by Pat Warren
Rachel knew she had to be cautious here. “How do you like it so far?”
“I find I don’t mind it nearly as much as I thought I would. You know, the clichés about stockings drying on the shower rod, makeup everywhere. You’re not like that. You’re very neat.”
She smiled. “Was that a compliment?”
“Yeah, it was.” He slipped his arms around her, edging her a little closer. “Were you always like this…when you lived with Richard?”
She supposed he had to have some curiosity about that. “I guess so. You met my father, but my mother was even more of a stickler for cleanliness and for what she called the proper way to do things. As I mentioned before, none of us kids was permitted to leave our room unless fully clothed, beds made, room straightened.”
“Wow! Not even to go the bathroom?”
“We had to wear robes and slippers even then. She was brought up that way, so that’s what we were taught.”
“From what I’ve heard of Christina, I figure she must have had trouble with all those rules.”
Her hands on his chest, she stroked his soft T-shirt, feeling the strong muscles beneath. “She did, although she didn’t turn really rebellious until after Mom died.”
“Were you like that when you were with Richard, then?”
“When I went away to college and lived in a dorm with all girls, everything changed. There was very little privacy. Everyone ran around half-dressed. I fell in step.”
But he wanted to hear about the man she’d nearly married, for reasons he couldn’t explain even to himself. “Did you love Richard?”
She’d been waiting for him to ask, yet wondered why he would if he had no serious interest in her. “I thought I did, or I wouldn’t have agreed to marry him. But, although he touched me, he never touched my heart.” That, only you have done. Silently she watched him.
“You believed in love back then, apparently. What changed your mind?”
Rachel frowned. “I don’t know that I’ve changed my mind because I don’t think I ever said I didn’t. I still believe in love, but I think it’s difficult to find, often hard to recognize, and nearly impossible to explain.” She raised her eyes to his and saw confusion. “Take your sister and her husband. Do you doubt that they’re in love?”
“No, I guess not. But marriage is like a house of cards, ready to fall at the drop of a wrong word or a questionable action. Do you really think that many people achieve happily-ever-after these days, and stay married?”
This line of conversation was so odd, coming from Jack, Rachel thought. Up to now, she’d thought he wanted to avoid the topic of marriage. “Perhaps not, but that’s no reason to stop believing. Someone once said that what the mind can conceive and believe, it can achieve.”
“That’s the mind. What about the heart? Doesn’t it come into play somewhere?”
“Yes, but I believe love starts in the mind, then moves to the heart. We see someone and visually they’re interesting to us, attractive to the eye of the beholder. Then we get to know them—intellectually, socially, morally, still with the mind. Then physically we react to them and that begins to involve the heart. We find we’re on the same wavelength, that our morals and goals are the same, that we like many of the same things. And finally one day we wake up and realize that we care more about their welfare than our own. That pretty much defines the process for me, even though I said it’s nearly impossible to explain.”
He’d brought this up, but now he wanted lighten the mood. “It’s different for men. We’re guys, we’re easy. Touch me and I’m yours. No debate.”
She sent him a look of disbelief. “I don’t think so. That’s physical involvement you’re talking about and, sure, that’s easy, for men and women. It’s the afterward that’s difficult.”
He didn’t want to talk anymore, so he leaned down and took her mouth, tugging her near. But Alyssa chose that moment to let out a wail.
Immediately, Rachel broke free and turned toward the baby. She cried so rarely that she had to see to her. “I think she’s hungry. I’ll get her lunch.” But she paused to glance at his disappointed face. “Can we take up where we left off later?”
“Sure.” Jack picked up the roller, trying not to be annoyed at Alyssa’s timing.
Jack tied the last bumper guard in place in the crib he’d just put together and stepped back to gaze around the baby’s room. The portable crib hadn’t suited Rachel, so she’d gone out and bought a full-size one. She’d insisted it be placed at the far end of the room, away from the windows, the mobile of dancing bears hanging above it. She’d gone to her father’s house and picked up the rocker that had been her grandmother’s, daring Ellis to notice and call her on it. Just as Jack had predicted, they hadn’t heard from him.
Buoyed by that small victory, Rachel had learned when her dad would be out of town and enlisted Jack’s aid to drive the Lincoln over to pack up the small chest of drawers that had been in her room since she was a girl. It had fit in the trunk nicely. After he’d unloaded it, she’d had him paint it white while she’d gone shopping and picked out some quirky drawer knobs in the shape of animal heads. A changing table had been her final purchase, but not the end of her decorating.
Jack had to admire the freehand drawings she’d painted on two of the walls—a dancing bear, a waltzing hippo, a lazy cat, a running dog, a soft-eyed cow and a chubby pig. As she put the finishing touches on the monkey, he told her so.
“I had no idea you were so talented,” he said sincerely. “These are really good.”
“It’s my profession, you know. Art. Graphics have graduated to the computer these days, but I still love to draw the old-fashioned way now and then.” Stepping back, she decided the tail finally looked right and left the room to wash her brushes in the laundry room sink.
Following her, Jack was curious. “Do you ever do sketches of people?”
