by Dinah McCall
Tackett grinned. “Are you being a smart-ass?”
“Yes.”
He chuckled. “Good job. Oh…and by the way, Merry Christmas.”
“Same to you,” she said, and hung up.
Tackett disconnected, then flipped through his Rolodex before punching in another set of numbers. The call was answered on the second ring.
“Federal Bureau of Investigation, how may I direct your call?”
“This is Sergeant Burl Tackett of the Kentucky State Police. I’ve got a perp who’s going to fall under your jurisdiction.”
“One moment, please,” the receptionist said.
Tackett reached for his coffee, but his call was answered before he had a chance to take a drink.
“This is Agent Farris.”
“Farris, my name is Burl Tackett, of the Kentucky State Police.”
“Happy holidays, Tackett. How can we help you?”
“Are you aware of the plane crash here in Kentucky a few days ago?”
“Are you talking about the one the two senators were on…with three missing passengers?”
“Yes.”
“Did you find your missing passengers?”
“Yes…two of them, at least, and that’s why I’m calling. It seems the reason they didn’t stay with the plane and wait to be rescued is because they witnessed Senator Darren Wilson murder Senator Patrick Finn and were afraid for their lives.”
“That’s a heavy accusation. Do you have anything to back that up?”
“Yes, a recent autopsy on Senator Finn confirms their story. The M.E. just called me with the results of Finn’s autopsy. He died of strangulation, all right.”
“Do we know why?”
“No. I’m passing on the torch of knowledge in the hope that you can ascertain the answer to that question.”
Farris sighed. Just what he didn’t want. A great big messy case right before Christmas. It was obvious he must have been a bad boy this year, because this damn sure wasn’t on his wish list.
“Say, Tackett…are you being a wiseass?”
“Probably, but I also apologize. Merry Christmas.”
“Same to you,” Farris said, and then added, “Fax me all the info you have. I’ll get to work on an arrest warrant. Oh…do we know where Senator Wilson is?”
“Somewhere up on the mountain above the Carlisle crash site, probably planning on doing away with his two living witnesses. I suggest you hasten your search. When you get some men here, I’ll explain in detail,” Tackett said.
Farris was already in work mode as he hung up, then dialed his boss’s extension.
Tomorrow was Christmas Eve.
Darren stared down at his cracked and bleeding hands, remembering how he’d taken such things as warm clothes and soap and water for granted. And ChapStick. God, what he wouldn’t give for a tube of ChapStick. His lips were so dry and swollen, he couldn’t bear to moisten them.
He was fed up. Fed up with everything and everyone.
To hell with the cops.
To hell with Alphonso Riberra.
To hell with that meddling woman and kid who couldn’t be bothered to die on that plane like everyone else. If they had, none of this would be happening.
He fingered the butt of the rifle lying across his lap, then leaned back against the tree trunk and closed his eyes.
It wasn’t long until sunset. If he wasn’t mistaken, the house he could see through the trees was sheltering the very two people who could put him on death row. There were too many people living there for him to storm the house, but he would bide his time. And when the time was right, he would take his borrowed rifle and put them out of his misery, then be gone before anyone knew what had happened.
James slept the night through and woke late the next morning to find his dad sitting up in the only chair in the room, reading the paper. A cup of coffee and a slightly greasy brown sack of something enticing sat in the middle of the table. The bandages over the gunshot wound pulled painfully at his flesh, reminding him of how lucky he was to still be breathing.
“Morning, Dad.”
Thorn looked up and grinned.
“Good morning, James. You’re looking better.”
“I hope that’s for me,” James said, pointing to the sack on the table.
“You mean those two sausage-and-egg biscuits, grape jelly and a large cup of coffee?”
“Way to go, Dad,” James said. He winced as he got up, then grabbed a pair of pants and headed for the bathroom. “Be right back.”
Thorn grinned, then returned to his paper. A short while later, James was out, washed up and half dressed.
