Dead Ringer & Classified Christmas

by B. J Daniels

  Charlotte had seemed a little down lately. But a man like Jud Corbett could bring her out of it quick!

  The two would make beautiful children together, Arlene thought with longing as she broke a couple of eggs into the batter and stirred as she admired Jud Corbett’s good looks. If she were twenty years younger...

  “Are the pancakes about ready?” her son, Bo, demanded. At twenty-one, Bo had gotten his looks and personality from his father, damn Floyd Evans to hell.

  Floyd had up and left them a few months ago. The divorce papers were somewhere on the overflowing coffee table. The bastard had left her with their three children to finish raising.

  Not that the three weren’t pretty much raised since the oldest, Violet, was in her thirties, unmarried and no longer under the roof, but that was another story. Bo was of legal age, although that didn’t seem to mean anything other than he drank beer in front of her now. Charlotte had just celebrated her eighteenth birthday, eating most of the cake all by herself before going out with her friends and getting high.

  The phone rang before Arlene could come up with a proper retort for her son. It rang another time but neither of her offspring seemed to hear it.

  “Let me get that, why don’t you?” Arlene said doubting they got her sarcasm, either, since neither seemed to hear anything over the blaring television.

  “Mrs. Evans?” a woman said on the other end of the line.

  Arlene didn’t correct her. “I’m not buying anything,” she snapped and started to hang up the phone.

  “I’m calling about your daughter Violet.”

  Arlene put the receiver back to her ear. “Yes?” she asked suspiciously. Calls about Violet were never good.

  “My name is Myrna Lynch, I’m the media coordinator here at the state hospital. Your daughter Violet would like you all to come up for Family Day.”

  “Family Day?” Arlene Evans echoed into the phone. “You can’t be talking about my daughter. Violet is completely out of it and the last time I came up there to see her you guys wouldn’t even let me in.”

  Arlene was still mad about that. As if she enjoyed driving clear up to the state mental hospital to be turned away.

  “No one told you?” asked the woman whose name Arlene couldn’t remember. “Your daughter Violet has made remarkable progress. She’s no longer in a catatonic state.”

  “What are you saying? She’s not nuts anymore?” How was that possible? “Did she tell you what she did to end up there?”

  “Mental illness is a medical disorder that is treatable, Mrs. Evans. Your daughter is getting care that will let her be a responsible member of society again,” the woman said, clearly upset at Arlene’s use of the word nuts. “In order to do that, she needs to work through any issues she has with her family. So can I tell the doctor you and your family will be here Saturday?”

  “Wait a minute. Issues? She tried to kill me!” Arlene bellowed.

  “Your daughter doesn’t recall any of that, Mrs. Evans.”

  Arlene just bet she didn’t.

  “Violet needs the support of her family. I’m sure you want to do what is best for her.”

  Arlene bristled at the woman’s tone. “I’ve always supported Violet. You have no idea what I have done for that girl and what did I get for it? Why she—”

  “Mrs. Evans, if you can’t attend Family Day Saturday, then—”

  “I’ll be there,” she said with a sigh.

  “Violet has asked that her brother and sister also attend,” the woman said.

  Arlene glanced over at her daughter Charlotte curled up on the couch chewing on the end of her long blond hair. Bo was slouched in the recliner, a jumbo bag of corn chips open on his lap and an open can of beer at his elbow, in his own catatonic state as he stared at some reality show on the television where a woman was shrieking at one of the other contestants.

  “Turn down the damned TV,” Arlene yelled, covering the mouthpiece. “Can’t you see I’m on the phone?”

  Neither of her grown children responded.

  “I have to bring Charlotte and Bo?” Arlene asked the woman, turning her back to the two. “I’m not sure it’s a good idea for them to be around Violet.”

  “It’s important for Violet’s healing process.”

  “Well, whatever is important for Violet,” Arlene snapped. “Never mind the rest of us. She really is better?”

