Santa's Subpoena

by Rebecca Zanetti

  He dug his phone from his back pocket and returned his attention to Sorenson. “I’m going to show you ten pictures, and you’re going to tell me if any of the guys look like the one who burned us. Got it?”

  Sorenson shrugged again. “Whatever.”

  Aiden held out his phone and scrolled through, pausing several times and then continuing. Finally, he pulled back. “Anybody?”

  “Yeah,” Sorenson said, his eyes gleaming. “I definitely saw the guy in those pictures, and now, I kinda think I have more to bargain with, you know?”

  “No,” Aiden said quietly, which was always a bad sign. Was Sorenson smart enough to realize that fact? “You actually have less. We can go through the footage from Sally’s, or you can tell me what you know. You have five seconds.”

  Sorenson picked at a scab on his neck.

  “Four,” Aiden said.

  Sorenson’s gaze darted around the room.

  “Three.”

  “Um,” Sorenson muttered.

  “Two.” Aiden pushed his chair back.

  Sorenson swallowed. “Fine. It was the second guy. He’s the one, I’m pretty sure. I mean, all of those guys on your phone look alike, but I think it was the second guy. He had a really big nose.”

  Aiden scrolled through his pictures again. “This guy?”

  “Yeah. That’s definitely him. I mean, he looks younger in the picture, but that was a nose you don’t forget, right?” Sorenson smiled, showing stained teeth. “I’ve been helpful.”

  “Yeah.” Aiden stood, and even through the distance, I could feel a heated swell of anger from him. “Thanks.” He glanced at Saber. “You got this?”

  Saber stretched to his feet. “Yeah. I’ll see you at the new office in an hour or so?”

  “Sounds good.” Aiden crossed out of the room, leaving a light trail of silver in his wake.

  I met him in the hallway. “You good?”

  He grasped my arm and drew me down the hallway and stairways to the main reception area, leading me off to the side and away from the desk. “No. I am not good.” He clicked a button and a picture appeared on his phone. “This is who burned us.”

  Everything inside me quieted and then went cold. The picture was from a New Hampshire driver’s license, taken about eight years ago. It was Jareth Davey—big nose and sharp eyes. His hair had thinned and held more gray since I’d last seen him. Since he’d kidnapped me. “Oh, God,” I whispered.

  It was hard to believe it was only after lunchtime, after the day I’d had. Finding the finger had blown reality out of the way, and I shivered, putting my hands out to the heat blasting from the car vents. Then to know that Jareth Davey had somehow followed Aiden from Lilac City to his undercover op in Portland made me want to throw up.

  We’d been underestimating the nutjob, and even though I’d been preparing for a fight, I had still buried my head and hoped he wouldn’t come back after me.

  “This isn’t cool,” Bernie grumbled from the back seat of the police vehicle. “If we get in a wreck, I’m locked back here.”

  I looked over at Officer Bud Orlov, who was driving over the icy roads with relaxed competency. “I told you we could take Aiden’s truck,” I said. Again.

  Bud ducked his head to see the thick white clouds above us. “No.”

  I shook my head, turned, and sent Bernie an apologetic look through the thick metal mesh that separated us. “Sorry about this.” Until we figured out where Jareth Davey had landed, I had police protection whether I wanted it or not. I did want it. A lot. Right now, Oliver had gone home, and Violet had gone to work at a local burger joint, so they were safe at the moment. “You don’t have any jurisdiction in Washington state,” I reminded Bud.

  “Don’t care. I want my car,” Bud retorted. The solid man had absolutely no sense of humor that I had ever been able to find.

  For a second back in the summer, I’d thought he was interested in my older sister, Donna. Then I found out he was married. “How’s the wife?” I asked.

  He turned down the heater, his gaze on the road outside.

  I sighed. “Come on, Bud. I didn’t mean to get you shot or choked out last summer. I’m sorry. Really, really, really sorry.” It did seem that Bud held a grudge.

  “Not your fault,” he said, flipping on his blinker and switching lanes on I-90, crossing the Idaho-Washington border.

  “So. Wife?” I asked, more than a little curious. Who would marry no-nonsense Bud?

