She doesn’t hate you that much.
The gun doesn’t move.
Does she?
“Alexis, put down the gun. It’s just Gabby,” I say.
“Gabby?” She lowers the gun a few inches, but still holds it ready to use. “Why are you breaking into my house?”
With my hands still in the air and a gun still pointed in my direction, my patience is slipping. “You know, I would love to tell you all about it, but you have to put the gun away first, okay?”
She looks at the gun in her hand, seems surprised to see it. She drops it on the table near the climbing elf. “I, uh.” The firm, impressive voice she used a few moments ago is gone. She runs both hands into her hair, pushes against her temples, squeezes her eyes shut as if in pain. “Jesus, Gabby. I’m so sorry. I had a migraine earlier and took an extra sleeping pill.”
My irritation switches to concern. I’ve never seen Alexis like this. She always seems so put together, so in control. Every hair in place, not a stain on any shirt she wears.
“I’m sorry I scared you. Obviously, Lucas didn’t tell you I was bringing over Olivia’s gifts.”
Alexis shakes her head hard. I’m not sure if she’s saying no to me, or just trying to shake the pain out. “I didn’t know, but I guess I should have assumed something like that before I pulled a gun on you.” She tries to make a chuckle, but it comes out as a half-sob. “Some Christmas, huh?”
“Most Christmases are kind of a mess for me.” I shrug, keeping the massive couch between us just in case.
Alexis walks into the kitchen part of the room and gets herself a glass of water. “Better get used to ruined Christmases if you plan on marrying a cop,” she says, then downs the whole glass of water in one long drink.
This is another side of Alexis I’ve never seen. I let the marrying comment slide. Lucas and I haven’t gotten anywhere near that discussion yet, but I feel certain we will someday.
“Ruined birthday parties,” Alexis continues. “Ruined weekend plans. Even a nice dinner out together rarely happens without some kind of police work messing it up.”
I don’t know how to respond to any of this. I’m not even certain she realizes she’s talking to me. Some of those sleeping pills can mess your mind up pretty bad. I let her ramble, and focus on my immediate problem.
“Can I get some wet rags and some towels?” I ask her. “I kind of made a mess over here.”
Alexis snaps out of her sad funk, and gathers up the cleaning supplies.
“What in the world did you do?” she asks once she sees the spill.
“Dropped a soda can and it exploded.”
With stiff movements and an exasperated attitude, she helps me clean the floor. This is the Alexis I know. In control and annoyed with me.
“I’ll have to wash the curtains tomorrow,” she grumbles as she gathers up the wet towels and takes them into the kitchen and out of sight towards the laundry room.
While she’s gone, I place Olivia’s gifts under the tree, thankful to finally have the seemingly simple task completed. I notice a few of the boxes have tags with my name on them. I fight the urge to shake them, or even touch them too much. I want to be surprised.
My task complete and my mess cleaned up, I crumple up the bags inside out so nothing sticky is exposed. Alexis has been gone a long time. I awkwardly wait near the tree with the wad of bags in my hands. I watch the elf climb the ladder five times before my concern and curiosity get the better of me.
“Alexis?” I walk into the kitchen. “I’m all done.”
Down a short hall, the laundry room light is on, and I can hear the washer filling, but Alexis doesn’t answer.
“Hello?” I call gently, wondering where she went. The door to the garage is in front of me, but I didn’t hear her open it. That leaves only the laundry room.
Confused, I peak around the corner of the door jamb. The small room barely has space for the washer and dryer, let alone the overflowing baskets of clothes on the floor. I find her on top of the baskets, curled on her side in the laundry and fast asleep.
I shake her shoulder, but she doesn’t wake up. The faint, but unmistakable scent of wine wafts from her. “Migraine medicine, sleeping pills and wine?” I ask. “No wonder you’re acting so strange.”
Shaking doesn’t wake her completely, but I manage to rouse her enough to get her to her feet. Leaning heavily against me, she lets me lead her down the hall to her bed. The electric candle in the window shines through the drapes. It bathes the room in a comforting red glow, but I imagine it does nothing to fill Dustin’s absence.
