Roses Are Red

Sampson eventually nudged me and whispered in his deep voice, "It's kind of emotional when you get into it. Maybe Nana was right to have us come."

"She knows that. Nana is always right," I said," She's like an octogenarian Oprah."

"How're you doing, sugar?" John finally asked as the singing and screeching and sobbing crescendoed.

I thought about it for a few seconds. "Oh, I miss Christine. But we're happy to have the boy with us. Nana says it will add years to her life. He lights up our whole house, morning to night. He thinks we're all his staff."

Christine had left for Seattle at the end of June. At least she'd finally told me where she was going. I'd gone over to Mitchellville to say goodbye to her. Her new SUV was packed up. Everything was ready. Christine finally gave me a hug and then she started to cry, to heave against my body. "Maybe someday," she whispered. Maybe someday,

But now she was out in the state of Washington, and I was here in the Baptist church in my neighborhood. I figured Nana Mama was trying to get me a date. It was a fu

"You sorry for the sisters, Alex?" Sampson asked. He was getting gabby. I looked at Sampson, then around the church.

"Sure I am. Lots of good people here, trying to do the best they can. They just want to be loved a little bit now and then."

"Nothing wrong with that," Sampson said and clasped me hard around the shoulder.

"No. Nothing at all. Just trying to do the best we can."

Chapter One Hundred and Twenty-Two

A couple of nights later, I was home playing the piano on the sun porch at around eleven-thirty. The rest of the house was silent, nice and peaceful, the way I like it sometimes. I had just gone up, checked on the boy, and found him sleeping like a precious little angel in his crib. I was playing Gershwin, one of my favorites, "Rhapsody in Blue."

I was thinking about my family, about our old house on Fifth Street, and how much I loved it here in spite of everything that was wrong with the neighborhood. I was starting to get my head on straight again. Maybe all that screeching and crying in the Baptist church had helped. Or maybe it was the Gershwin.

The phone rang and I hurried to the kitchen to get it before it woke everyone up, especially little Alex, or AJ, as Ja

It was Kyle Craig on the line.

Kyle almost never called the house and never this late. This was how everything had started on the Mastermind case with Kyle.

"Kyle," I said, 'why are you calling me here? What's wrong? I can't start on another case."

"It's bad, Alex. I don't even know how to tell you this," he said in the softest, quietest voice. "Oh shit, Alex… Betsey Cavalierre is dead. I'm at her place now. You should come here. Just come."

I hung up the phone a minute or so later. I must have because it was back on its hook. My legs and arms had turned to jelly. I was biting the inside of my cheek and I tasted blood. I was reeling. Kyle hadn't told me everything, just that I should come to Betsey's house. Someone had broken in there and killed her. Who had killed her? Jesus. Why?

I was throwing on some clothes to go and meet Kyle when the phone rang a second time. I snatched it up. It had to be somebody else with the bad news. Probably Sampson, or maybe Rakeem Powell.

I heard a voice on the line. It froze everything inside of me.

"I just wanted to congratulate you. You did wonderful work. You caught and punished all my little minions, as I thought you might. Actually, they were put there for that very purpose."

"Who is this?" I asked. But I thought I knew who it was.

"You know who it is, Doctor Detective Cross. You're a smart enough fellow. You knew that catching the good Doctor Francis was a little too convenient. Also my detective friends in New York Mr. Brian Macdougall and his crew. And of course there's still the matter of all that missing money. I'm the one you call Mastermind. That's a name I can live with. It fits. I am that good.

"Goodnight for now. I'll see you soon. Oh, and have a nice time over at Betsey Cavalierre's. I certainly did."

Chapter One Hundred and Twenty-Three

I called Sampson first and asked him to come out and be with Nana and the kids. Then I raced out to Woodbridge, Virginia, and Betsey's house. I drove the HOV lane all the way at speeds up to a hundred.

I had never been there before, but I didn't have any trouble finding her house. There were cars double-parked everywhere on the street. Several were Crown Victorias and Grand Marquises. I figured most of them were FBI. EMS was there too. I could hear the burping screams of more sirens racing to the murder scene.

I took a deep breath before I walked inside. Suddenly I felt dizzy. Kyle was still there, directing the Bureau's Violent Crime Unit as it began to collect evidence. I shook my head: I doubted they would find much here. They hadn't at crime scenes where the Mastermind had been involved before this.

A few FBI agents were crying. I had cried during the car ride here, but right now I needed to be as clear and focused as possible. This was the only chance I would get to see Betsey's house close to the way the killer had seen it, the way he had left it for us.

It looked as if there had been a break-in. A window in the kitchen had been tampered with. FBI techs were videotaping it now. I couldn't help noticing Betsey's things, her style, her home. On the refrigerator was the Newsweek cover of the American Women's Soccer World Cup champion Brandi Chastain and the headline' Girls Rule!"

The house looked to be close to a hundred years old and was filled with country clutter. Andrew Wyeth paintings, photos of loons in autumn on a gorgeous lake. On a hallway table I noticed a reminder for Betsey's next mandatory shooting qualifier at the FBI range.

Finally, I did the really hard thing, the impossible thing. I walked down a long hallway that led back from the living room. The master bedroom was at the end of the hall. It was easy to tell that she had been murdered there. The FBI's activity centered around the rear bedroom. The murder scene. It had happened right here.

I still hadn't spoken to Kyle, hadn't bothered him, hadn't pulled him away from the VCU team and their search of the place. Maybe we would get lucky this time. And maybe not.

Then I saw Betsey and I lost it. My left hand flew to my face as if it had a mind and will of its own. My legs buckled badly. My entire body shook.

I could hear his goddamn voice ringing inside my head: Oh, and have a nice time ewer at Betsey Cavalierre's. I certainly did.