by Amy Shojai
She followed him. “Oh, I don’t have the files here. I left them at the bank.” Her phone beeped again from the small table by the door. “I’ll get it later.” Angela pulled out his coat and held it for him.
He frowned. “It’s still early. We can get there before the bank closes at noon.” He shrugged on the coat, pulled out his leather gloves and tugged them on.
“What about your meeting with the mayor? You’ve certainly got friends in high places!” She’d called the right person. If anyone could get to the bottom of Chris’s suspicions, Peter’s longtime buddy could take care of things.
“I can push back the meeting half an hour. But I’ve got a full workload leading up to Christmas. If I don’t pick up your files to review now, it could be weeks before I get to it. You don’t want to wait, do you?” He pulled out her coat and held it for her to don. A wire hanger jangled and fell to the floor; he stooped to scoop it up.
Her phone pinged, signaling a voice mail. “I’m sorry, George, but I don’t have the key anymore.” She supposed the bank would still let her in, though, with the proper identification, even if she didn’t have the key. She ignored him, standing there holding her coat, to retrieve her phone from the table. “Hey, good timing! It’s September. She must have gotten my note.” She turned on the speaker to replay the message.
“This is September. Uhm, September Day? I just got your note, and the safety deposit key.” Angela took a big breath then let it out in a rush. “Call this number so we can arrange to meet. You’re right, Angela, it’s time for answers, and...well, I’m sorry. So very sorry. For everything.”
GEORGE’S WORLD TILTED, and a weird buzzing drowned out the recorded message. Time slowed down, tick-ticking by, everything in herky-jerky stop action. He’d been dragged into a deal he couldn’t refuse and tried to extricate himself more than twenty years ago. But as his influence grew, he became more valuable to those who claimed his soul.
No one could ever know about that. His reputation, his career, his kids’ futures were at stake. He hadn’t killed Christopher Day but knew who had. Going to the bank tied him to the old investigation, even if he could satisfy Angela and make it disappear. If Christopher Day’s investigation became public, his handler would clean house. George, and his whole family, would be at the top of the hit list.
He had no choice.
George swooped the coat hanger over Angela’s head and twisted it tight, cutting off her breath. She dropped the phone to grapple the wire that cut into the soft flesh of her throat.
“Oh God, what am I doing?” His hands shook. He wasn’t a killer! But he couldn’t let go, couldn’t relent. Nobody could know. Thank God Angela alerted him first.
George grunted and lifted Angela off the floor until she dangled from the garrote. Her legs flailed against his broad body, slowed, and finally hung loose. It took much longer than he expected. He held her, exerting pressure another endless moment, then dropped her without ceremony. He retrieved Angela’s phone with shaking hands.
He’d message September to warn her off. Wait, no. He had to destroy the evidence in the safety deposit box. George stared at the phone, and then smiled as the analytical mind that brought him success weighed the options. He knew exactly what to do.
For now, September could wait. He had other loose ends to tie. Quickly he pocketed Angela’s phone. Now to clean up the mess her death—no, her suicide—left behind.
By heaven, he’d protect his family. And he’d protect the dozens of innocents depending on him. Even if it meant destroying September Day.
Chapter 5
SEPTEMBER PULLED INTO her parents’ driveway and sat for a long moment. She put the cards and the envelope with her wedding picture and key in the glove box, scooting them securely beneath the handgun.
She’d not returned to South Bend since burying her husband. Memory played tricks with paranoia born of the time before, but she knew her years with Chris and Dakota had healed the worst of her pain. It had taken two years for her to accept his proposal, and their almost five-year marriage flashed by like someone else’s dream. He found her a mentor and got her a contract job as a dog handler for the Chicago P.D. When fear took too big a toll, he moved them to South Bend. Her career and confidence grew from Chris’s love, and his faith in her.
In an instant, Victor stole everything away. And now two years later, ready to reinvent herself one more time, Angela Day’s message blurred the edges of the clear picture she’d painted of her husband’s murder.
Shadow danced on the back seat, eager to get out of the car. When she climbed out, Mom met her at the car.
“Honey, why don’t you put it in the back yard next to the hot tub? It can dig and sniff and do whatever dogs do.” She crossed her arms and shivered in the light December breeze. “I just vacuumed and don’t want mud tracked in. You understand.”
September opened the car door for Shadow and he hopped out and immediately sniffed the nearby grass. “It has a name. And you know Shadow stays with me.” How many times had she had this same argument while living with her last summer? Before the argument could escalate, she threw Mom a bone. “Besides, he got a bath last night.” And he’s better behaved than your grandkids.
“Whatever you say. I guess he keeps you out of trouble?” Mom pursed her mouth, but gave September a quick hug. “Need help unloading?”
September smiled. “Thanks for asking.”
Mom sniffed, taking in the abundance of festive packages. “Did you buy out the shopping center?” She grabbed up the first box filled with small packages, while September balanced another with several larger gifts.
“It’s not a lot, mostly fun stuff for the kids.” September shrugged. “I haven’t been much of an aunt to them.”
“You’ve had other priorities, like your health.” Her tart tone softened as they walked to the door. “How are you?”