  “I think you will be surprised when you see her. We’ll plan on your family Saturday.”

  Arlene hung up, wondering how Violet could surprise her more than she had. Her old-maid daughter had plotted to kill her and even gotten her brother and sister involved.

  Arlene could never forgive Violet for that. She’d been so sure her daughter would never get out of the mental hospital and now this. Family Day.

  Surely those fools at that hospital weren’t really considering letting Violet out?

  As she spooned the pancake batter into the smoking skillet, the scent of oil and sizzling pancake batter filled the kitchen and adjoining living room.

  Behind her, Charlotte made an odd sound, then sprung up from the couch to run down the hall, her hand over her mouth. It was the fastest Arlene had seen the girl move in years. A moment later she heard Charlotte retching in the bathroom.

  “What on earth is wrong with her?” Arlene demanded of her son.

  He glanced away from the TV to scowl at his mother. “What do you think? She’s pregnant. Haven’t you noticed how big she’s been getting? Where have you been?” He looked past her and swore. “Damn it, Mother, you’re burning the pancakes!”

  * * *

  CADE JACKSON SWORE as he wrenched the can of pepper spray from Andi.

  Unfortunately the spray nozzle had been pointed in the wrong direction—her direction. Fortunately only a little had shot out. Enough that her eyes instantly watered and she began to cough uncontrollably.

  He grabbed her, cursing with each step as he tried to drag her to the back of his apartment. She fought him, although it was clearly a losing battle, unaware of what he was trying to do until he shoved her out the back door and into the fresh air.

  She took huge gulps, tears running down her face as she coughed and tried to get the fresh air into her lungs.

  He stood for a moment shaking his head, his arms crossed over his bare chest, his dark eyes boring into her.

  “I think you’re going to live,” he said, giving her can of pepper spray a heave. It landed in the deep snow out by the trees along the Milk River and disappeared. “Now, get the hell off my porch.”

  He stepped back inside, not even looking chilled though still only wearing a towel, and slammed the door behind him. She heard the lock turn.

  * * *

  ON THE OTHER side of the door, Cade Jackson took a ragged breath and looked down at the grainy photograph still clutched in his hand.

  It wasn’t Grace. True it looked enough like her to be her twin. Enough like her to rattle the hell out of him.

  The woman in the photograph, Starr Calhoun, had robbed a bunch of banks and gotten away with three million dollars?

  He wanted to laugh. Not for a minute would anyone believe that this Starr Calhoun was Grace except some wet-behind-the-ears reporter. It was beyond crazy.

  He realized he was shaking. From anger. From shock. From the scare she’d given him. Earlier, for just a fleeting panicked instant, he’d thought the woman in the photo was Grace.

  It was clear why the reporter had thought so as well as he took one last look at the photo. Even the poor quality print revealed a little of Grace in this woman and it shook him to his core. It was the eyes. She had Grace’s eyes.

  The reporter had made an honest mistake, he told himself as he balled up the photo of Starr Calhoun and tossed it in the trash can. The rumpled-up p
hotograph landed on the note and business card the reporter had left the night before. M. W. Blake. He still wanted to break her pretty little neck for giving him such a scare. And that stunt with the pepper spray...

  He shook his head as he returned to his apartment at the back of shop to get dressed. Someday he would look back on this and laugh. Let Tex wait by the phone. He wouldn’t be calling her.

  Still he felt shaken by the encounter. Anyone would have been rattled, though, he told himself, after being caught coming out of his shower first thing in the morning by someone like Ms. Blake. He’d foolishly left the shop’s front door open after getting his newspaper this morning. Maybe he’d better start locking his apartment, as well.

  When he’d first seen her standing there, he’d been a little surprised but he sure hadn’t expected what was coming. Not from someone who looked like her, small, demure, sweet looking and sounding with that Texas accent of hers. And a determination that rivaled his own.

  Too bad he couldn’t shake off the worry that pressed on his chest like a two-ton truck. The woman wasn’t foolish enough to run the story, was she?

