Crimes Most Merry and Albright

by Larissa Reinhart

  I swiped at the sweat dampening my neck and listened.

  What in the hell? Movie Star knew about Pearl? And she was checking our perimeter? Did she know the nephew was out there? Idiot. She'd get herself into trouble. That one did not look capable of taking on a killer Santa.

  If the nephew had strangled Mrs. Boyes with Christmas lights. I still wasn't sure.

  But Movie Star was plenty worried about Pearl. I could hear it in her voice. She shook with tension. Or maybe with cold.

  Why didn't Casey offer her a cup of cocoa or something?

  She left. Movie Star was out there with creepy Santa.

  It was time to pull out the Remington. For Casey and the baby's sake.

  * * *

  My hair felt slick with sweat and my hands clammy, but I ignored the fever. Keeping an eye on the window, I busied myself with a half-cocked — as Luke would call it — plan. After I had checked and filled the Remington with shells, I placed the shotgun on the guest bed. I'd make Casey spend the rest of the night in there. She and I had been raised with hunters. Casey knew her way around a shotgun. Anyway, Uncle Will had made us take gun safety classes every year. His responsibility as sheriff, he'd said.

  In my bedroom, I had plugged the Christmas lights back in and piled my pillows beneath the blanket. From the outside, if anyone cared to peek in my window, it'd look like I was sleeping. Found the trigger and door stop alarms Luke had gotten from a home security seminar. Then pulled out the lights from Great-Gam's box of Christmas decorations and took a moment to admire the thick wiring and heavy duty bulbs.

  I had a few surprises set up for Santa. Just in case he tried to come down my chimney early this year.

  While I stretched Christmas lights between eye-screws, the ping-pong of my front doorbell startled me. Casey, still working on the tree, answered. She kept her voice hushed, but I recognized the fear in her rushed whisper. Whoever was there, she wouldn't allow in the house.

  Dumping the lights, I leaped into the guest room, grabbed the Remington, and half-slid down my hall. Tearing around the arched doorway, I ran into the living room.

  "Get out of the way, Casey." I racked the shotgun and swung it up to my shoulder, pressing my cheek against the stock. "Whoever you are, I am armed, and this gun is loaded."

  Casey cried out and spun around, hugging her belly. A man stepped into the doorway and shoved her aside. A handgun rose, pointed at me.

  "Drop your weapon," he yelled. "Police."

  "Cherry, it's Deputy Fells," called Casey. "What in the hell are you doing? Please don't shoot her, Fells. She's crazy with fever."

  My finger slid off the trigger guard. Raising my left hand, I bent to lay the Remington on the floor. "I thought you were the creepy nephew." My voice faltered. "Oh, Lord forgive me. I swear on my life, I would never knowingly aim a gun at law enforcement, Jake."

  Clouds swam across my vision. I felt, more than saw, Casey at my side, walking me to the sofa.

  "You should've stayed in bed. You shouldn't be out here." Casey glanced behind her. "Jake, why don't we talk on the porch?"

  "You sure?" The deputy looked up from his squat, the Remington in his arms.

  "No," I yelled. "All y'all, stay inside. He's out there. Santa. He's watching the house."

  "What?" Jake popped a cartridge from the shotgun, checked for the next round, and looked up. "Was that your call, Cherry? I know you've got the flu, but you've got to stay off the lines. We're still on a manhunt and the roads are terrible. We're making shitty progress."

  "Call? Cherry called?" Casey's voice sounded sharp. "Fells, I thought you were coming out here to tell us about Luke— Never mind. Let me get Cherry to bed, and we'll talk."

  "Luke?" I said. "Why would you come here to tell us about Luke?"

  The heat drained from my body. Cold seeped in, turning my fingers white. I stared at my hands, then at Casey.

  A fat tear rolled down her cheek. She swiped at it, raised her chin, and looked away.

  "What happened?" I turned toward Fells.

  His body vibrated with tension. Pulling the action bar back on the Remington, he popped out another round and set the cartridge on the floor. Keeping his eyes on the shotgun, he continued to unload it.

  "Fells, I'm really sorry. I didn't know it was law enforcement at the door. What manhunt? Where's Luke? Is he on the manhunt?"