September forced a smile. “Best I’ve felt in years. But what about the rest of the family? I’ve felt out of the loop since we moved out. And I want to do better.” September hesitated, then forced herself to continue. “What about Mark? I wasn’t sure he’d make it with all the holiday stained glass orders. And losing Aaron.” Her voice trailed off. “I know it’s hard, believe me I know.”
Mom remained pragmatic as always. “Some days are better than others. Staying busy helps.” Her stoic expression hurt September’s heart. When had Mom become so hard? “He says Aaron’s brother took over the landscape business, so that will stay in their family.” Three months ago, Mark’s partner had succumbed to the same neurological illness that took Teddy’s wife, and had stricken Combs’s ex-wife and several others in the Heartland community.
September waited for her to juggle the door open. “Where’s Dad?”
“Your father’s putting a reinforced fastener on the gate to the hot tub, to make sure the kids aren’t tempted. Prepare for bedlam, with everyone here. It’ll be the first time since...”
“Since I turned sixteen, my going away party before the cello tour. Twelve years ago.” September pulled off her cap, and finger-combed her hair into some semblance of decorum. Her pulse thrummed. Shadow pressed against September’s side. She couldn’t fool him.
“You’re not the only one avoiding me.” Mom didn’t hide the hurt and bitterness. She’d wanted this family reunion for ages. Rose eyed her, up and down. “You do look good. Glad your hair finally has grown out, but you need a trim to style the mess. That white streak though, wish you’d do something about that.” September cleared her throat, but knew arguing accomplished nothing. Mom reluctantly added, “I’m happy for you. Probably has something to do with a certain detective. Am I right?” Rather than disapproving, she sounded resigned. “Shame he couldn’t join us. I’d think he’d make the effort, if you matter to him as much as he apparently means to you.” She sniffed, turned, and led the way through the door.
Rolling her eyes, September followed into the house.
“Hello September.”
And sane.
“Here for the weekend. Mom insisted.” April grinned, her blond hair and attitude a younger but less bitter version of their mother. Mom had moved behind April, a satisfied smirk on her face. “I made everyone promise not to say anything. I didn’t want them to give you a reason to stay away.”
With hesitation, and then more quickly, September crossed to her sister. They fell into each other’s arms. The sisters held each other, hugging hard, no words necessary, as Shadow danced and whined about them.
They broke apart and April led September into the living room. “I want to thank you for everything. Saving Steven. And saving my life.” She offered a rueful smile. “Steven’s my miracle boy, because of you. He’s helping his father in the back yard. But now I need another miracle, it seems.”
Mom interjected, impatient. “For heaven’s sake, April, go ahead and say it. After all, September owes you.” When April wouldn’t meet September’s questioning expression, Mom clarified.
“September, your sister needs a kidney transplant. None of the others are a match, so it’s down to you. And I know you’ll be happy to donate, especially since it’s your fault April got shot in the first place.”
Chapter 6
SHADOW WHINED AND PAWED September’s calf. He sat beside her, sniffing the air with relish. A host of aromas from the nearby kitchen predicted a feast to come. Cheesy something. Turkey. And the bacon-smell that made a good-dog’s mouth water. Would there be some for him?
He’d like that.
But only if September said so. Shadow pawed her leg again, and she dropped one hand to his brow. He leaned into the gentle touch, tail sweeping the floor when she stroked his cheek. Shadow gave her wrist a quick lick.
Salty. Acrid. The pungent taste shouted stress and his brow furrowed. He heard the stutter of September’s pulse and braced his shoulder against her knee. She took several quick breaths in, and slow ones out. He knew the special breathing helped prevent the scary-gone spells that plagued her. Nobody told him, he just knew. Shadow was smart that way.
He also knew this place and how these people made September tiptoe around like Macy-cat during a thunderstorm. She spoke with whispery tremors in her voice. Although she tried hard to be strong, Shadow could tell. He yawned, to relieve his own tension, and remained alert.
In the long-ago time, he protected his-boy Steven because September wanted him to. She taught Shadow what to do by listening for her tongue-CLICK sound that meant he’d done something right. He’d first learned important words like sit and down and wait (he still didn’t like that one). She showed him how to walk on a leash without surging ahead or dragging behind. Then Steven went away, and Shadow got to live with September all the time! At the thought his tail wagged harder. Now he did for September what she’d taught him to do for Steven—protect her and keep her safe. And he got to play fun games with September, like the show-me game that named important objects in his world. And how to check-it-out so no scary people lurked in hiding spots. He especially loved playing the seek game to find lost pets.
His most important lessons Shadow taught himself. He knew how to keep September safe from scary stuff a good-dog couldn’t bite and chase away by connecting with his-person as only a good-dog could. Shadow held her still when invisible terrors made her shake and flail, and he led her away from inside-monsters that tormented her. And September stroked his face, snuggled him close, and promised he’d always be loved and safe. He belonged to September. She belonged to him. They’d chosen each other. Nothing could ever change that.
“Mom, please excuse us so April and I can talk.” September spoke with a hurty-edged growl to her voice as if something choked her throat.
