Afraid to Die (Alvarez & Pescoli)

ghts fading with the snowfall. Pescoli had been left standing in the archway to the kitchen, and Bianca, sprawled on the couch while watching TV, her ever-present phone in one hand, had rolled her eyes. “He is an adult.”

“Not by my standards.”

“Uh. But he is by the country’s. He can even vote.”

“Frightening.”

Bianca had sent a glance toward the kitchen as Cisco had hopped onto the couch near her. “So maybe you should change your standards and we could have some peace around here!”

“Nice, Bianca.”

“It’s just that you’re always on his case and I mean always. I don’t know why he wants to live here.”

“Because he can’t afford to live on his own.”

“Well, that’s just lame. If I were him, I’d move out anyway and if I were you, I’d pay him to move out!” She turned her attention back to some important text while the Real Housewives of God Knew Where cavorted on the screen in minidresses, high heels and hair extensions.

“I guess I’m out of it,” Pescoli admitted.

“Uh—yeah!”

“You weren’t supposed to hear that.”

“Then don’t say it.”

Yeah, the evening had gone swimmingly. At least the tree was completely decorated and the lights strung the length of the eaves were twinkling brightly.

Joelle would have been so proud.

“Merry Christmas,” she’d told herself early this morning as she’d finally poured herself the first blissful and oh-so-necessary cup of coffee.

She’d woken up tired after a restless night of being haunted by thoughts of the new case, not just Lara Sue Gilfry, but the other women who’d gone missing. Were they already dead? Kidnapped and killed by the same nut job who’d murdered the first victim, or had they met some other fate?

Her mind still trying to make some sense of Lara Sue Gilfry’s fate, she’d checked the refrigerator, found a bread sack without so much as one heel of bread in it and tossed the bag in the garbage. Frustrated by the fact that no one seemed to let her know when they needed groceries, she’d yelled at her son, reminding him to get up, then made her way to the bathroom for a quick shower. When she’d stepped out of the bathroom, Jeremy still hadn’t appeared and her temper had begun to seethe. She’d known he’d oversleep. She yelled again before heading to her bedroom, where she quickly dressed.

Still no noise from the sleeping giant.

“Perfect,” she’d muttered, cinching her belt, then walking down the stairs to his bedroom, where she pushed open the door despite the pile of clothes on the other side.

“Rise and shine,” she’d said, snapping on the light. In a heartbeat she realized that the room was empty, his unmade bed wrinkled, the duvet tossed to the floor. “Jer?” she said, but she was alone. Had he left while she was in the bathroom? No way. They only had one toilet, and though she’d caught him peeing off the railing to the backyard a couple of times, it wasn’t his usual morning routine. No, he’d have pounded on the bathroom door, yelling about his full bladder. It appeared as if he hadn’t returned the night before. His textbooks and laptop were shoved into the corner of the room, by the scarred table that held his lava lamp, untouched from when he’d dropped them yesterday. She’d seen them in that exact space.

“Fabulous,” she’d muttered and reached for her cell phone just as Chico started sending up a ruckus and the front door opened. As she rounded the corner of the stairs, she nearly ran into her son trying to sneak down to his room.

“Oh!” he said, obviously startled. “Geez, Mom, you scared me.”

“Ditto.” She smelled cigarette smoke on him, and beer.

“Where have you been?” she demanded.

“Out.”

“From last night?”

“Yeah.” His guilt was morphing into defensiveness.

“The movie had to be over hours ago.”

“I crashed over at Rory’s.”