Shadow Ridge

by M. E. Browning

  Dakota tapped a text on her phone, then slid it back in her pocket. She waited until Sully was beyond hearing before she pounced. “I can’t believe Cameron sprang the badge pinning on you like that.”

  “He didn’t.”

  Dakota missed her coaster, and the glass thunked against the table. “What?”

  “Can we talk about something else?”

  “Let me get this straight. You agreed to pin the badge that should have been yours onto someone else?”

  Jo sighed. She should have just wrapped up for the day and gone home. “Yup.”

  “You are seriously cracked.”

  Jo took a long pull on her ale. “You’ve mentioned that before.”

  The pub filled with the five o’clock crowd as most of the downtown businesses shuttered for the night. Merlyn and his dog left as the reporter from the Courier entered.

  Great. “What’s-his-face just arrived.”

  Dakota twisted. “Everett Cloud?”

  Everett propped his foot on the brass rail that ran the length of the bar. He glanced toward their table and then leaned toward Sully.

  The relationship between cops and reporters was complicated. In kinder moments, Jo acknowledged that the media and law enforcement both wanted to uncover the truth, but how they went about it often played the two entities against each other.

  Sully approached their table with two more pints. “Courtesy of the gent at the bar.”

  “Not finished with this one,” Jo said.

  “That’s so nice!” Dakota rose out of her chair and waved him over.

  “What are you doing?” Jo grabbed Dakota’s arm, but it was too late.

  Everett Cloud approached the table and directed his words to Jo. “May I join you?”

  “Of course,” Dakota said, before Jo could object.

  He sat next to Jo, blocking the heat from the fireplace. “I saw you at the badge ceremony. That was very gracious of you.”

  Gracious. She sipped her beer, alert. “Shouldn’t you be interviewing Sergeant Finch?”

  He pulled his messenger bag strap over his head and flipped the flap back. Jo straightened in her chair. He noticed and very slowly pulled out a piece of paper and slid it in front of her.

  Dakota didn’t even glance at the Echo Valley PD memorandum. Jo had seen the memo before. Had her own damn copy and had memorized every word.

  Congratulations to Officer Cameron Finch, who has been selected to fill the vacant sergeant position. His promotion will be effective Sunday, December 9th. An eligibility list of successful sergeant candidates will remain in effect through the end of the year in the event of an additional opening.

  “Twenty-two days. Aren’t promotional eligibility lists usually good for a year?” he asked.

  “Where did you get this?” Jo demanded.

  “Did you know there’s never been a woman promoted above the rank of officer in the entire history of the Echo Valley Police Department?”

  “It’s a numbers game, Mr. Cloud. You have to have women test before they can promote.”

  “I’m curious,” he said. “How many women work in your agency?”

  “I suspect you already know the answer to that question.”

  “Currently there are three. A school resource officer who has twenty-one years on the job, and a patrol officer in training.”

  “Don’t forget me.”

  “A detective who has been recognized for her service by several community groups and been awarded a medal of valor.”

  “For a traffic stop.” As her father was quick to remind her.

  “For apprehending a murder suspect from Albuquerque who had his next victim tied up in his trunk.”

  “Is there a point to all this?”

  “Is there anyone on the eligibility list other than you?”

  Jo slammed down her pint. “We’re done here, Mr. Cloud.”

  “Nearly a dozen women have tested for sergeant over the years.”

  Jo pushed out of her chair. The heat from the fire blazed against her face.

  “I only have one question.” He stood and looped his messenger bag strap over his head. “Was Officer Finch really the best candidate?”

  Sully appeared at the table with a hint of grizzly in his posture. “Looks to me like you’ve worn out your welcome with the ladies.”

  “Story of my life.” Everett dug a business card out of his pocket and tossed it in front of Jo. It slid to a stop in a condensation puddle. “Thank you for your time.”

  Jo marked the reporter’s progress through the door and then settled back into her chair.

  Sully gathered the two untouched drinks. “Let me get rid of these and bring you something fresh.”

  “Thanks, but I’m going to pass,” Jo said. “The world’s going to have to solve its own problems tonight.”