He grabbed the sack and coffee and carried everything to the bed. The coffee went onto the bedside table, while the first sausage-and-egg biscuit went into his mouth. Four bites later it was gone and he was unwrapping the second.
“Looks like I misjudged,” Thorn said.
“How so?” James asked as he took a bite of the second biscuit.
“I don’t think two are enough.”
“Two is plenty,” James said as he opened the grape jelly, smeared it on one side of the biscuit, then put it back together, adding a bite of sweetness to the breakfast sandwich.
“What’s happening today?” Thorn asked.
“Have you tried to call Mike?” James replied.
Thorn nodded. “Didn’t get through. When I was getting breakfast, I heard some of the locals talking about the weather up higher on the mountain.”
“What about it?” James asked.
“There was an ice storm. About an inch of sleet on everything by the time it stopped.”
James paled. “Damn it. I’ve never seen such a weather mess. I’m beginning to wonder if we’ll ever get our boys off that damn mountain.”
“What about the police? Were they going to call you and let you know about the arrest?”
“They can’t arrest Wilson until they find him,” James said.
Thorn frowned. “Well, they have to find him, and soon. We can’t have Johnny and that young woman in any more danger.”
“He’s not particular about who he shoots,” James said, patting his bandage. “Evan and Mike are probably in just as much danger as Johnny and Molly.”
Thorn frowned. “Well, if that Sanborn woman is as psychic as she claims to be, she should know when he comes around.”
“You’d think, but I don’t know how all that works,” James said. He downed the last two bites of his breakfast, then reached for the coffee. There was an expression on his face that pierced Thorn to the core, and he knew why it was there.
“You need to check on Trudy before we get too involved with other things.”
James took a deep breath, exhaling slowly as his shoulders slumped.
“I’ve thought of little else ever since I got on the plane to come here. I was afraid to leave her alone, and at the same time, afraid she wouldn’t miss me at all. I don’t know which is worse.”
Thorn folded up the newspaper and set it aside.
“I’m so sorry, son. I wish with all my heart that there was something I could do.”
James’s eyes filled with tears, but his voice didn’t waver.
“She’s still my Trudy, Dad. I know it, even if she doesn’t.”
Thorn got up from the chair and moved to the bed where James was sitting. He patted him on the back, then put an arm around his shoulders and gave him a quick hug.
“So you call and check on your girl. Then we’ll go from there.”
James picked up the phone as Thorn made himself scarce.
Mike woke abruptly. It was difficult to sleep when there was a finger up your nose. He reached out, grabbed his grandson by the waist and pulled him into bed.
“What were you digging for up there?”
Johnny giggled. “Boogers.”
Mike laughed out loud as Johnny pounced. The wrestling match was on and that was what Deborah saw as she came out of the bathroom. She was dressed for morning chores,
but she would have preferred to be wearing nothing. Last night in Mike O’Ryan’s arms had been a taste of heaven. The last thing she’d wanted to do was get up, but she couldn’t ignore Mildred’s swollen udder or the other animals’ needs. And now, seeing that Johnny had snuck into their bed, it was just as well that she’d vacated when she had. It might have been tricky explaining away why she was naked under the covers with Daddy Mike.
Mike was rubbing his knuckles on the crown of Johnny’s head when he saw Deborah exit the bathroom. He could tell by her choice of clothing that she was all about business.
“Hey, gorgeous. Give me a couple of minutes and I’ll go with you.”
She shook her head and grinned. “No need. I do this every day by myself. Besides, looks like you’ve got another agenda going right now that’s far more important than babysitting me. I’ll see you guys later. I’m fine, but Mildred’s not.”
Mike frowned. “Deborah…wait. I don’t want you to—”
She smiled as she interrupted, but there was a sad tone in her voice that pierced Mike to the heart.
“Quit fussing about me, okay? Besides, what do you think I’m going to do when you’re gone?”
Mike’s frown deepened as she left the room. She’d just voiced a fact he’d been unwilling to face. What was she going to do? More to the point, what was he going to do? Making love to her last night had been magic. He didn’t want to give her up.