  As he started to leave, he went back into the shop to retrieve the photo, note and business card from the trash. Smoothing the photo, he felt his original jolt of surprise. He quickly folded the paper and stuck all three items in his coat pocket as he headed for the door again.

  Cade would just show the photo to Carter, have him find out who this Starr Calhoun was and put an end to this foolishness before the reporter made a fool of herself and tarnished Grace’s memory. That, after all, was the benefit of having a brother who was sheriff.

  Cade glanced at his watch, knowing where to find his brother this time of the morning. At the same place he was seven days a week, the Hi-Line Café.

  Leaving his closed sign in the window, Cade headed for the café just a few blocks to the west. It was one of those beautiful December days, cold and crisp, the sky a crystalline blue, the clouds mere wisps high above him and the new snow brilliant and blinding.

  It was supposed to snow again by evening, he’d heard on the radio this morning before his shower. The shower brought back the image of M. W. Blake standing in his bait shop. He remembered now that his first impression had been one of male interest—before he’d found out who she was and what she wanted.

  He recalled being a little taken aback by the sharp pang of desire he’d felt. But given how long it had been, he supposed he shouldn’t have been surprised. The feeling had been more than lust, though. He’d actually been interested.

  Even before she’d opened her mouth, it had been clear she wasn’t local. She was wearing some fancy black boots with a gray pin-striped three-piece suit and a lightweight leather coat, her long dark hair pulled up to give him a good view of her long, graceful neck.

  When she’d turned, he’d been thrown off guard by how young she was. It was the freckles she’d failed to completely hide with makeup and those wide green eyes. Wisps of dark hair curled on each side of the high cheekbones. She was a stunner. The soft Southern drawl was just icing on the cake.

  He swore under his breath. She wasn’t even half as appealing when it turned out she was a damned reporter, though. And it had only gotten worse when he realized she was a reporter who didn’t have her facts straight. What could he expect of someone who was obviously too young to be anything but a rookie?

  As he passed the big bare-limbed cottonwoods along the Milk River etching dark against the bright day, he thought of the fall day he’d met Grace and felt a sharp jab of longing.

  The woman in the photo hadn’t been Grace, but even the resemblance to her made him hurt all over again. He cursed the damned reporter all the way to the café.

  Sheriff Carter Jackson was sitting at the counter. Cade dropped onto the stool next to him and motioned to the waitress that he would have the same thing he always did. Coffee.

  “Good mornin’,” he said to his brother as the waitress slid a cup in front of him.

  “Is it?” the sheriff said.

  The waitress brought Cade extra sugar packets. He tore open a half dozen and poured them into his cup.

  “If you don’t like coffee, why drink it?” Carter asked irritably.

  “Who says I don’t like coffee?” He poured in most of the small pitcher of milk the waitress brought and glanced at his brother, wondering what had put Carter in such a foul mood. He suspected he knew. Eve Bailey.

  Carter had been trying to get Eve back for months now. They’d dated in high school but Carter had married someone else. Now divorced, he wasn’t finding Eve Bailey very forgiving. Not that Cade could blame her, although it was clear his brother had always loved her.

  “You’re up early,” Carter said, eyeing him. “What’s goin’ on with you?”

  Cade had planned to show his brother the photo of Starr Calhoun and tell him about the ridiculous claim made by the new reporter in town. But something stopped him.

  “Nothin’,” Cade said. “Just thought I’d join you for a cup of coffee this morning.”

  His brother turned now to stare at him. “You sure you’re all right?”

  “Don’t I look all right?” Cade shot back.

  “You look a little peaked.”

  Cade concentrated on his coffee, telling himself he was a fool not to show his brother the Wanted poster and put an end to this. So what was holding him back?

  “You’re usually out in your ice-fishing house by now,” Carter said, sounding suspicious. That also went with having a sheriff for a brother.