  The deputy's jaw twitched. His eyes moved from the shotgun to Casey. Lines had tightened around his eyes as he switched his gaze back to me. "You can't go waving a gun around, Cherry. What if I were a neighbor kid? I could call you in on that."

  "Please don't make this worse," said Casey. "It's already bad enough."

  "I know. I'm sorry. I'm really sorry," I said. "I thought someone was threatening Casey and the baby. I have to protect her."

  Casey clamped a hand over her mouth. Her eyes squeezed shut, and tears bled from the corners. Sniffing, she lifted her hand. "I know you have to tell his family first," she said, her voice a raw whisper. "But can't you tell us something?"

  "I don't know anything for sure, Casey. I can't tell you what I don't know." Holding the shotgun, Deputy Fells rose. Shotgun shells stood in a row at his feet. "What's Cherry talking about?"

  She sighed. "The weird neighbor next door caught me watching him through the window, and he gave me the finger across the throat sign."

  Fells held up a hand and backed out the doorway. After leaning to look at the house next door, he stepped back inside. "Your neighbor did that? Who lives there?"

  "Martha Mae Boyes. Not her. Her nephew." Casey rubbed her eyes with the back of her arm. "Martha Mae hurt her back. Her nephew is creeping us out."

  "You want me to talk to him?"

  "Forget it." She shook her head. "You better tell us what you know."

  Dazed, I looked from Deputy Fells to Casey. I couldn't stop shaking. A pit had formed inside my chest. Afraid of what would fall in, I shouted, "Tell him about Pearl."

  Casey spoke woodenly. "Pearl went over to check on Martha Mae and hasn't come back."

  "Did you call her?" asked Fells.

  "Of course, we called her. She didn't answer," I said. "And I called Gertie Sweetley."

  "I'm taking away your phone," snapped Casey. "Why can't you just rest in bed like a normal person?"

  "I'm not normal," I yelled. My voice broke. A lump rose in my throat, and I thought I might choke. "Go next door, Jake Fells. There's something going on. I saw Santa choking Mrs. Boyes with the Christmas lights.”

  "You did not," hissed Casey. "It's the fever. You got me all worked up, too. I didn't want to think about Luke, so I played along. Stop it. Just let Deputy Fells say what he's got to say. There's no point in waiting anymore."

  "The nephew threatened you. You saw that." I gasped. My chest constricted. I couldn't catch a breath. "Pearl's over there. The nephew moved the tree. And Mrs. Boyes's car is on the street. Did you see that?"

  "You think Grandpa wanted to hear Grandma Jo's cancer had come back? He listened to the doctor anyway, even though the doctor was an ass." Casey took another swipe at her tears. "I know it's Christmas. I've been trying to protect you from the news. But your man is a deputy. You know what can happen. Don't make this harder on Fells."

  Fells had taken his hat off. Held it between his hands.

  I slid back against the wall. My bones hurt too much to sit up. I nodded for him to continue while the pit inside me widened. I teetered at the edge, noting the darkness beneath.

  Deputy Fells started with the bank robbery. Told me Luke was a hero. Explained the gang's escape and the reasons why they'd lost the van. Then lost the perps.

  And lost my man.

  Numbly, I took the last step and fell into that pit.

  Sixteen

  Maizie Albright

  #FrostyTheSnowWoman

  * * *

  I hoped Casey and her sick sister would be safe. Possibly, Jay had just picked a strange place to smoke. Nash would accuse me of jumping to conclusions
. But he'd also say the situation was hinky at best.

  From the artist's carport, I tiptoed to peer around the back of the house, but I couldn't see Jay nor the burning embers of his cigarette. The artist's backyard had a fence running around it. Unless he'd returned to Martha Mae's, Jay still watched from the side of her house.

  In the artist's drive, I positioned myself between the old truck and the Firebird, squatting in the shadow between them. Spotted Jay still at the corner of Martha Mae's house, smoking. Innocently. Or smoking was a pretense for something else. Why would he stand on the side of the house in the freezing cold and not on the porch?

  Was he watching the artist's house? Or waiting for someone?

