Mason agreed. Why break the window when you could unlock the door to get out?
He opened the door, which led to a small concrete patio. A large grill stood in one corner, and the faint odor of char and barbecue reached him. He inhaled deeply, hoping the smell could drive away the scent of death. The June afternoon was hot, creeping into the high nineties. Unusual for this early in the summer. The small patch of lawn had more dry, brown areas than green, and a weathered gray fence surrounded the small backyard, hiding it from the adjacent homes.
“How’d the neighbor spot the broken window?” asked Ray.
“I’d like to know too.” Someone would have to deliberately peer over the tall fence to see the backside of the home. Mason had asked an officer to bring the neighbor back for an interview.
“Mason, Ray.” Medical examiner Dr. Gianna Trask stood in the doorway behind them. “They told me you were here.”
Both detectives had worked with the ME before. Her husband was the brother of investigative journalist Michael Brody. Mason didn’t know how to label his testy relationship with Brody. Not friendship. Not acquaintanceship. What do you call having a mutual respect but high suspicion of each other? The reporter would be at Mason and Ava’s wedding. Along with Gianna and her husband.
Hands were shaken, greetings exchanged.
“I haven’t looked at the body yet,” Dr. Trask said. “But judging by the green face of the patrolman who let me in and the mess in the kitchen, it’s a bad one.” Her voice was light, but her dark eyes were grim.
“Keep an eye out for a missing finger,” Ray said.
One of her eyebrows shot up. “Noted.” She stepped back inside, leaving the door open a crack.
“Back to work,” said Ray. “More house to cover.”
Mason sucked in a last inhalation of the faint barbecue scent, wishing he could make it last.
2
FBI special agent Ava McLane downed the last of her coffee and put the mug in the dishwasher, the new appliance triggering a smile. When do I stop feeling giddy about appliances? The stainless-steel dishwasher matched her new six-burner stove and wide commercial refrigerator. She and Mason had been without a kitchen for nearly four months as contractors ripped out the 1980s-style kitchen and then discovered problem after problem. The plumbing. The electrical. The dry rot.
The old Tudor home they’d purchased last year had turned into a money pit. Issues in the kitchen were just the beginning of problems found throughout the entire home. How it had passed inspection, she didn’t know. Mason had wanted to hunt down the inspector, but Ava had reminded him that this was the home they’d fallen in love with and would have bought no matter what the inspection returned. He’d grumpily acquiesced and sent another payment to their contractor.
She would smile all she wanted at appliances. Remodels were hell.
Ava had worked from home that morning, finishing up reports on the case she’d closed the previous week, and had promised her supervisor, Ben, she’d be in the office by noon. She checked the time and grabbed her bag as Bingo whined. She spun to give the dog a goodbye hug and stopped. He was utterly still, his attention directed at the front door.
The doorbell rang, and Bingo uttered a low woof of warning.
“Good boy.” Ava gave him a head rub. He was an excellent watchdog, knowing with no training—at least no training from her or Mason—when to sound the alarm and when to stay quiet. More than a year ago, the stray had chosen Mason as his person and become a permanent part of the household.
Ava looked through the peephole in the front door. She could have used her phone to check the front-porch camera of the high-tech security system Mason had installed, but the old-fashioned way was quicker.
The man on her porch appeared to be in his twenties. His hands were shoved in the front pockets of his cargo shorts, and he stood several feet back from the door, leaving plenty of space between himself and whoever would answer. Flip-flops and a snug T-shirt completed his look, but he didn’t appear scruffy. His hair was short and his goatee neatly trimmed.
He was familiar, but she couldn’t place the face.
A chill of warning went up her spine. There was a reason Mason had installed the security system. In the past, dangerous elements of their jobs in law enforcement had followed them home.
And there was always the question of Jayne.
Ava’s twin sister was unpredictable. Usually for the worse.
“Can I help you?” she said loudly through the door. The man straightened, and hope filled his features.
“Are you Ava McLane?” he asked.
“Who is asking?”
“Brady Shurr. I’m looking for Jayne.” His tone was desperate.
Ava’s knees shook, and she pressed her hands against the door to steady herself as she looked closer through the peephole. Jayne had run off from a local drug-and-alcohol rehab facility with Brady Shurr around eight months ago. Last Ava had heard, her twin sister and Brady were in Costa Rica, using Brady’s family’s money to pay for a luxury rehab clinic.
At least Jayne had still been seeking help.
Ava now recognized him. The Shurr family owned a half dozen auto dealerships in the state. Brady and his siblings were often in the commercials.
Her hands icy, she undid the locks and yanked the door open. “What happened? Where’d she go?”
Brady stared at her, scanning her face. “Jesus.”
Ava knew that look. She’d seen it all her life. She and Jayne were identical twins, and often the only difference between them was the current style or color of hair. People who knew only one of them were always stunned when they met the other.
“Jayne said you two looked nothing alike,” he finally said, blinking hard as he continued to scrutinize her.
“She knows full well how identical we are,” Ava snapped. “She’s impersonated me more times than I can count.” Her heart pounded. Jayne had been quiet for months, but that was part of her twin’s destructive cycle. Long periods of silence followed by an abrupt tsunami of activity. Usually illegal activity. Ava had been on edge, waiting for the other shoe to drop—it always did—and now it was standing on her front porch.
The silence was over.
“She’s gone,” he choked out.
“What do you mean, gone? I thought the two of you were living the high life on a beach in Central America.” Pretending her heart wasn’t climbing up her throat, Ava leaned against the doorjamb and casually crossed her arms. “What did she do now?”
Jayne’s past was full of illegal drugs, petty crimes, and stealing whatever she could from her twin. Ever since they were young, none of Ava’s possessions had been off-limits, in Jayne’s mind. She had helped herself to Ava’s credit cards, her identity, her car, her boyfriends, and her clothing, claiming that twins shared everything. Jayne always floated from job to job and man to man, seeking excitement.
Jayne was several years older than Brady. They’d met in rehab, and somehow she’d convinced him to leave his wife, check out of the clinic, and disappear with her.
The last time Ava had heard from Jayne, she’d been upbeat, looking forward to the future with this young man and promising to stay clean.
Ava hoped for the best but always expected the worst when it came to her twin.