“How can he be dead if we saw him?” Putting her hands on her hips, she prepared for a fight.
“Hey, Bonnie! I asked for a refill about a year ago!” a male voice called out.
“Oh, put a pickle in it! Can’t you see I’m havin’ a conversation, you Neanderthal!” she yelled, quickly turning her attention back to the matter at hand. “Trolls! They can wait.”
“We? I didn’t see anything,” Foster replied.
“What?”
“How do you know he’s dead, Foster?” Todd interrupted, taking a few deep gulps of his soda.
“It’s what I heard.”
“Oh, well, that does it then!” Bonnie replied exasperated, throwing her hands in the air. “I see him, but you ‘heard’ something. Certainly trumps a visual sighting. And besides, the point is that you should have seen him!”
“Why should Foster have seen him?”
“Yeah, why should I? I’d like to know, too.”
“Because he was sitting right there the night you and … Larabee were in here.”
Her voice dropped when she mentioned the officer that was still MIA.
“What?” Foster said, taking a bite of the roast beef dripping with homemade gravy. “No, he wasn’t! Only person in here that night was Shankton. Came in for coffee and sat right over there.”
“Mr. Shankton?” Bonnie asked, her eyes going wide. “You’re crazier than a June bed bug. It was Eddie!” she insisted.
“You’re the one that’s wrong. I’m the trained professional, remember? And you’re …”
“… a lowly waitress? Listen, here, Mr. Big Shot Policeman, I never forgot anyone that leaves me a tip. Never!” she snapped, storming away.
“I guess she told you,” Todd remarked. Looking up he saw Mulligan settling his bill. Getting his coat off the hook, he was on his way.
* * * * *
With a backward glance at Cavanaugh, a strong blast of frigid air hit Mulligan flush in his naked face. The meal had been good, but being placed within listening distance of Cavanaugh’s conversation had ultimately made him uncomfortable. Wanting to leap into the middle of what he was saying, he’d kept quiet. Proving himself to be a typical police officer, he was dismissing the truth in lieu of what he wanted to think. He was way off base about Barbara’s mother. She’d never lie. While there were problems between the two, even Babs extolled her mother’s virtue when it came to honesty. It was what made it so easy for Babs to manipulate her.
Drawing in his coat more tightly around him, he pushed his hands into the tattered silk lining of his favorite leather coat. While not meant to be worn in this type of weather, it was eternally in style—the way only 50’s vintage clothing could be. Bill Haley had been reputed to have owned it, but who knew? People told all sorts of wild stories when it came to jacking up prices. Still, in his heart-of-hearts, he chose to believe it was true.
Battling back to his temporary digs, his visit to Holybrook was not for naught. Although things had worked out markedly differently than he’d imagined, he’d gotten that closure he yearned for. Babs was okay. Happy, fat and married, she’d probably settled down with the man she’d truly loved. Knowing it wasn’t him hurt like hell, but he’d always only wanted the best for her. If the best meant being with someone else, so be it.
“God bless you, Babs,” he muttered as he hurried along on a path that led him straight to his lodging. It wasn’t much, but it served as home.
Squinting through the flurry of snowflakes, a woman turned onto the sidewalk ahead of him. Not seeing what store she’d come out of, she had a figure fine enough to catch his eye. Something about the way she moved was oddly familiar. Icy particles drifting down from the heavens and settling on his sparse lashes, her taut legs flashed along with regularity. The end of a pony tail poking out from under the knit edge of her ski cap, he picked up his pace to gain ground. Something so haunting about the form—it was Babs. He was sure of it. Trying hard to dissuade himself, it had to be a fantasy brought on by longing. His pounding heart not accepting what his eyes were seeing, it ached to speak to the girl that had left him behind.
“Babs!” he yelled.
The girl in the blue jacket turned around, but just by a fraction. A portion of her face visible, clear smooth skin was discerned. Her rounded cheek firm, the corner of that sensual mouth was downturned. More certain than ever that it was Babs, why else would she be rushing away as if being chased by a ghost?
