Wake to Darkness. Maggie Shayne
“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?”
He shook his head. “Not good. She looked like hell this morning.”
“I’m sorry, Mason. Your family’s a mess, and here I am horning in on you with—”
“It’s good you’re here. I’ve been racking my brain trying to figure out what to do for Marie and the boys, how to help, if it’s normal grieving or if it’s gone beyond that. I was just thinking I’d like to talk to you about it.”
I