Dead Ringer & Classified Christmas

by B. J Daniels

  “You’re in Montana. Practically everyone owns at least one, most a whole lot more than that. We still hunt in this state.”

  “Can I see them?” she’d asked.

  “Sure. Have you ever shot a pistol?”

  She’d shaken her head. “Could I?”

  He recalled her excitement, his mouth going dry, his stomach roiling. Right away, she’d taken to shooting the .45 his father had given him.

  “It looks like something one of the Old West outlaws would have used,” she’d said.

  He hadn’t told Andi, but he was more than aware of Grace’s interest in outlaws. He’d thought of it more as an interest in the history of the area and he’d encouraged it, wanting her to feel about this place as he did.

  He heard a click and reached for the safe’s handle, half praying the .45 would be there and half hoping it wouldn’t. Without the gun, Carter couldn’t prove that the bullet that killed Houston Calhoun had come from Cade’s pistol.

  But the gun might also clear him—and Grace, as well. He’d been praying that would be the case as he’d opened the safe door.

  He’d had a bad feeling even before he opened the safe door that the .45 wouldn’t be there.

  If Grace shot her brother with it, then she would have gotten rid of the gun, right?

  Or put the gun back where it would be found long after she was gone to incriminate Cade.

  The gun wasn’t where he usually kept it.

  Panicked, he’d begun to search the other drawers, knowing he wasn’t going to find it. He had sat down on the hardwood floor, sick at heart with what this meant. The only person who could have taken the gun was Grace. Starr, he reminded himself. There had been no Grace.

  His heart had sunk with the realization that he hadn’t known his wife at all. He’d trusted her. When he’d opened the safe that day to teach her how to use a gun, he’d let her see the combination—no doubt exactly why she’d asked him to teach her to shoot. He would bet Starr Calhoun and guns were no strangers to each other.

  He’d gotten up from the floor, closed the safe door and called his brother with the bad news.

  All Carter had done was swear. The loss of the .45 was a double-edged sword. Without the gun, Cade couldn’t prove he was innocent of Houston Calhoun’s murder. But with it, the gun might have seen him straight to prison.

  As he’d left the cabin to go down to his fishing shack he was thankful at least that Starr hadn’t put the gun back into the safe to frame him for murder.

  Maybe there was a little Grace in her after all.

  He’d gone fishing, just wanting to be left alone. And he had been until now.

  * * *

  ANDI WATCHED AS a plywood door scraped open and Cade Jackson looked out. He appeared anything but pleased to see her as she swung off the four-wheeler, thanked the fisherman for the lift and waited for him to speed off again before she looked at Cade.

  “Aren’t you going to invite me in?” she asked when he said nothing.

  Without answering he disappeared back inside, but left the door ajar. She moved across the glare of wind-scoured ice and stepped inside.

  Being from Texas she’d never seen an ice-fishing house except in the movie Grumpy Old Men. This one was a lot like Cade’s apartment—small and light on amenities.

  “Watch your step,” he said, moving around a large square hole in the ice to close the door behind her.

  They were instantly pitched into darkness. The only light came from below her feet. The ice seemed to glow, the large hole cut into it like a wide-screen television.

  She let out a cry of surprise as several fish crossed the open water in the hole and heard Cade’s amused chuckle.

  He pointed to a small folding stool. “Since you’re here you might as well sit down.”

  He picked up what looked like a metal pitchfork and stood over the hole in the ice as fish passed beneath them.

  “You don’t use a fishing pole?” she asked.

  He shook his head and motioned for her to be quiet.

  Suddenly a large fish appeared. Cade moved so fast she almost missed it.

  An instant later he drew the speared fish out of the water and grinned at her. “Hungry?”

  “I need to tell you something,” she said. “It’s about the man who attacked me yesterday.”

  “Not on an empty stomach, okay?” He gave her a pleading grin.

  She nodded, but as they left the fishing house she couldn’t help but feel they were being watched.

  Chapter Eleven

  ARLENE EVANS WAS at the end of her rope by the time she reached the mental hospital. For days she’d done everything possible to discover the identity of the man who’d fathered Charlotte’s baby.

  Her daughter had observed her efforts with sly amusement. “You’ll never find out because you wouldn’t be able to guess in a million years.”

  And now Arlene had just spent hours in the car with her pregnant, obstinate daughter and her reticent son.

  “Why do we have to go in?” Charlotte whined as Arlene Evans came around to the passenger side of the car, opened the door and ordered her adult children to get out.

  “Your sister has asked for the three of us to come to Family Day and we didn’t drive all this way for you not to go in,” Arlene snapped. “Now, get out and shut up.”

  Charlotte shot her a deadly look but climbed out of the car, making Arlene wonder how she could have missed the fact that her daughter was pregnant.

  She flushed with shame as she watched her son slowly climb out of the back seat. He wore black combat boots, a tattered pair of jeans with huge holes in them, a T-shirt with obscenities scrawled across the front and a gray knitted-wool stocking cap, his dirty hair sticking out.

  “Do you have to wear that hat?” she demanded.

  He grunted and walked toward the gate into the mental hospital.