A crowd of children exited a card store, clogging the walkway. Making it impossible to advance, he subdued his desire to aggressively push them aside. The kids were young and didn’t know about lost loves.
Gently weaving in between, he broke free in time to see Babs sprinting across the street. Running for a bus that was whooshing to a halt, the door opened, gobbling her up. Galloping after her, his age and out of shape conditioning played into his lethargic chase. Asking his legs to do the impossible, he arrived in time for a close-up of the vehicle rushing past him.
“Babs,” he gasped, bending over. Placing his hands on his knees, he tried collecting his breath. Spent and heartbroken, he wasn’t about to give up. The numbers of the plate sparking an idea, he loped off into the night—the chase on.
His legs faltering, his quadriceps burned from the lack of oxygen. It had been a long time since he’d engaged in strenuous activity. Compounding the difficulty, the boots he was wearing were made for dancing and not for snow. With no traction on the smooth soles, he slipped and slid his way to the parking lot of his motel. His frozen fingers fumbling for his keys, the frigid temperature of the upholstery raked through his minimalist clothing. His body shaking, his hands trembled as he started his car. The cold was eating him alive.
His car sprang to life, his headlights snapping to attention like a pair of startled eyes. Gunning the engine, the wheels squealed like someone’s last breath. Tearing onto the street, the heater began spewing the beginnings of warmth at the feet soaked through by moisture. He’d have to dry out his socks when he got back. Hopefully, it would be after he was provided long sought answers from his true love’s ruby lips.
Having spent enough time in town, he knew the bus route. It was the one that led to Velofsky’s. Easily catching up with it, he kept pace like a stealthy stalker. Stalker? The idea was absurd—he was the victim. He’d been the one jerked around like a marionette … or is that only what stalkers rationalized?
Watching the puffs of exhaust, there were so many reasons for her not to want to face him, but she was going to have to. He was so done making excuses for her. She’d left him waiting at that motel outside town. He’d waited all night for her to come, but there was no Barbara, no phone call, no nothing—except that long, torturous evening spent alone. It was time for her to own up to what she’d done. While he didn’t want to change her life, he had to find out why she’d broken his heart.
Keeping track of the passengers that departed, all the stops in town were completed. The last one at the outskirts of town remained. Trying to figure out why Barbara was traveling into the middle of nowhere, he ruled out that she could be headed to the school. She wasn’t a dancer, and evening was much too late to be wandering around in the dark. Then there were those woods. It made no sense for her to be going near there. No one in their right mind would be going into that forest alone.
Alone! That was it! She was going to meet someone, but why was she doing it at this time of night? Perhaps she was cheating on the man she’d left him for. If so, his heart went out to the cuckolded husband. He hated to admit it, but he could well imagine her engaging in this kind of betrayal. If she could do it to him, she was capable of doing it to anyone.
Out on the open highway, the vehicle raced at a clip. Its windshield wipers batting away, the smattering of snow drove into the glass. He stepped on the gas, his car’s tires digging in. Gripping the wheel, the heat was now shooting out and thawing his frozen extremities. His thighs still tensed, it wasn’t from the cold, only the gravity of the situ
ation. Certain that he could press them into further action, they wouldn’t fail him. He was old, but not dead. There was no way he’d miss this opportunity.
His palms were sweating, his brow becoming moist. Old feelings surged up from the soul holding his sanity like fragile glass. His eyes already tearing up with regrets, he wondered if there was a promise of a future. While he was interested in hearing her explanation, what he really wanted was for her to change her mind.
He was being a fool. His friends and family had told him that over and over again. Even with drumming it into his head, all his chances to be happy were let go like grains of sand from a hand opening on a beach. He didn’t want to be with anyone else. It wouldn’t be fair to pretend someone else was her.
Easing down on the brake, the final stop was up ahead. Pulling to the side of road, he parked, waiting for the inevitable. Withdrawing from the car like a cobra from a basket, he wrapped his arms over his chest, beating his arms slightly for warmth. Hopping from leg to leg, the bus came to a halt. His eyes level with the passenger that emerged, he finally saw her.