  He sighed, the sound aggravated. “She’s fine. We’re still trying to figure things out, and I guess are still separated? I don’t know. She has her life, and I have mine, and they don’t seem to meet in the middle.”

  I perked up. That was more than I’d ever heard from him. “What’s her life?”

  He shook his head.

  Fine. So much for girl talk with Bud. We drove in silence for the rest of the way until arriving at the cutest Irish shop imaginable. It was at the far north end of Spokane, and I’d actually never been there. My Gaelic blood quickened happily as I took in the Celtic knot across the door and the lovely, and somehow Irish, Christmas scene that had been painted perfectly across the front glass windows.

  I hopped out of the car and quickly opened the back door to spring Bernie free. “I can’t believe I’ve never been here,” I said. Although, most of my Irish decorations came from my Nana O’Shea and her relatives across the pond. The one-story building stood alone with a ski shack building on one side and a two-story men’s suit warehouse on the other.

  Bernie smoothed back his gray hair and tugged his coat into place. “Jocko does a good business that really picks up around St. Patrick’s Day as well as Christmas.”

  Bud crossed the street, looked both ways down the shoveled but still icy sidewalk, and motioned us inside. “We’re out in the open.”

  I was evading a stalker, and now also worrying about being shot. So I hurried through the doorway, smiling when the bell above the door jangled out a tinkly and happy sound. Blinking lights and Irish Santas decorated the space, along with spun angel hair and the smell of cookies. I immediately caught sight of a Celtic heart-shaped ceramic tray for jewelry that my mother would love. Humming, I grasped it and looked for more. A scarf caught my eye—green, silk, and Celtic. Perfect for my Nana.

  By the time we reached the counter across the shop, my hands were full.

  A tall teenager with a nose ring waited behind the counter. “You did well,” she murmured.

  “I know,” I said happily. “Also, is Jocko around?”

  “Sure.” She angled her head toward an open doorway behind her. “Jocko? You have people here.” Then she started ringing up my many purchases.

  Shuffling sounded behind the door, and Jocko came into view. “Bernie,” he said, hustling around the counter to take Bernie’s hand. “I’m so sorry about Lawrence. I should’ve called, but business has been nuts.”

  Bernie shook and introduced us, making a point of asking Jocko to talk to me because I was his lawyer.

  Jocko kind of matched his name. He was short and wide with a nose that had been broken a few times. His face was square, his eyes brown, and his voice husky. His hair was a grayish-white mix and his face weathered with smile lines out from his eyes. I’d bet almost anything he’d boxed at some point in his life, and not just because he had cauliflower ears. “Hi.” His handshake was gentle.

  “Hi.” I introduced Bud.

  Jocko frowned. “Why do you have an armed guard?”

  “Long story,” I admitted. “Do you mind if we chat for a moment?”

  Jocko motioned me back behind the counter. “Sure. Let’s go to my office.”

  Bernie rocked back on his heels. “I’m going to run next door and see what they have in the way of Santa suits. You keep the cop with you.” Without waiting for a response, he chugged right back through the store.

  Jocko paused and watched him go. “I don’t care what anybody says, and I don’t care about our pasts. Regardless of his youth, Be
rnie didn’t have one reason to stick a knife into Lawrence’s back. Not one.”

  I gulped. Actually, Bernie had a couple of reasons. “Your pasts?” I asked, following him through a neatly arranged storage room holding everything from Celtic crosses to Irish literature to an office at the very back.

  He slipped around a worn leather chair to sit behind his old fake wooden desk. “Well, yeah. Isn’t that why he was arrested?”

  Chapter 25

  I sat at the edge of the seat, trying not to sneeze from the dust. While the storage area had been pristine, the office didn’t look like it had been cleaned, really cleaned, in quite some time. The carpet was a short-cropped red weave that had turned pink in some areas. “Why don’t you start at the beginning?” I asked, tossing aside my line of questions for a moment.

  He looked up at Bud, who filled out the doorway, leaning against the jam. “I’d like to speak privately.”

  “No,” Bud said.