  Arlene followed Bo and Charlotte, afraid there was even worse waiting inside for her.

  * * *

  THE ELDEST DAUGHTER of Arlene Evans watched from the third floor window, smiling to herself. The family had arrived. Bile rose in her throat. Violet Evans had looked forward to this day almost from the first.

  Soon it would be all worth it. Soon she would walk out those doors and be a free woman. Excitement rippled through her, but she quickly squelched it.

  She had to be very careful now and not overplay her hand. It would be difficult to be in the same room as her mother and not go for her throat. Not to mention let on her feelings toward her siblings.

  But she had come this far using her brains and the drugs her brother had been able to sneak in for her.

  She knew the picture she had to portray during Family Day. As long as she kept her true feelings hidden...

  She laughed to herself. She’d been hiding her feelings since she was old enough to realize what a disappointment she was to her mother.

  Violet hadn’t known why her mother found her lacking until she got older and heard some of the girls at school saying she was ugly.

  She had looked into the mirror and seen a version of her own mother’s face.

  That’s when she’d known the reason her mother hated her: her mother saw herself in her oldest daughter.

  “Violet?”

  She turned to see the nurse coming down the hall.

  “It’s time. Your family has arrived and they’re anxiously waiting downstairs to see you.”

  Sure they were. Violet put on her timid, withdrawn look as she nodded and let the nurse lead her down to Family Day.

  * * *

  AFTER A SHORT WALK to his cabin, Cade filleted the fish, seasoned it and put the northern pike on the grill while Andi made a salad. He watched her out of the corner of his eye, her movements preci
se. He liked her hands. They were small, the fingers tapered, the nails a pale pink, the skin smooth as porcelain.

  “What?” she asked and he realized she’d caught him staring at her.

  “You make a nice salad.”

  She seemed to relax. She’d probably been as surprised as he was when he suggested they take the fish back to his cabin for lunch. He’d never thought he’d bring her back here.

  “Mind setting the table?” he asked, getting down two plates, knowing she wouldn’t.

  He watched her for a moment, warmed by the heat of the kitchen—and the closeness of another human being—before going back outside to the grill.

  Lifting the lid on the charcoal grill, he turned the fish. Grace had suggested they get a stove with a grill so he wouldn’t have to cook outside in the winter.

  But he liked grilling when it was cold. Even when it was snowing as it was now. He liked seeing his breath mingle with the scent of the northern pike fillets grilling just under the metal hood.

  He felt his stomach rumble and tried to remember the last time he’d been this hungry. Most of the time he forgot to eat and then just cooked up something to keep himself going.

  When the fish was ready, he went inside for a serving platter. Andi had set the table in front of the fire. The flames played off her face as she looked up at him. Her features softened and she smiled.

  “How is it out there?” she asked. She’d been shocked that he planned to grill the fish outside in this kind of weather.

  “It’s ready. I hope you’re hungry.”

  She nodded. “Starved.”

  He went back outside in the falling snow and cold and shut down the grill. With the fish fillets on the serving plate he returned to the cabin to find her waiting by the door.

  She took the plate from him. “Oh, it smells wonderful,” she said as she carried it over to the table.

  Cade knocked the snow from his coat and hat and slipped off his boots before joining her.

  She had turned on the stereo. One of his country-and-Western CDs was playing softly.

  “I hope you don’t mind,” she said, obviously seeing his surprise. “This CD is one of my favorites.”

  He shook his head. It was also one of his favorites.

  They ate listening to the music, neither saying much other than to compliment the food.

  “Your first northern pike?” he asked.

  She nodded. “It’s good.”

  “So’s the salad.” They were being so polite to each other it was making him nervous. “Look,” he said, putting down his fork. “There must be something you and I can talk about other than criminals, isn’t there?”

  She smiled. “Who knows? We’ve never tried.”

  He returned her smile and picked up his fork. “So let me guess, your favorite food is Tex-Mex.”

  She laughed. “How did you know?”

  They spent the rest of the meal talking about food, music, television and books that they liked, bands they’d heard, places they wanted to visit.

  After they finished eating, they cleared the dishes together. As he washed and she dried, she told him about what the attacker had said to her.

  “I have some news, too,” he said and told her about the talk he’d had with his brother—and about the missing .45.

  * * *

  ARLENE SQUIRMED IN her chair as she heard footfalls coming down the hall. It had been months since she’d seen her daughter Violet. Not since the night her eldest daughter had tried to smother her with a pillow.

  She didn’t like to recall the events of last summer. All her near-death “accidents.” Sometimes late at night when she couldn’t sleep she would know that she had done a horrible disservice to Violet.

  She hadn’t wanted the child, hadn’t wanted to be pregnant, certainly hadn’t enjoyed lovemaking with Floyd. But as her mother said, beggars can’t be choosers.

  And that was how Arlene had gotten pregnant. In the back seat of a beat-up old sedan. Floyd had only agreed to marry her after her father had threatened him. They’d gone before a justice of the peace over in Choteau and come back to Whitehorse married.