Alexis topples into the bed, her hands searching the empty space next to her. She finds the largest pillow and wraps her arms around the red checked poof. I’m familiar with the move. In my own bed, I wrap around Chester, but the reason is the same. Sleeping alone sucks.
Once she’s settled and comfortable, I leave her to her sad dreams, wondering if in the morning, she’ll remember I was here at all.
The door directly across the hall is open a few inches. Walker’s room. I peak through the crack of the door. Walker is asleep in his crib, laying face down, but on his knees so his butt is in the air. Olivia sleeps on the floor next to him, on a pile of blankets and cushions. The moonlight filters through the curtains and I can just make out her features. She reminds me so much of her dad, it makes me smile.
If you’re going to marry a cop.
If I marry Lucas, this little girl will be my daughter. The thought makes my smile grow larger. Olivia and I don’t know each other very well yet, but I care about her a lot already.
“Merry Christmas, Olivia,” I whisper through the crack in the door.
Back in the living room, I remember the gun. Alexis sat in on the table next to the climbing elf. The table has other bright decorations on it and a nativity set complete with a small wooden barn.
The black gun, so close to Baby Jesus, makes me sick to my stomach. I snatch the gun off the table, whispering, “Sorry, Jesus. She didn’t mean it.”
Dustin would be furious if he knew Alexis not only pulled a gun on me, but then left it out and loaded with the kids in the house. I try to think of a place to hide it. I could put it in a cabinet or in the garage or something, but Dustin might stumble across it. He’d then grill Alexis about it. I’ve been on the receiving end of many of his lectures. Saving Alexis from one is my Christmas gift to her.
She’s obviously going through something and I don’t trust her with it right now. That’s a discussion for later. For now, I just need to keep the gun safe. Not knowing what else to do with it, I check to make sure the safety is on, then shove it into my coat pocket.
Despite all the excitement of the night and the caffeine I’ve been drinking, I stifle a yawn. With the gun heavy in my pocket I lock the patio door and let myself out the front door, locking it behind me. The plastic wreath bumps gently against the door as it closes.
My gloves are sticky and wet from the exploded soda, so I pull them off. With bare fingers, I touch the trailing end of the huge red bow.
A shimmer of Mom in happier times flits through my head. I welcome the image, hungry for any scrap of my mother.
I wrap my fingers around the ribbon, and the vision shifts. Dustin in Grandma Dot’s attic. The sling on his arm tells me the vision is recent.
Sorry I doubted you, guilt and shame, a dash of hope, tears and pain.
I let go of the ribbon, embarrassed to see Dustin in such a private moment. I normally don’t get visions from those closest to me. I’ve never seen Dustin.
My tattoo tingles gently, pleasantly.
I look to the sky. “Thank you,” I say to God. Getting to know my brother better, actually seeing him, is a precious gift.
Thinking of Dustin brings me back to the reason he’s not here.
I’m super curious what Lucas and Dustin have found out about the missing kids and want to help in the search. Back in my Charger, I unload Alexis’s gun, check the safety just to b
e sure and put the whole mess in my glove box. My glove box is actually used as a “glove box.” A collection of random gloves tumbles onto the floor in a rainbow of fabric.
“Crap on a cracker.” I gather as many of the loose gloves as possible and shove them around the gun. I slam the little door closed before more gloves can fall out. I toss my wet and sticky gloves onto the passenger seat, and pick a different pair from the floor. I usually stock up on black or gray gloves, neutral colors. My favorites are tan ones that blend in with my skin, so people don’t stare. The gloves on the floor are all bright colored ones, the reason they’re shoved away in the first place.
Grandma Dot loves buying me what she calls fun gloves. “Embrace it, Gabriella. Show off your sassy,” she’d say. I have no idea what that means, but I know there will be at least one present tomorrow morning that is brightly colored gloves. As a nod to Grandma and the holiday, I choose the most garish of the selection on my floor board. One has a red hand with each finger a different color, the other is dark blue with hot pink stripes. I hold my hands up to take a look.