  “Let me know if you change your mind.”

  When they were alone, Jo stared into the fire. “Want to tell me where he got the memo?”

  “I suppose it could have been anywhere. It’s on all the city announcement boards. Public records?”

  A log split, and sparks spiraled upward.

  “Why, Dakota?”

  She took her time answering. “You scored fourteen points higher than Cameron on the written.”

  “Doesn’t mean I did better in the interview.”

  “Don’t kid yourself,” Dakota argued. “You might not have scored higher, but I’d bet my life you did better.”

  “Never bet your life on anything.”

  Fatigue infused Jo’s very bones. She wanted to go home. A place with all her stuff. A bathtub. Candles. Her fluffy robe and slippers. All the things residing in a house she still held in joint title with her husband.

  A pop from the fire startled her.

  “He didn’t cheat on me,” Jo said. “Cameron. He didn’t cheat.”

  Dakota traced designs on the side of her glass. “That’s not what’s going around.”

  “I don’t care what the gossip is. I know my husband.”

  “You don’t owe him anything, Jo.”

  “I don’t know what you hoped to accomplish tonight, but I’m not having any of it. I love my job. I need it—now more than ever. I’m not going to be that girl—”

  “Woman.”

  Jo glared at her. “The girl who complains because she was picked last in dodgeball.”

  “We’re not on the playground anymore.”

  “No.” Jo drained her glass. She could knock it over, smash it into pieces, and nothing would spill out. She had nothing left. “If you ever do an end-around on me like this again, it will be the end of our friendship.”

  Dakota reached for Jo, but then slowly withdrew her hand and nodded. “What did Cameron ask you? After you pinned his badge. He whispered something to you.”

  When did it become a competition?

  “He wanted to thank me.”

  It never was.

  But that wasn’t the truth. It had become a competition the day her father told her she didn’t have what it took to be a sergeant.

  22

  It took Quinn forever to get to the resort. Maybe she should have insisted on a gas allowance—the driveway alone burned another gallon. She finally stopped under a giant wreath in front of the hotel, and after a brief argument with the valet, she parked in the side lot.

  Growing up in San Francisco, she’d seen plenty of over-the-top Christmas displays—Macy’s in Union Square led the pack—but they didn’t come close to the Peregrines Roost lobby. A pianist sat behind a baby grand and pounded out carols. There was a cider station. Add in the snow outside, and she found herself smack-dab in the middle of a winter wonderland from hell.

  Quinn dropped her backpack in front of the reception desk and slapped down her identification.

  The man behind the counter wore an alpine-inspired sweater more at home on the slopes than inside. He launched into the standard spiel about check-in time and then stopped. “I see Mrs. Walsenberg made spe
cial arrangements for your room, Ms. Kirkwood. It’s ready for you now. Would you like one or two keys?”

  “One.” She leaned closer. “If I get lucky later, I’ll come back for the second one.”

  He blinked several times. “Of course. Would you like assistance with your luggage?”

  She pocketed her license and slung her backpack across her shoulder. “I can manage.”

  “Enjoy your stay.” He handed her the electronic key card. “The elevators are to the right of the gingerbread village.”

  “Thanks.”

  The village was more like a small metropolis. Cordoned off with green and red silken ropes suspended from candy cane posts, it was large enough to shelter the Claus family, their elven empire, and an entire stable of reindeer, plus an assortment of shepherds, babies, and wise men. If she got hungry later, she knew exactly where to go.

  The resort had five levels, and Quinn rode the elevator to the top floor. The plush hallway carpet silenced her footsteps. She pushed open the door to her room and gaped. A four-poster canopied bed dominated the room, while a fireplace and flat-screen television graced the opposite wall. French doors opened onto a balcony with a view of the mountain. The seating area consisted of two overstuffed chairs with a round marble table between them. Quinn tossed her backpack onto the duvet. The room even smelled expensive.

  A card with her name on it leaned against a vase of flowers. She tore open the envelope. The script consisted of bold strokes. Thank you for coming! I hope you find the room to your liking. I’ll meet you in the lobby at three o’clock. Alice Walsenberg. Got to give the lady credit. She knew how to make an impression.