  I sighed. “Bud. I’m fine here. Go find your wife something nice for Christmas, would you?”

  Jocko perked up. “I just got in a new shipment of white gold jewelry. Have Bree show you the necklaces. They’re lovely.”

  Muttering something I couldn’t decipher, Bud turned and stomped back into the main area of the store.

  Jocko seemed to relax when Bud left. “Why do you need an Idaho cop covering your back?”

  “Long story but nothing to do with Bernie,” I said. Well, probably. Somebody had shot at us the other day, and I still thought they were aiming for Bernie and not for me. “So. Tell me about this past.”

  Jocko reached for a mug half-full with coffee and took a deep drink. “The statute of limitations has expired on any crimes we might’ve committed.”

  I set my purse on the floor, finding a somewhat clean area, my breath stopping. That statement had not been what I had been expecting. Not at all. A warning itch flared between my shoulder blades. “I’m not with the prosecuting attorney’s office. I represent Bernie and am trying to help him.”

  “I understand,” Jocko said. “Just wanted you to know that you have no leverage over me.”

  I frowned. Why would I need leverage? “All right.”

  He took another gulp and then grimaced. “Coffee sucks cold, but I never seem to get time to drink it hot.” He put the lime green mug on the desk. “Did Bernie tell you how the Kringle Club got started?”

  I sat back. “Not how but why.”

  Jocko’s smile revealed a gap between his bottom front teeth that I hadn’t noticed before. “The how is the fun part. Bernie, Lawrence, Earl, Donny, Micky, and I were hard rock miners back in the sixties. The rest of the guys joined the Kringle Club later once we’d retired from mining and were just doing the Santa gig, including Doc Springfield. He has no clue how we originally made the money.”

  I had several relatives who were hard rock miners. It was a tough job that had the potential to pay very well if one struck a vein. Or ten. “So you worked together?”

  “Yes. We made enough money that we each started our own businesses. This shop for me, the jewelry store for Earl, the bait and tackle shop for Lawrence, the leather goods shop for Micky, and the insurance agency for Bernie.” Jocko flicked a feather off the side of his desk. “Oh. Duke Wells was also one of us, and he opened Duke’s Jewelry in Timber City, but he didn’t want to be a Kringle later on. Good guy, though.”

  Duke’s Jewelry was right next to my office, and Duke had always seemed like a nice older man.

  I studied Jocko, the facts clicking into place for me. “Mining pays well.”

  “Yep.”

  But he’d mentioned crimes. “You mined where you weren’t supposed to mine, now didn’t you, Jocko?” I asked quietly.

  He lifted one shoulder. “We found silver, sold silver, and started our lives.”

  Well, he was probably correct that the statute of limitations had run out years ago. “Who did you steal from?” I had mining in my blood, and I wasn’t going to mince words with him.

  “Nobody big,” he admitted. “We mainly went deep in abandoned mines.”

  That was still trespassing and stealing from the owners of those mineral rights. “Did you steal from anybody who’d be mad about it?”

  “After all this time?” He snorted. “No. Of course, not. In fact, most people never found out. Flo is one of the few who did, and we paid her a fee, so we’re all good.”

  I perked up, my ears near flicking in place. “Florence McLintock?” Wait a minute. I thought she’d already had five or so husbands before settling down with Bernie, which was years ago. Yeah. If they were married for seven and now had been divorced for five, that was close to the timeline. “She’s originally from Silverville?”

  “She’s from Bourn, which is a couple of canyons over toward Montana, as you probably know,” Jocko said. “We all palled around in our twenties, and she was the goal. Man, she was hot. We all liked her, but she had her eye set on getting out of Idaho. Married some banker from California who had a vacation place on Lilac Lake. That’s how she met him, I guess.”

  I sat back, my instincts humming. “I hadn’t realized you all knew each other way back when.”

  “Sure. Flo pretty much broke all of our hearts when she took off for California, but I found my Saoirse, and she was my soul mate. I miss her every day since she passed on. Flo eventually returned home, and when she hooked up with Bernie, I was happy for them both.” Jocko checked his gold wristwatch over his hairy wrist. “Was sad at their split, then happy again when she and Lawrence seemed to have found love.” He shook his head. “Life is weird, right?”