  After thirty minutes of squatting, I thought I'd lose my mind. They don't teach you stuff like this in the Criminal Justice courses at U Cal, Long Beach. The temperature continued to drop. I couldn't feel my toes. Under the streetlight, the neighborhood yards looked coated in sugar. The street glistened and not in a good way. Beneath me, a thin layer of ice covered the cement. I had to remind myself that I'd have more heat loss standing than squatting. Silver Linings. However, I could see glute exercises in my future.

  A depressing thought so close to Christmas.

  I'd make it a New Year's resolution. I couldn't disappoint Carol Lynn by turning down all the cookies she'd spent weeks baking. Not to mention the holiday dinner she'd planned. There'd been a mention of green bean casserole. Which, I'm pretty sure, is illegal in California. Anyway, I'd never tasted it. But I liked any food with the word casserole in the title.

  My Christmas dinner reflections were interrupted by a car's engine. The motor gunned and slackened in choppy repetition. Eventually, the vehicle appeared, creeping down the street. Sliding and recovering. A patrol car. Forks County Sheriff.

  Hallelujah. The cavalry.

  They didn't use lights and sirens, but Santa must have heard my prayer. Soon, this would all be over. The pregnant sister would tell the cop about the black hole in Martha Mae's house where people keep disappearing. They'd quickly figure out Jay and the woman-who-may-be-Krystal must be connected to the bank robbery, giving them the legal impetus to search the house.

  (Unless, of course, Krystal turned out to be a nun, wrongly accused of a crime. The judge had dropped her earlier charges, after all. I still had hope for Krystal.)

  But finally, I'd be warm. And I could make my way home to Remi and Nash. As soon as the roads cleared.

  Julia Pinkerton never let the police take over a case unless she'd already solved it. That's the difference between TV fiction and real life. I was happy to turn over this mess to the cops. Nash would be proud of me. Not only did I find Krystal (I think), but I helped solve a bank robbery (maybe). I was too cold to pat myself on the back, but props is props.

  If the police needed extra testimony, I'd crawl out of my hiding spot. For now, I (and, by default, my probation officer) would stay out of their way.

  The poor deputy was having difficulty parking at the curb. The car kept sliding into the street. Oh boy, black ice.

  Speaking of ice. I glanced at the sheen below me, hoping my boots hadn't stuck. Not that I was doing anything wrong, but it didn't seem smart to stay crouched between cars on someone's driveway with a police officer about to walk past me. I scrambled up the drive, grabbing vehicles to pull myself along. Under the carport, I crept toward the fence. Put my hand on the gate, changed my mind, and circled the outside of the fence.

  Following the fence, I plodded along in the crunchy grass. Passing Martha's dug-up garden, I headed for the group of trees that hid her house from the neighbor's. It was too far to see anything well, but a good place to stakeout (or hide) while the police did their thing. I figured bank robbers trying to escape the police would run out the back of the house. The police would surround the house. I'd get to see the action from this safe vantage point.

  And could melt into the backyard behind me if the action looked a little too hot.

  For a good forty-five minutes, I waited, shivering next to a tree. A copse of trees is much colder than hunkering near a house. Tried calling Nash, but he didn't answer. Thought about calling Lamar, but he went to bed super early due to owning the Dixie Kreme Donut Shop. I stood then squatted, willing myself to think warm thoughts. Tried on a very merry Nash Christmas fantasy, but when he took off his shirt (in my head), I broke out in goosebumps, making the cold worse. Even the memory of his Jessica Rabbit tat flexing over his massive deltoid did nothing for me. Except wish Jessica into a sweater.

  Throwing a blanket over the dream of near-naked Nash, I added a roaring fire. And a space heater.

  I was having a blue Christmas. Literally. My fingers were going to fall off. My nose felt a shade similar to Santa's. I was pretty sure my internal organs had a coating of frost. No longer numb, my toes actually hurt. The Shining's ending kept flashing through my mind. Which didn't help me feel any warmer.

  Forget it, I thought. I'd rather get in trouble with my probation officer than hide from the police. At least a California prison was warm.