  Quinn left her room at three and found Alice by the giant fireplace, talking with a man who had just enough gray in his black hair to be considered experienced but not old. Alice saw her enter and enthusiastically waved her over.

  “Quinn. I’d like to introduce you to a dear friend of mine. We’ve known each other now, what?” She tilted her head in that way beautiful women did when they wanted to look stupid. “Forty years?”

  He covered her hand with his. “That’s impossible. You aren’t that old.”

  They both laughed.

  Blech. If this was what the night held in store, she was screwed. “You forgot to tell me his name.”

  They laughed again. He bowed. An honest-to-God bend-from-the-waist bow. Who the fuck did that?

  “Xavier Buck.”

  Ronny’s dad, that’s who. She kept her hands jammed in her pockets. “Quinn Kirkwood.”

  “Please forgive me, ladies, but duty calls.” A head nod this time; Quinn almost felt cheated. “Ms. Kirkwood, the pleasure is mine.”

  Several responses came to mind, but she merely matched his head bob. No sense getting fired before she’d at least earned enough to make the trip worthwhile.

  As soon as he left, Alice turned the full wattage of her smile on Quinn. “How is your room?”

  Earlier, after she’d thoroughly checked out the contents of the minibar and nabbed an overpriced package of M&Ms, Quinn had stood out on her balcony. Some type of fast-flying bird had swooped past her, and Quinn had wanted to follow it back to the valley. This place reeked of a lifestyle she’d never known. It made her uncomfortable. What did Alice do? Quinn’s mother had worked like a dog her entire life. She’d never come close to being able to afford such luxury—and she’d deserved it far more than her screw-up of a daughter.

  “I can see why you like this place.”

  Alice beamed. “Well, you are welcome. First order of business is to give you the lay of the land and show you the ballroom.” She strode toward a timber-vaulted corridor. She had the best posture of anyone Quinn had ever seen. She was rocking a simple blue sweater, dark jeans, and heeled boots. If it hadn’t been for her gray hair, Quinn would have pegged her for midthirties. Tops. But Derek had been seventeen when he died, and that was over a year ago. Women of her class didn’t squirt out a kid at sixteen, so she had to be in her forties.

  Quinn’s curiosity got the better of her. “Have you really known the Bucks for forty years?”

  “Gosh, yes. He knew me when I was an Ambrose. We went to the same elementary school—actually, it was the only elementary school at the time. We’ve been friends since first grade.”

  That put her at forty-five or forty-six. Impressive.

  The next hour and a half consisted of rearranging floral centerpieces to get them all perfectly balanced, polishing already sparkling wine goblets, ensuring that the chairback ties hit exactly an inch above the floor, and straightening tableware. Quinn had once seen a BBC documentary about royal state dinners that showed butlers with rulers measuring the distance between table settings. The royal family had nothing on Alice Walsenberg. She had resort staff practically standing at attention awaiting orders, and she did it all with a smile.

  One thing was certain: the Echo Valley Alliance for Life was going to be a tremendous success—Alice Ambrose Walsenberg would stand for nothing less.

  It was approaching five o’clock when Alice stepped back from the final table, put her hands on her hips, and pronounced, “There.” Quinn didn’t see that their efforts had made much of a difference, but Alice surveyed the room and gave a crisp nod. “The only thing left is collecting the auction paddles and swag bags.”

  Finally, a task Quinn felt qualified to do. “Where are they? I’ll get them.”

  “They should be arriving any moment. I was so excited to get here, I forgot the boxes at home. Xavier’s son picked them up on his way to work.”

  “Ronny.”

  Alice either didn’t catch the snark in Quinn’s voice or chose to ignore it. “That’s right. He works security here.”

  “Ronny?” Quinn repeated, and bit the inside of her cheek to keep from busting out laughing at the absurdity of Ronny Buck as a security guard.

  “I forgot you two know each other. You’re in the same program at school.”

  “Unfortunately.”

  “You don’t like him?”

