Last to Die

halted.

A woman was walking toward him. A woman dressed all in black, and lean as a panther. Her blond hair was pulled back in a ponytail, and the flickering firelight cast her face in sharp angles.

“Help me!” he screamed. “My aunt and uncle—they’re in the house!”

She looked at the farmhouse, now fully consumed by flames. “I’m sorry. But it’s too late for them.”

“It’s not too late. We have to save them!”

She shook her head sadly. “I can’t help them, Will. But you, I can save you.” She held out her hand. “Come with me. If you want to live.”

THREE

 

SOME GIRLS LOOKED PRETTY IN PINK. SOME GIRLS COULD DON BOWS and lace, could swish around in silk taffeta and look charming and feminine.

Jane Rizzoli was not one of those girls.

She stood in her mother’s bedroom, staring at her reflection in the full-length mirror, and thought: Just shoot me. Shoot me now.

The bell-shaped dress was bubblegum pink with a neckline ruffle as wide as a clown’s collar. The skirt was puffy with row upon grotesque row of more ruffles. Wrapped around the waist was a sash tied in a huge pink bow. Even Scarlett O’Hara would be horrified.

“Oh Janie, look at you!” said Angela Rizzoli, clapping her hands in delight. “You are so beautiful, you’ll steal the show from me. Don’t you just love it?”

Jane blinked, too stunned to say a word.

“Of course, you’ll have to wear high heels to pull it all together. Satin stilettos, I’m thinking. And a bouquet with pink roses and baby’s breath. Or is that old-fashioned? Do you think I should go more modern with calla lilies or something?”

“Mom …”

“I’ll have to take this in for you at the waist. How come you’ve lost weight? Aren’t you eating enough?”

“Seriously? This is what you want me to wear?”

“What’s the matter?”

“It’s … pink.”

“And you look beautiful in it.”

“Have you ever seen me wear pink?”

“I’m sewing a little dress just like it for Regina. You’ll look so cute together! Mom and daughter in matching dresses!”

“Regina’s cute. I’m definitely not.”

Angela’s lip began to quiver. It was a sign as subtly ominous as the first twitch of a nuclear reactor’s warning dial. “I worked all weekend making that dress. Sewed every stitch, every ruffle, with my own hands. And you don’t want to wear it, even for my wedding?”

Jane swallowed. “I didn’t say that. Not exactly.”

“I can see it in your face. You hate it.”

“No, Mom, it’s a great dress.” For a frigging Barbie, maybe.

Angela sank onto the bed, and her sigh was worthy of a dying heroine. “You know, maybe Vince and I should just elope. That would make everyone happier, wouldn’t it? Then I won’t have to deal with Frankie. I won’t have to worry about who’s included on the guest list and who isn’t. And you won’t have to wear a dress you hate.”

Jane sat on the bed beside her, and the taffeta puffed up on her lap like a big ball of cotton candy. She punched it down. “Mom, your divorce isn’t even final yet. You can take all the time you want to plan this. That’s the fun of a wedding, don’t you think? You don’t have to rush into anything.” She glanced up at the sound of the doorbell.

“Vince is impatient. Do you know what he told me? He says he wants to claim his bride, isn’t that sweet? I feel like that Madonna song. Like a virgin again.”

Jane jumped up. “I’ll answer the door.”

“We should just get married in Miami,” Angela yelled as Jane walked from the bedroom. “It’d be a whole lot easier. Cheaper, too, ’cause I wouldn’t have to feed all the relatives!”

Jane opened the front door. Standing on the porch were the two men she least wanted to see on this Sunday morning.

Her brother Frankie laughed as he entered the house. “What’s with the ugly dress?”

Her father, Frank Senior, followed, announcing: “I’m here to speak to your mother.”

“Dad, this isn’t a good time,” said Jane.

“I’m here. It’s a good time. Where is she?” he asked, looking around the living room.

“I don’t think she wants to talk to you.”

“She has to talk to me. We need to put a stop to this insanity.”

“Insanity?” said Angela, emerging from the bedroom. “Look who’s talking about insanity.”

“Frankie says you’re going through with this,” said Jane’s father. “You’re actually going to marry that man?”

“Vince asked me. I said yes.”

“What about the fact we’re still married?”

“It’s only a matter of paperwork.”

“I’m not going to sign them.”

“What?”

“I said I’m not gonna sign the papers. And you’re not gonna marry that guy.”

Angela gave a disbelieving laugh. “You’re the one who walked out.”

“I didn’t know you’d turn around and get married!”

“What am I supposed to do, sit around pining after you left me for her? I’m still a young woman, Frank! Men want me. They want to sleep with me!”

Frankie groaned. “Jesus, Ma.”

“And you know what?” added Angela. “Sex has never been better!”

Jane heard her cell phone ringing in the bedroom. She ignored it and grabbed her father’s arm. “I think you’d better leave, Dad. Come on, I’ll walk you out.”

“I’m glad you left me, Frank,” said Angela. “Now I’ve got my life back and I know what it’s like to be appreciated.”

“You’re my wife. You still belong to me.”

Jane’s cell phone, which had gone briefly silent, was ringing again, insistent and now impossible to ignore. “Frankie,” she pleaded, “for God’s sake, help me here! Get him out of the house.”

“Come on, Dad,” Frankie said, and clapped his father on the back. “Let’s go get a beer.”

“I’m not finished here.”

“Yes, you are,” said Angela.

Jane sprinted back to the bedroom and dug the ringing cell phone out of her purse. Tried to ignore the arguing voices in the hallway as she answered: “Rizzoli.”

Detective Darren Crowe said, “We need you on this one. How soon can you get here?” No polite preamble, no please or would you mind, just Crowe being his usual charming self.

She responded with an equally brusque: “I’m not on call.”

“Marquette’s bringing in three teams. I’m lead on this. Frost just got here, but we could use a woman.”

“Did I just hear you right? Did you say you actually need a woman’s help?”

“Look, our witness is too shell-shocked to tell us much of anything. Moore’s already tried talking to the kid, but he thinks you’ll have better luck with him.”