“I’m hungry, Daddy Mike,” Johnny said.
Mike shifted focus because he had to, but all the while he was dressing, then fixing Johnny some breakfast, he kept watching for her to come out of the barn.
Even though she’d assured him that she no longer sensed danger, he was nervous. They hadn’t heard from James, and he kept remembering her claim to have seen someone fall off the mountain. When he finally saw her emerging from the barn, he breathed a sigh of relief.
“Hey, Dad, what are you looking at?”
Mike turned around as Evan entered the kitchen.
“Just checking on Deborah,” he said, then pointed to the stove. “Stir that pancake batter for me, will you?”
Evan gave the batter in the bowl a couple of quick stirs, then abandoned it for a cup of hot coffee.
“How’s Molly?” Mike asked, as he set a glass of milk down at Johnny’s plate.
“She’s okay,” Evan said, and looked away.
Mike’s eyes narrowed. He knew his son. There was something going on that he wasn’t talking about.
“Can I have another pancake, Daddy Mike?”
“Sure thing, Johnny boy. Just give me a sec.”
He quickly poured some batter on the griddle as Johnny continued to talk.
“Hey, Daddy, I got up and went to the bathroom by myself last night,” Johnny said as he stirred his fork through the butter and syrup left on his plate.
“Good for you, son,” Evan said.
“You didn’t wake up, but Molly did,” Johnny said, then held out his plate as Mike slid a freshly cooked pancake into place. “Molly snuggled with me and I slept real good. Me and Molly snuggled a bunch when we were in the snow. It was so cold, but Molly kept me warm.”
Evan stopped in the middle of buttering Johnny’s pancake, and just sat and looked at his son as if he’d never seen him before.
Johnny pointed at his plate. “Could I have a little more syrup, too, please?”
Evan blinked, then refocused on the task at hand. “Yeah, sure thing, buddy,” he said softly, and poured syrup over the hot buttered pancake. “So Molly kept you warm, did she?”
Johnny nodded, then when Evan slid the plate of food toward him, he attacked it vigorously with his fork. The room remained quiet until Deborah reached the back porch. The sound of her stomping snow and ice off her boots, then banging the strainer against the crock as she poured up the fresh milk, was the signal Mike had been waiting for. He began cooking pancakes again, this time in multiples.
“Evan, go see if Molly is awake. If she doesn’t feel like coming to the table, we’ll fix her a plate. Either way, hurry back. The pancakes will be getting cold.”
The back door opened as Evan left the room. Deborah entered, carrying the bucket and strainer to the sink, then she went back to the door and took off her boots.
“Something smells wonderful,” she said.
“Pancakes!” Johnny cried. “Daddy Mike is making you some.”
“Yum,” Deborah said, eyeing Mike’s long legs and broad back as she stepped into her shoes. “Daddy Mike is a whiz at everything, isn’t he?”
Mike was already grinning when he turned around. “So I’m a whiz, am I?”
Deborah smiled as she strode to the sink to wash her hands. “You know what today is?” she asked.
Mike leaned close to her ear and whispered softly, “The morning after I rocked your world?”
She laughed out loud and then threw her arms around his neck and kissed him soundly, which surprised the hell out of him. He went back to the stove to turn the pancakes before they burned, hoping that he hadn’t turned as red as his son had moments earlier.
“No, what day is it?” Johnny asked.
“It’s Christmas Eve,” Deborah said.
Johnny’s expression fell. “My presents for Daddy were on the plane.”
“Then we’ll find others,” Deborah said.
“Are we going to a mall?” Johnny asked.
Deborah held out her plate so Mike could set a stack of pancakes on it.
“Better than that,” she said as she sat down beside Johnny and reached for the butter. “We’re going up into my attic,” she whispered. “It’s full of really neat things. You can pick out something for your daddy and your Daddy Mike, too.”
“And for Molly,” Johnny added.
“Absolutely,” Deborah said. “For Molly, too.”