  While she was tied down with a squalling baby, Floyd escaped to the barn or the tractor out in a field or town for fertilizer.

  Arlene had hated marriage, motherhood and the baby. She’d just been thankful that the day would come that she could marry Violet off.

  And then along had come Bo almost ten years later and then Charlotte shortly after that. Both times only because Floyd had forced himself on her.

  After that, she saw even less of Floyd, which suited them both fine. Until last summer when he’d left her for good.

  Arlene watched the doorway for Violet, telling herself that it wasn’t too late to make it up to her.

  But then her daughter appeared in the doorway, stooped, lanky, dull brown hair, hollow eyed, resembling a kicked puppy, and Arlene knew that coming here had been a huge mistake.

  * * *

  ANDI COULDN’T BELIEVE Houston was dead. Murdered. “Your brother doesn’t think you killed him.”

  “No. But I have to admit, I look guilty as hell,” Cade said. “Not only was it my gun, but everyone knows how I felt about Grace. For the last six years I’ve mourned the loss of her and our baby. I would have done anything to protect Grace and our baby.”

  “Even kill?”

  Cade looked away for a moment. “I didn’t kill Houston in case you’re wondering.”

  “I wasn’t. I know you didn’t kill anyone.”

  He turned back to look at her again. “You could be wrong about me.”

  She shook her head. “I’m a pretty good judge of character since I make a living telling other people’s stories.” She said nothing for a moment, then, “You don’t seem all that surprised that Lubbock’s after the money.”

  “I’m not. I’ve thought this was about the money since I found out about it. I just wasn’t sure how you fit into it.” He met her gaze. “Did you call 911 from your apartment?”

  “No, just as I told your brother. I can’t explain it. Unless Lubbock called right before he grabbed me. Maybe it was a test to see if I would tell your brother what he said.”

  “Unless there was someone else in your apartment and the whole thing was a setup,” Cade said.

  “You don’t think I—”

  He cut her off. “No. I was thinking more of Starr. If you’re right and she’s alive.”

  “Then that would mean that Houston hid the money and she and Lubbock don’t know where.”

  He shrugged as he finished the dishes and drained the water in the sink, reaching for the end of her dish towel to dry his hands.

  “Have you ever caught a fish through a hole in the ice?” he asked with an obvious change of subject.

  “Do I have to spear it?”

  He laughed. “No, you can use a hook and a line if you’re squeamish.”

  “I’m not squeamish,” she said.

  He’d cocked a brow at her. “It’s still light out if you’d like to go back down and fish for a while.”

  * * *

  NEITHER ARLENE NOR Bo nor Charlotte moved as Violet stepped tentatively into the room.

  “What do you have to say to your daughter, Mrs. Evans?” the doctor said, an edge to his voice.

  Arlene found her feet and, opening her arms, moved toward Violet. “How are you, dear?”

  Violet cringed as her mother touched her.

  “It’s all right, Violet,” the doctor said. “Please come in and join us.” He got up to close the door.

  Arlene felt his gaze as it swept from her to Charlotte to Bo. He was looking at the three of them as if they were the ones who needed psychiatric counseling.

  Violet, her head down, h
er fingers picking nervously at the sack-like dress she wore, took a chair near the doctor. Arlene sat down again although what she really wanted was to flee. She should never have come here let alone brought Bo and Charlotte. This was all about blaming the family, making them feel bad.

  “Violet, what is it like having your family here?” the doctor asked.

  “Good.”

  “Isn’t there something you want to say to them?” he asked.

  Violet slowly raised her gaze to her mother. “Where’s Daddy?”

  Arlene winced. Daddy? Violet and her father had never been close. He’d avoided the child just as he had them all.

  “Floyd left after what you did, Violet. I have no idea where he is,” Arlene said, getting angrier by the moment.

  “Oh,” Violet said and dropped her gaze again.

  “Is there something you’d like to say to your daughter, Mrs. Evans?” the doctor asked pointedly.

  Violet raised her head. What could have been a smile played at her lips. Arlene looked into her daughter’s eyes and winced at the carefully hidden hatred she saw there.

  “No,” she said. “There isn’t.”

  The doctor looked shocked. He blinked, then turned to Charlotte. She was playing with her hair and looking bored. “Perhaps you’d like to say something to your sister?”

  “Do they make you wear those awful clothes?” Charlotte asked.

  Violet let her gaze slide to her sister. She looked sad and embarrassed as she touched the worn fabric. “I didn’t have any of my own clothes.”

  The doctor looked down at the notebook on his lap. Arlene hadn’t seen him take any notes. He seemed stunned by the lack of interaction between them.

  “What about you?” he asked Bo. “Isn’t there something you’d like to say to your sister?”

  Bo also had a bored expression. Slouched in his chair, he scratched his neck for a moment and considered Violet.

  “When are you getting out of here?” he asked.

  Violet gave him a cheerless smile. “I don’t know. When I’m well.”

  “You look...” Arlene couldn’t finish. There was a lump in her throat. “Your sister is pregnant.” The words just came out. She felt shame that they sounded like an accusation. But then everything had always been Violet’s fault in one way or another.