“Goes with the ridiculous hoodie you’re wearing,” I say to myself with an over-tired giggle.
Before I put the car in drive with my blue and pink hand, I text Lucas, “Santa duty is done. What next?”
While I wait for his response, I drive slowly through the quiet, well-lit neighborhood and sip on the last of the soda.
“Nothing you can do tonight. LUVU.”
The short-hand ‘love you’ takes the sting out of the dismissal. Another yawn makes my jaw ache. Lucas and Dustin may be used to working all night, but I’m used to regular sleep and lots of it.
At the exit of the housing addition, I can’t decide which way to turn. Left would take me back towards town, my empty bed and fitful night of worry. Right takes me towards Grandma Dot’s. The bed will still be empty and my mind will still be full of worry, but at least Grandma will be there.
And Mom.
A few weeks ago, my mom, Emily McAllister, was cleared of all charges and released from prison. After fifteen years of her not being here, I’m still getting used to her return.
The decision easily made, I turn right and head towards Grandma Dot’s farm.
Chapter 7
LUCAS
Dustin takes the front seat of the cruiser, so I’m forced to sit in back. The seat is hard and uncomfortable and something gooey makes my pants stick to the seat. Tonight I don’t care. The death of Lauren Whitlow has sucker punched all other concerns from my mind.
She shouldn’t have died. She seemed hurt, but stable, recoverable.
I missed something, should have done something.
On the drive back to the police department, the dark fields and farm houses slide past my eyes. For once, I don’t drink in the details the way I’ve been trained. Outside is just a dark blur. Dustin and Patterson, the officer driving us, chat, but their words flow past me like a soft breeze. The only words I can hear are repeating in my head.
You could have saved her.
I pinch the bridge of my nose, irritated with myself. Rationally, I know there wasn’t anything I could have done differently. If Gabby hadn’t sensed them and if I hadn’t seen the tracks before the rising storm obliterated them, she would still be sitting in the wrecked car, growing cold, her family having no idea where she was. Or where Eric Landry was.
“You said the male victim was Eric Landry,” I interrupt Dustin and Patterson. “What do we know about him?”
Dustin turns as well as he can with his injured arm to face me. “Driver’s license says he lives on Anders Street. Previously married to Bethany Landry. No children.”
“What about Lauren Whitlow? What’s her story?”
“Lives out in Crestwood. Married to Jared Whitlow. My guess is her marriage is still legal, but on paper only and Landry was the new man. Doesn’t seem like she’d have her kids with her secret affair on Christmas Eve, but who knows.”
“Any luck on finding the car that picked the kids up?” I already know the answer to this question, but maybe some detail came over the radio while I wasn’t paying attention. I can hope.
Dustin shakes his head and turns back to face the front of the car. “Not much to go on. You didn’t see it?”
“By the time I got there, it was already gone.” I won’t tell him how I found Gabby crawling and desperate. Dustin won’t understand and Patterson doesn’t need to hear it.
“Pretty amazing how Gabby knew to look for them,” Patterson surprises me with the praise. He’d seen Gabby’s work up close the night Dustin was shot. She must have made an impression on him. Thank God it was a good impression, many of the other officers don’t share his opinion.
“She can do some amazing stuff,” I say proudly. I sense Dustin tense up, but he keeps his mouth shut.
“Can’t she just touch one of the kid’s toys and sense where they are, or something like that?” Patterson pushes.
Dustin coughs, a badly executed attempt to hide his derision. If I could reach him through the divider on the cruiser, I’d smack him in the back of the head.
“It doesn’t work like that, exactly,” I explain.
“Too bad,” Patterson continues, oblivious to Dustin’s reactions. “Would sure make our work a lot easier.”
Dustin coughs again, but it can’t cover his scoff. “Trust me,” he says. “Working with Gabby has its challenges.”
“And it’s benefits,” I jump in. “Even you have to admit she’s a big help.”