  So weird. “Do you know Sharon Smith?”

  “Nope,” Lawrence said, his eyes somber. “I remember meeting her at the CASA charity poker night because she sat at our table and was dealt in. Lawrence knew her and introduced her around, but my eye was on the cards, you know? She was pretty. Redheaded, tall, stacked. Maybe ten years younger than us. Never heard about her again, but we all knew not to bring up her name because of what happened. I figured she’d been visiting from out of town and didn’t want to know more than that.”

  I wanted to make notes but instinctively knew it’d put Jocko on guard. “Did you see her leave with Bernie?”

  “No. I lost all of my chips by eleven and headed home by myself. It’s no fun hanging around when you can’t play.” Jocko reached for the coffee again, took another swig, and then grimaced. “Ugh.”

  “Who was left playing at that time?”

  His lips pursed as he apparently tried to remember. “Let’s see. Earl lost before I did, and we walked out together to our cars. That left Lawrence, Bernie, Mick, and that Sharon. The other table had cleared out, and I lost. So that was it, I think.”

  “Was Bernie drunk?”

  Jocko shrugged. “No more than usual. He was still playing well and was in control. I was shocked when I found out he’d gone home with that woman. He loved Florence so much and seemed happy.”

  I swallowed. “What if Lawrence set up Bernie? What if he drugged Bernie and only made it look like Bernie had cheated on Florence?”

  Jocko’s bushy eyebrows rose. “Honestly? That’s crazy. Lawrence wouldn’t do that.”

  “What if he did?” I pressed.

  Jocko ticked his head, his gaze sharp. “Well, I guess I’d say that there are women in this life worth killing for—especially in a situation like that.”

  My throat went dry. “Really?”

  “Yeah. And Miss Albertini? Florence McLintock is definitely one of those women.”

  My head still rang with Jocko’s last statement when Bernie, Bud, and I walked into Earl’s Jewelry Store. Earl was over at the far display case, cajoling a twenty-something man into buying an emerald ring to match a necklace.

  Bernie hopped happily next to me. He’d been downright gleeful after finding a new Santa suit with real white fur that smelled like magic. His words, not mine.

  Earl rang up the purchase and motioned us
toward the cash register, where he was already putting in my info. “Card?”

  I reluctantly handed over my credit card, which still felt warm after using it to buy my Irish bounty.

  He ran the card, handed me the slip to sign, and then gave me a bag with the watch box already inside. “There you go. Your uncle or whomever will love that.”

  “My boyfriend,” I said, slipping my hand through the strong handles so the bag could hang from my wrist.

  Earl frowned. “What about the cross you purchased already? How many boyfriends do you have?”

  “Just one, and he already has a cross. I’m going to give the one I bought here to another family member.”

  Earl looked at the bag. “That watch is not a boyfriend gift. That’s a buddy gift.” He grasped my arm and drew me toward the watch case. “You want yellow or white gold for a significant other. Not a fun black and white buddy-type watch.”

  I sighed, the bag feeling like it weighed twenty pounds. My wrist ached. “How about a silk tie with leprechauns on it?” I had just the one, newly packaged from Jocko. “Is that a significant other gift?”

  Earl, Bernie, and Bud all answered at once. “No.”

  Wonderful. Just wonderful. “Earl? Could we have a couple of moments to talk?” I asked.

  “Sure.” He looked at Bud. “Yell at me if anybody comes in. In the meantime, why don’t you shop? You look like a guy who has a significant other. Emeralds are big this year.”

  Bud sighed.

  I followed Earl into his office, which was the exact opposite of Jocko’s. The place was sparkling clean, modern, and quite lovely. Once I got him past the fact that I knew about his earlier illegal actives, he opened right up and corroborated everything Jocko had said.

  He shook his head. “I have to tell you, I was stunned when Bernie cheated on Florence. He’d been in love with her since he turned eighteen, and I would’ve bet my entire store that he would’ve remained faithful.”

  “What if Lawrence drugged him and set up the entire situation?” I asked.