  I trudged across the backyard, angling toward the artist's house. On the way, I checked the garden where Jay had been digging. The string of lights provided enough illumination to see the hole had been filled in. Which was a little comforting. Also, a little disconcerting, not knowing what had been in the hole. I thought about a quick dig (one way to warm up), but the shovel was gone. I'd just point the police toward the lovely mound full of evidence Jay had left for them.

  Nearing the artist's fence line, I halted to check the side of the house. Jay had disappeared. He'd seen the patrol car, obviously. I crept between the houses, hoping I didn't look as suspicious as I felt. Peered into the front yard.

  No patrol cars. Not even one.

  What happened to my cavalry? Had Jay been caught quickly and quietly and taken back to the sheriff's office? But wouldn't I have heard something? All was calm. Not so bright. I could see well enough into the house. Lights were on in the back, but there was no movement.

  Wait. If the police hadn't arrested Jay…Or hadn't searched the house for bank robbers…Or missing people…

  That meant I was the cavalry.

  Supershizzles.

  Seventeen

  Cherry Tucker

  For what felt like a long time, I couldn't make myself move from the settee. I lay slumped against the wall, feeling but not feeling the ache in my bones. I stared at the little tree Casey had put in the front window. Hating it. Hating the cheap ornaments and the blinkety-blink lights and the tacky gold tinsel she'd draped over the branches with little care. An end dangled from the bottom branch, swaying as the heater kicked on beneath it. Tiny bits of tinsel and fake pine needles vibrated on the wooden floor. She'd tacked my stocking to the window ledge. Grandma Jo's artist angel smiled at me.

  I didn't smile back. I wanted to walk across the room and throw the tree out the door. Rip the stocking down. Once again Christmas had brought me nothing but pain and heartache. Even my quickie marriage and even quicker annulment from Todd had happened at Christmas. And this year I had the flu.

  The damn pit inside me yawned, but I refused to think about that.

  "You want anything, Cherry?" Casey called from the kitchen. "Tea?"

  I wanted Christmas to be over. I wanted this flu to be done. I wanted Deputy Fells to believe me about Mrs. Boyes's creepy nephew. I wanted Pearl to stroll in and tell me she'd helped Martha Mae slip her disc back in place.

  I wanted Luke back.

  But I wasn't thinking about that.

  Pushing myself into sitting, I considered the creepy nephew, Pearl, and Martha Mae. I shuffled into the kitchen. We'd waited too long to check on Pearl.

  I'd waited too long. Damn flu.

  "When exactly was the bank held up?"

  "What?" Casey glanced over her shoulder. She stood at the stove, stirring a pot. Barefoot and pregnant.

  I shook that thought from my mind. "What time was the bank robbed?"

/>   "Around noon." She paused her stirring, then resumed to a furious whisking.

  "Why didn't you tell me?" I hugged my arms across my chest to keep from shivering.

  "I didn't want to ruin your Christmas."

  "Too late for that." I couldn't keep the vehemence from my voice. "I already had the flu."

  Her head dipped and body trembled. She turned slowly, fighting tears. "If it weren't the flu, it'd be something else. You're bound and determined to find something wrong with this time of year. And we have a lot to be thankful for."

  "Not me. Not anymore." I stared at her belly, hating my argument. From inside the pit, I could only see dark walls.

  She turned back to the stove. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you about the bank robbery. And…Luke. But you were laid flat—should be still—and I don't trust you. You've already been talking crazy today about what's going on next door—"

  "Crazy? Pearl's not back, Case. Despite what Deputy Fells said, things are not right over there." My voice rose, and I forced myself back to calm. "That man's been acting weird all day. I know what I thought I saw. You telling me you're not worried about Pearl? You want to call Grandpa Ed and tell him that Pearl could be in trouble and we're doing nothing to help her?"

  "Pearl can handle herself."

  "You sure about that?"

  Casey spun to face me. "She's over there helping Martha Mae. You've been delusional. Half of what you've said today has made no sense."

  "We don't know that Martha's hurt her back. You tried to talk Deputy Fells out of going next door. It's his job, Casey."

  Her bottom lip trembled. She wrapped her arms around her belly. "For the same reason you should have, too. Because he needs to be out there looking for Luke Harper's—"

  "Don't you say it," I hissed. "Don't say body."