  “I wouldn’t cross the street to save his life. But the feeling’s mutual.”

  “He was my son’s best friend.” She’d aged in the time it took to talk about Ronny. “Did you feel that way about my son too?”

  An unfamiliar emotion clogged Quinn’s chest. The woman’s pain was palpable. Visceral. Four years hadn’t been nearly enough time for Quinn to get over the guilt of her mother’s death. How could a mother get over the loss of her son in just a year? “I was telling you the truth earlier. I only knew of your son. But others cared for him very much.”

  Alice’s perfect posture slowly returned. “Thank you.” She removed her phone from her rear pocket. A text banner ran across the screen, and she clicked it. “Ronny’s arrived.” She slid the cell back into her jeans. “I can do this last bit by myself if you’d rather go get ready.”

  Quinn was already wearing her party clothes—a black sweater, black jeans, and Doc Martens boots. Against a backdrop of holiday red, green, and gold decorations, she stuck out like a gargoyle. “I can play nice.”

  Uncertainty crossed Alice’s face, but then she cheered up again. “Splendid. Shall we?” Without waiting for an answer, she swept off toward the lobby. When they reached the door, the bellman held it open for them. Neither of them had their jacket, but the cold didn’t appear to bother Alice.

  “We should only be outside about ten minutes, “Alice said. “Are you going to be warm enough? If not, you can stay in the lobby.”

  The cold bit through Quinn’s sweater, but damn if she was going to be outdone by a forty-five-year-old woman. “I’m fine.”

  Ronny Buck rounded the corner holding a cup of coffee that hadn’t done anything to brighten his bleary eyes.

  “There’s my savior now.” Alice rushed forward and gave Ronny a quick kiss on the cheek. “I still can’t believe I left the house without everything. Thank goodness you were scheduled to work tonight.”

  “No problem, Mrs. Walsenberg. Ol
ivia was home, and they were right where you said they’d be.”

  Ronny noticed Quinn and stiffened. “Quinn.”

  “Ronny.”

  Alice stepped between them as if afraid they were going to throw down right there under the portico. “Quinn has been helping me put the finishing touches on the ballroom. The boxes are the last of the tasks. Where are you parked?”

  “I’ll get the security cart. I’m in the employee lot. It’s a bit of a yomp.”

  He stowed his coffee in the valet vestibule and grabbed the keys to the cart. Quinn slid in the back behind Alice.

  The employee lot was behind the resort in an extension of the main lot and butted up against the tree line. There was nothing to distinguish it as employees-only. Of course, with only Quinn and the valets parking cars, it probably didn’t need the separate designation.

  Ronny stopped the cart at his Dodge and hopped out. He lowered the tailgate and yanked off the tarp that covered six boxes in the back of the truck. They each grabbed a box and carried it to the cart.

  “Why don’t we just pile them on the back seat?” Alice suggested. “When we’re finished loading, Quinn, you can sit up front with Ronny. I’ll walk back. The air will do me good.”

  “That’s okay,” Quinn said. “I’ll walk back with you.” Ronny Buck could fend for himself.

  23

  The Alliance for Life event was in full swing by the time Jo arrived. She gave her coat to the cloakroom attendant and tucked the claim receipt in the outside pocket of her purse. The shoulder bag was a necessary evil, but carrying a gun in a thigh holster only worked in the movies—and those women certainly weren’t carrying Glock 22s with full magazines of .40 caliber jacketed hollow-points. Fortunately, people in cocktail attire usually remained well behaved.

  Massive double doors stood open and allowed Echo Valley’s glitterati to flow in and out of the Aspen ballroom. A large fireplace graced the far wall. Garlands and myriad white lights imparted a festive atmosphere, and based on the din, the alcohol flowed freely.

  Jo took up position in the corner. The valley’s two judges had their heads close together. Mrs. Baxter held court by the fireplace. Xavier Buck and the district attorney entertained a gaggle of downtown business owners. The governor’s local representative held a folio that probably hid a proclamation—which likely meant the mayor would respond with a proclamation of his own. No wonder the chief had made other plans.