  “I haven’t got my house out yet,” he said, although that had been his plan just this morning. Before his early visit from Tex. Normally as soon as Nelson Reservoir froze over he would be on the ice.

  “I heard Harvey Alderson speared a nice northern pike the other day,” Carter said.

  Cade nodded. “The photo’s already on the wall at the shop.” Harvey had come straight there to have his photograph taken. It was a Whitehorse tradition.

  “Maybe you’re starting to realize there is more to life than fishing,” his brother said, sounding as if he thought that was progress.

  On any other day Cade might have argued the point. “So how is Eve?”

  “She’s impossible as ever,” Carter groused. “And I don’t want to talk about her.”

  Cade laughed as he watched his brother wolf down his breakfast and between bites, go on and on about Eve. Some things didn’t change and today Cade was damned glad of it.

  * * *

  ANDI FINISHED HER story on the Parade of Lights and laid out the page for the next day’s edition, trying to keep busy.

  She’d expected Cade to call. He hadn’t.

  Wouldn’t a man who’d been given evidence that his wife was a known criminal call? Unless he’d already known and was sitting over in his bait shop planning how to keep her from telling another living soul.

  She slammed the drawer on the filing cabinet and cursed mildly under her breath. It was time to use her ace in the hole: the cassette tape.

  It was dangerous, but once he heard the voice on the tape, he would confirm that the voice was Starr Calhoun’s and she would have the proof she needed. She hoped that faced with even more evidence and his own innocence in all this, he would break down and tell her everything about his relationship with Starr.

  Unless of course he wasn’t innocent.

  Andi couldn’t help the rush of excitement she felt at just the thought of playing the copy of the tape she’d made for him. Maybe she should have told him about the tape when she’d shown him the photo.

  No, she thought, given how angry he’d been she doubted he would have listened to the tape. He had needed time to calm down, to let it sink in, to realize he couldn’t hide from the truth.

  Right. But how was she going to get him to liste
n to the tape if he refused to talk to her again? The man was obviously more stubborn than she had anticipated. She’d been convinced, guilty or innocent, he wouldn’t be able to rest until he heard her out. So much for that thought.

  She sighed as she sat down and checked her schedule. She didn’t have another story to cover for several days. The newspaper would hit the stands in the morning and she would have a whole week before the next edition. She couldn’t believe how laid-back weekly newspaper work was compared to broadcast news in a metropolitan city.

  But it would work out well for her. She’d need time to mine this story. Time to convince Cade Jackson to talk to her.

  That was the problem. To get the story she wanted, she needed Cade’s side of it. She needed to know how he and Starr had met, how she’d deceived him into marrying her.

  Andi felt a twinge of guilt. Cade hadn’t just been furious this morning. He’d seemed stunned. Even though he denied the photo was of his wife, she’d seen his shock. He’d recognized Starr.

  What would his reaction be when he heard his wife’s voice on the tape, callously planning the bank robberies with her accomplice? Unless, of course, Cade was her accomplice.

  No, the man caught on the bank surveillance cameras had pale blue eyes. Cade Jackson had dark, expressive eyes. Nor was he built like Starr’s accomplice.

  If Cade Jackson was involved, then it was from the sidelines. Which didn’t mean he hadn’t known who his wife really was—or that he didn’t know what had happened to the robbery money.

  A thought struck her like a bolt out of the blue. How badly had Starr deceived him? Hadn’t the article in the newspaper about her death said that the car had rolled numerous times before catching fire? Her body had apparently burned beyond recognition.

  What if Starr had faked her death just as Andi had first suspected? What if she was somewhere living off that three mil with her accomplice? Then who had been killed in the car wreck?

  Mind racing, Andi realized the pieces still didn’t fit. Lubbock was out of prison and missing. But whoever had sent her the job information about Whitehorse knew she had information about Lubbock’s arrest in Montana. That meant the person knew about her interest in the Calhoun family. Might even know about her connection to the Calhouns.