“Barbara!” he screamed, the sound covered by the loud rumble of the bus resuming its rounds.
Spinning her head around, she met his eyes. Her face taking on an expression of fright mixed with determination, she took off for the woods. Her high boots easily cutting through the deep snow, his legs had trouble lifting, but he nonetheless tried to follow the footsteps that carved out a trail.
“Barbara, please stop! I only want to talk to you!” he pleaded, “You owe me that much!”
Arms flailing from a slip, he recaptured his balance. The lip of the woods ahead, Barbara was surprisingly fleet of foot. Only a few feet ahead of him, with a tremendous effort, he shifted into a higher gear. His legs pumping forward, his arms aided in him catching up with his elusive muse.
At the foot of the path leading into the forest was where he caught her. His hand groping forward, he snatched a hold of the synthetic white material, not letting go. His other hand joined in, gaining even a better hold on her wrist. Spinning her around, he stared in horror. Unable to speak, he broke the silence with a scream.
Chapter Forty-five
“What do you think, Melissa?”
Grant held the blue spruce by the lower branches. It was the only way he could since the tree was too thickly populated by prickly limbs to take by the trunk. A great characteristic for a Christmas tree, those furry arms were just begging for decoration.
Joan’s shoulder touched Melissa’s as the two women viewed all angles. The males in her household had long figured out that they carried the curse of having no taste in anything other than women. Having reached that conclusion, they deferred all decision making in endeavors even remotely bordering on aesthetics to the matriarch of the family.
“Hmmmm, I don’t know,” she debated as if the freedom of the Western world depended on her making the proper choice.
“Well, take your time,” Todd spurred teasingly. “My arms only went numb about an hour ago.”
Like a tin soldier, he held the two other finalists in each hand. Grant gently nudged the third into a makeshift ragged chorus line to make selection easier.
“You’ll stand there until we’re good and ready!” Joan fired back. “If you don’t, I’ll take you with me the next time I go shopping at the mall. You know what those shoe sales can be like.”
“Uh, oh! You’d better listen to her, son! The last time I went along on one of those free-for-alls, I came home looking like the losing end of a cat fight. Doc had to infuse me with three pints of blood before I could even lift a finger.”
“Yes, but I’ve got the badge, Dad. I’ll pull rank.”
“Not with those hellions, you won’t. Cut their teeth on sheriff badges when they were in the nest with the other vipers. You dragging it out won’t make ‘em bat an eye. You’ve been warned.”
“If you two don’t stop the chatter, we won’t ever be able to choose.”
“She’s right,” Melissa said. In a show of support, she backed up the spurious claim. “You both talk with your hands.” That dispensed with, she turned her head towards Joan, whispering, “I think I narrowed it down to between the Douglas and Noble Fir.”
“I think you’re right, honey. The Blue Spruce’s top is a little crooked. If we put our star on that, it’d be …” Tilting, she comically demonstrated the effect.
Melissa laughed, her expulsion of air visible as soft vapor.
“Then we’re dispensing with this one?” Grant asked, his ears perking at the possible elimination.
“Yes, dear.”
Dutifully disposing of it, he took the Noble Fir from Todd, letting his son rest at least one arm.
“Thanks, Dad. I’m sure the circulation will come back one day.”
“Hope it’s not your gun arm,” he quipped.
“Yeah, like there’s a call for that in this town. Force would be better off giving us paint balls.”
“Good idea, son. ‘Orange’ the goddamned suspect. Then we’ll know who to stay away from.”
“You’re doing it again!” Joan warned, shaking her arms like quivering jelly.
“Sorry, dear,” Grant apologized. “It’s the key to a good marriage, Todd. You just ‘yes’ the old battleax to death.”
Snickering in spite of herself, Missy was loving being part of the family dynamics, knowing that underneath the jabs, there was a real sense of love.