The Mom-lady shook her head. Her hands sliced the air, and her mouth spilled harsh words that made September flinch. Shadow didn’t understand the words, but wanted to stop the anger. He stepped between September and the hard-eyed woman. Shadow stared back, tail held high, until she looked away. Her mouth closed into a tight line and without another word she disappeared into the next room.
Yawning once more he met September’s eyes, looking for approval, and waved his tail when she yawned back in answer.
September smiled. “Good-dog, Shadow. I’m okay.”
He didn’t believe it, but shook himself hard to shrug off his own stress. That always made her laugh. September’s scent changed as the thumpity-fast heart-rhythm slowed along with her breath. He wondered if Steven might join them, since his-boy lived with this other woman.
“April, I would help you any way I can. Please know that.” September guided the other woman to the sofa, and they both sat down. “I tried to donate blood last year when you nearly died, but Doug—”
“My husband has a blind spot when it comes to you. But now he’s desperate. We both are.” She took a shuddering breath. “He’s helping Dad with the hot tub fence. They couldn’t stand the tension, waiting for you. I needed to talk to you alone anyway. I never thanked you properly for everything. I owe you so much and...I miss you, September.” The two women hugged again.
Shadow woofed and paw-danced his concern but restrained the impulse to squeeze between and separate the pair. Dogs didn’t hug, except to show each other who was boss, to fight, or sometimes with special-smelling girl dogs.
People hugged all the time. September and Combs hugged a lot. That worried him. A lot. He and September belonged together and Shadow hadn’t figured out how Combs fit in. What if September liked Combs more than being with him? Sometimes he worried she wouldn’t need him anymore. Shadow always felt relieved when Combs left. He preferred having September all to himself—the time she spent with Macy-cat felt different. As nice as cats smelled, and even if they shared treats, cats weren’t the same as dogs. He guessed Macy couldn’t help it, though. He’d learned to love September’s hugs. He learned new things all the time, but people often confused him.
“Let me finish.” September pulled away and caught April’s hands in her own. “This isn’t easy to tell you.” She licked her lips and looked sideways, her voice soft as she finished in a rush. “When I tried to donate blood, the doctors said you have a different type.” Her voice shook. “I’m not a match, either.”
Chapter 7
SEPTEMBER PUSHED AWAY from the dinner table, stacked empty plates and ferried them to the kitchen. Shadow tried to follow, but she gave him the palm-flat wait command, so he settled again under the table with an aggrieved whine. Mom barely tolerated his presence anywhere in the house. The kitchen was forbidden.
Muted conversation and occasional laughs traveled from the television room where the rest of the family gathered after the meal. She’d stayed behind to clear the dishes, wanting some alone time with Mom.
The last hour’s stilted conversation and too careful small talk made September’s jaw ache from its forced smile. Dad, Mark, and her sisters’ families would pretend to enjoy family time for another twenty minutes, thirty at the most, before giving up the pretense and hitting the road.
“Go on, September, just set those down. Dishes can wait.” Mom followed her into the large modern kitchen, stacking the last of the dinnerware on the butcher block island. She bustled here and there, unable to stay still. Her hands constantly smoothed her hair, or adjusted items on the counters, anything to avoid eye contact. The decorative stone mortar and pestle, rarely used, still held the yummy guacamole dip Mom made for every holiday gathering, but she lugged it to the sink to clean. “Wasn’t this nice, the whole family together? Who knows when we’ll have the chance again...” Her cheery tone contrasted with tear-polished blue eyes. She turned away
to dab a linen handkerchief under her eyes, catching moisture before it ruined her makeup. As always, Rose January’s perfectly coiffed hair and couture wardrobe could have stepped from the pages of a fashion magazine.
“Mom, I know you’re disappointed and scared for April. So am I.” She caught the woman’s delicate shoulder and turned her around. “I could have told her months ago, if she’d said anything. You and Dad got tested, too?”
“Of course!” Rose looked away to the left, and fiddled with her wedding ring.
“Maybe I can help, now, to find another donor. It’s not like I’m the last resort or anything.” She forced another smile. “People manage for years on dialysis. Right? Don’t they? Mom...”
Rose still wouldn’t meet her eyes, but didn’t pull away.
September stood a half a foot taller than her mother. Her three sisters took after Rose—blond hair, blue eyes, petite stature, and delicate features. But she and Mark had inherited Dad’s tall, lanky frame, strong features, and dark hair. September tightened her lips, recognizing Mom’s evasive expression. “There’s something more. What else haven’t you told me?”
Mom pulled away. “In the next few months, April testifies at that Baumgarten person’s trial.” Mom’s voice soured on the name of the woman responsible for April’s injury, and the death of so many others.
September knit her brow. What did Lizzie Baumgarten’s trial for the Blizzard Murders have to do with anything? She’d happily testify, too. “I heard they petitioned to move up the court date.”
Mom nodded. “For April’s benefit. Just in case she’s not well enough later, or...” She hiccupped a sobbed breath before she tamped down her emotions enough to continue. “April’s been in and out of the hospital ever since. The treatments saved her life, but it damaged her kidneys. She’s been on dialysis for nearly a year.”