“What about you?” Mike asked.
She looked up at him then, memorizing the habit he had of standing with his weight on one hip more than the other, as well as the way he held his mouth when he was trying not to laugh.
“Oh…you’ve already given me my present by sharing the pleasure of your company.” Then she kissed the side of Johnny’s face and picked up the syrup. “If it wasn’t for all of you, I would be spending Christmas alone again, just as I have for years.”
Johnny grinned, then scooted his chair back from the table.
“Can I be ’scused, Daddy Mike?”
“Yeah, sure,” Mike said. “Go find out what’s keeping your daddy and Molly for me, will you?”
“Yes!” he cried, and bolted from the room as Deborah dug into her food.
Mike turned back to the stove and started cooking another stack of pancakes but he couldn’t get his mind off this woman—or her life. All these years she’d spent up on this mountain—day after day, holiday after holiday—alone.
“Hey, Deborah?”
“Yes?” Then she waved her fork at the food on her plate. “By the way, these are fantastic.”
“Thanks.”
“So what was it you were saying?” she asked as she took another bite.
He stared at her for a moment, watching the play of light on her features and the way her hair curled around her face when it was damp.
“I was wondering…were you ever married?”
Her expression stilled. “No.”
“Why not? You’re beautiful and you’re smart and—”
“I creep men out,” she said shortly, and stabbed another bite of pancake and shoved it into her mouth.
He could tell by the way she was chewing that he’d hit a nerve.
“That’s stupid,” he muttered. “It’s the men who are creeps, not you.”
“You say that now, but remember when we met?”
Mike wondered if he looked as guilty as he felt. “What about it?”
“You doubted everything about me.”
“But I changed my mind. You made me change my mind.”
“So you accept what I am,” Deb
orah said. “Big deal. I’m still going to be the topic of conversation some night when you’re out with ‘the boys,’ so to speak. I can hear it now. ‘Say, guys…have you ever had yourself a piece of witch?’”
Mike flinched as if he’d been sucker punched.
“I would never say anything like that about any woman I’ve ever slept with,” he said.
Deborah heard the shock in his voice, but she wouldn’t look up. She didn’t want to see the pity or the guilt she knew would be there. Still, she made herself smile as she took another bite.
“Sorry, then. How about your track record?”
Mike mumbled beneath his breath. “Twice.”
“I’m sorry…did I understand you to say you’ve been married twice?”
“Yes,” Mike snapped, and poured some more pancake batter on the griddle.
“Molly’s decided to join us,” Evan said as he escorted Molly to the table.
“Great,” Mike said.
“Have a seat,” Deborah offered.
Evan looked at Molly, then shrugged. She shook her head, as if to warn him to keep quiet, but it was clearly obvious to both of them that they’d walked in on something less than friendly going on between Mike and Deborah.
“The pancakes smell wonderful,” Molly said. “I feel really guilty for being such a burden to everyone. I haven’t lifted a finger to cook or clean since I entered this house.”
“Maybe not, but according to my son, you’re a good snuggler and you kept him really warm when you two were lost. As far as I’m concerned, that nets you a free pass.”
Molly blushed. “Evan, I didn’t do a thing anyone else wouldn’t have—”
“But anyone else wasn’t here,” he said. “You were, and I’ll never forget it.”
She frowned slightly as Deborah passed her the syrup.
“Okay, I accept your gratitude,” Molly said, then took a bite. “Good pancakes,” she added.
“Thank you very much,” Mike said, and watched as Deborah picked up her empty plate and took it to the sink. Before he could head her off, she’d left the room.
17
The attic was cold and smelled like all enclosed airless spaces usually smelled—of dusty wood and rotting fabrics. When she was a child, the attic had been Deborah’s treasure trove. When children wouldn’t play with her for fear that they would be hexed, she had to occupy herself and pretend she didn’t care. Playing up here had been like traveling to another dimension. Over the years, the contents had accumulated until there were countless generations of “stuff.”