“You will pay for that, Grant. Remember the bathroom needs regrouting, and I might insist you do it rather than watch that stupid game coming up on Sunday!”
“Oh, come on, peachy pie, buttercup! You’re talking about the play-offs!”
The women went back to scrutinizing the final two. Joan gave Melissa a wide smile.
“I’m likin’ the Noble, what about you?”
“I think you’re right. It’s a perfect tree!” Melissa agreed.
“The Noble it is!” Grant said, high-fiving his son. “Now where is that guy? Probably died from old age. Oh, there he is!”
Handing off the tree to his son, he called out to the busy seller who was making a killing this season. A good year for trees, it was an even better one for his pocketbook.
After transporting the tree home, Melissa helped the family trim the centerpiece of the upcoming holiday season. Her guarded exterior melted like one of the mini-marshmallows in the steaming hot chocolate that Joan served. This was the family she’d always wanted. Wondering if her involvement could ever become a permanent situation, she halted the thought in its tracks. Something would go wrong … something always did.
Grant took a handful of freshly made popcorn, eyeing the progress.
“Looks good. Think it needs a little something right over there,” he said pointing to the lower right-hand side.
“Here?” Joan asked quizzically. “You sure?” She paused. “Melissa, honey, why don’t you go over there and take a look?”
Scampering over to Grant, he held out the decorated ceramic bowl for her to take a handful of the air-popped treat. She greedily dug in, crunching on the kernel-less pieces as she surveyed the tree. Squinting, she concentrated on the area he’d pointed out.
“Um, yeah, I think he’s right. It could use something. I wonder,” she started, stopping in mid-sentence.
“Wonder what?” Joan asked.
“Oh, just something I saw in a magazine one time. They had these big bows tied on the branches of the Christmas tree. It looked so pretty.”
“Hmmm,” Joan remarked, scooting back to gain perspective. “I think maybe we could try it. I have lots of ribbon we can play with!”
“Bought out the whole damn store,” Grant quipped to Melissa who responded by giggling.
“What was that?” Joan challenged as she made her way to the den. Chockfull of Christmas wrappings, they were waiting for presents to cover.
“Nothing, dear,” he pacified, chuckling to himself at getting away with one. “Hey, anybody up for seco
nds?” he said grabbing his mug that contained only chocolatey residue.
“I can do that,” Missy insisted, taking the mug from him, and collecting the rest.
“Here, let me help you,” Todd offered. Stacking them on the red and green serving tray, he followed her into the kitchen. Setting the mugs down on the granite countertop, he ran the hot water while Melissa rummaged through the cupboards for the hot chocolate mix.
“Right up there,” Todd instructed, aiding her search.
“Thanks,” she said taking it down.
“I’m glad you came along, Missy. I haven’t had a chance to talk to you.”
“I’m glad I came, too,” she remarked, measuring out the ingredients and starting to stir. “And I hope what you want to say has to do with that guy who was following me.”
He smirked, giving a little chuckle.
“You’re a tight-lipped one, aren’t you? You’re about the only person in the world that would wait this long to find out what was said.”
“I figured you’d tell me when you were ready if it was any of my business.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“I mean that it could have something to do with the current investigation. You know, something dark and mysterious that needs to stay under wraps.”
“I don’t know about the ‘dark and mysterious’ stuff, but he’s Robert Mulligan, in person and alive after all these years.”
“Robert Mulligan?” she repeated, her eyebrows clenching together, as she checked on the flame. Wanting to make sure it was high enough to heat, it wouldn’t do to scald the milk.
“Barbara Moore? Remember?”
“Oh, I knew his name sounded familiar,” she said softly hitting herself on the side of her head. “I must be losing it to forget something like that.”
“I wouldn’t be so hard on yourself. It’s not like you were cramming for an SAT.”
“But what’s he doing here? Did Barbara come also?”
“No, he came because of the news about Brandi. He thought maybe her disappearance might explain what happened to Barbara because, according to him, he never married her.”
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