Patterson looks at Dustin, then over his shoulder at me, confused by the rising tension in the car. “Either way, I like her.” Patterson attempts to divert the situation. “Where are you detectives headed after you get changed and in your own car? Her family first, or his?”
“Hers,” Dustin says with finality. “Hopefully the estranged husband has the kids, and everything is just fine.”
“He doesn’t have a four door light colored sedan registered to him,” I point out. “Just a Tahoe.”
“Maybe we’ll still get lucky,” Dustin says tiredly, rubbing the shoulder in a sling. A few minutes ago, I had the urge to smack him, now I worry. The section of his face I can see is tight and drawn with pain, his skin pale.
“You know you’re not officially back to work yet,” I point out. “This isn’t actually your case. You should sit this one out.”
Dustin snaps his head around in defense. “I’m not sitting this out. Not until we know the kids are safe. That could be Walker or Olivia out there.”
I knew mentioning stepping aside would rile him up, which is why I said it. Color returns to his cheeks and his eyes snap. “As long as you’re up for it,” I say, the corner of my mouth twitching.
Dustin sees the twitch, realizes I was playing him. “I don’t know what my sister sees in you,” he says shuffling back around to face forward. “You’re lucky there’s a divider between us. I could take you with just my one arm.”
We pull into the parking garage and I blink against the sudden brightness of the overhead lights. “Once I get out of this car, there won’t be a divider to keep you safe,” I tease back.
“Detectives are odd,” Patterson says good-naturedly, and parks the car. “Get out. I’m not an Uber driver.” He smiles at me through the rearview mirror, joining in.
Dustin climbs out and starts walking away, knowing full well I can’t open my door from the inside.
“Hey,” I yell, banging on the door.
He looks over his shoulder and laughs, but waits for me at the doors.
Patterson gets out and opens the door for me. “Like I said, detectives are weird.”
I clamp Patterson on the shoulder in a friendly gesture. “That’s how we stay sane.”
“I get that. Whatever it takes.” His face grows serious and he hooks one thumb into his belt taking a nervous posture. “Good luck tonight. I don’t envy you.”
“Worst part of the job,” I say seriously, looking across the bright parking
garage and rubbing my hand down my face. “It’s hard to destroy a family then be forced to watch the fall out.”
“You didn’t destroy these families,” Patterson says. “Whoever forced them off the road did.”
“Thanks man,” I say sincerely. “I needed that.” I put out my hand to shake his. I don’t know the rookie well, but I like what I’ve seen. He grips my hand, firm, but not too hard. “Thanks for the ride.”
“Merry Christmas, Detective Hartley.” He releases my hand. “Tell Gabby thank you for her help tonight.”
Warmed by Patterson thinking of Gabby, I say, “I’ll give you a good review on the Uber app.”
He waves his hand in dismissal at my levity as he climbs back into the cruiser to return to patrol.
Dustin is waiting for me at the double glass doors that enter the station. “I wouldn’t give him more than three stars,” he says. “Dirty car. You should see the stain on your pants from the back seat.”
I crane my neck to see whatever had me stuck to the seat, try to catch a reflection from the glass doors. The stain is out of view. “I don’t want to know. I’ll probably have to burn these pants now.”
“Don’t worry, fashion diva, you look better in uniform anyway.” Dustin pushes through the doors and into the station.
Changed into my uniform, and dressed for action, I feel like a different man. My mind skitters over Olivia and Gabby. I’m certain Olivia is safe with Alexis. I’m just as certain Gabby will make sure to take the gifts over for the morning. I’m not used to having a helper. Not used to trusting another person to take care of something like that for me.
God bless that woman.
I need to think about another woman now, Lauren Whitlow. I shut my locker and the dark blue door rattles. “Ready?” I ask Dustin. His color is a little better and I saw him take a pain pill as we changed, but he’s struggling now. His foot is propped up on the wooden bench between the rows of lockers, and he’s trying to tie his boot with his one good hand. “Here, let me,” I offer.
Message of Murder 04-Message in the Snow Page 5