful afghan with a dozen garish colors. Looked like someone made it out of all the leftover yarn they could find. An orange throw pillow. I saw a couple of pictures on the wall, little kids, but they were old. You could tell by the haircuts and the fading. Looked like school pictures. Two kids, a girl and a boy. The boy’s a little older. Carrot curls and freckles, both of them. He had a plaid shirt on. She had a yellow dress with a white collar.”
He was scribbling as fast as he could. “Was there a clock on the wall that you could see?”
“No.”
“How about windows, anything that would tell you whether it was day or night?”
“No uncovered windows.” She bit her lip, nodded once. “There was a ceiling fan light fixture thing.”
“You said you were facedown.”
“I was face-up at first. I saw this ceiling fan with palm frond–shaped blades, ivory or cream. The fan was off, but the light was on. I think it was nighttime, because it was darker where the light didn’t touch the ceiling. Then someone kicked me over.”
“Did you see them?”
She shook her head.
“Not at all?”
“No, not at all.”
“Rache, if you were face-up, and
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