“Sure.” Rachel washed her hands. “In my closet in Dad’s house, I’ve got half a dozen big sketchbooks all filled. I plan on getting some supplies next time I’m in town. I’d love to draw Alyssa.” And you, she amended. So when they were both gone from her life, she’d at least have that.
The ringing phone interrupted and Jack went into the living room to answer.
Drying her hands, Rachel followed, interested since they didn’t get many calls. From hearing Jack’s end of the conversation, she realized he was talking with Sloan and wondered if he had any leads for them about Christina. She couldn’t help wondering if Jack was getting tired of playing house since there was so little to do on the case. She suspected he’d leave if something didn’t develop soon.
“Thanks for the call.” Jack hung up, wondering how Rachel was going to take the news. “That was Sloan. He got the autopsy report.” He led her over to the couch where they both sat.
“Okay, tell me.”
“Christina died from a blow to the head, a heavy rock or possibly the blunt end of a shovel.” He saw her flinch, so he hurried on. “Apparently they can tell that she’d delivered the baby only a short while before her death. They also were able to get DNA samples from Christina. Sloan wants you to take Alyssa to the Whitehorn Memorial Hospital so they can get a sample of her blood. Or you can take her back to the pediatrician’s office.” Rachel had taken Alyssa to be checked out, and happily had found her in good health.
“Anything else?”
“They found some other dried blood spots and hair fragments in the area that aren’t from Christina. They’re keeping them for a possible type-match when they get a suspect. But it’s possible those samples got there some time before Christina’s body was left there.”
Rachel was quiet and thoughtful, picturing the scene, wishing she’d never insisted they go up there.
Jack took her hand, wrapped it in both of his. “Are you okay?”
She let out a ragged sigh. “Yes, I guess so. Did he mention questioning any men who live on the Laughing Horse Reservation, men who could have fathered Alyssa
?”
“He said he’s asked around, but no one admits to knowing her well.”
“Yeah, right.” Truth be known, Rachel wasn’t all that anxious to identify Alyssa’s father. She had the uneasy feeling that he was either the man who’d killed Christina or knew who did.
Jack stroked a finger along her jawline, wishing like hell he could solve this thing for her.
“You know what I heard in the background when I was talking with Sloan?” he asked, wanting to change the subject to something far more cheerful.
“What?”
“Christmas music. Sloan said the main streets are all decorated, the shops and stores, even the sheriff’s office. He said we should drive over and take a look.”
Christmas. She’d almost forgotten that Christmas was fast approaching, already the middle of December. Driving around to see the lights seemed like such a family thing to do that she was surprised Jack had suggested it. “You want to go?”
“Yeah, I kind of do. I’m curious how you small-town folk celebrate the holiday.”
“Nothing as elaborate as you city slickers, I assure you. I remember every Christmas one of our neighbors, Mr. Shaw, used to drive his daughter, Linda, who was my age, and Christina and me around to see the houses all decorated with lights. Carolers would be walking door to door, singing. Max was too above it all, being older, but Chris and I looked forward to that every year.” Unaware that a look of melancholy colored her features, she stared into the fire.
Not her father or even her mother, but a neighbor had been the one to take them. He’d meant to cheer her and had instead dislodged another sad memory. But Jack wasn’t one to give up. “Why don’t we wait until Alyssa wakes up, then take her for a drive since it gets dark quite early. I’ll bet she’d love seeing shiny colored lights.”
He was willing to step out of character for her, and she loved him all the more for it. “I’d like that.”
Pleased at her response, Jack took it a step further. “Afterward, we could go out to eat. Not at the Hip Hop, but at that other place. What’s it called? Oh, yeah, Neela’s. Want to?”
The prospect of an evening out finally brought a smile to Rachel’s face. “Yes.”
As if on cue, they heard the baby fussing in her crib, a sign that she’d been awake awhile.
“I think she heard our plans and she’s all for them,” Rachel said, rising.
“I’ll warm her bottle.” Walking into the kitchen, Jack thought that his sister wouldn’t recognize him, warming baby bottles and taking rides to see Christmas lights. Truth be known, he didn’t recognize himself.
Christmas even came to the women’s correctional facility, Lexine Baxter thought sarcastically. The powers-that-be had put up a small three-foot fake tree that they’d decorated with a handful of colored balls and a strand of mangled garland. Not that she cared. The only thing that got Lexine through the days was the thought of getting her revenge. And walking into the visiting center right now was the one person who could help her achieve that revenge.
“Mother, it’s nice to see you. You’re looking good.” Audra Westwood spoke into the telephone that connected her to the imprisoned woman on the other side of the panel that separated them.
More than she could say for Audra, Lexine thought. The girl looked gaunt and drawn, her heavy makeup looking like black and cherry-red lines striped across her pale face. Was she having trouble? Not that Lexine cared, really, but Audra was the only one who knew about the sapphire mines and Lexine needed her to find the hidden cache that would be her salvation. “What’s the matter with you?” she asked, fishing for the tone a caring mother would use.
Audra’s eyes instantly welled with tears and she wiped at them with shaking hands.
Weak fool, Lexine thought. What trouble had she gotten into now? Fool or not, though, Lexine depended on her, and only her. Unless… She remembered her other daughter, Emma, contacting her recently about coming to visit. It was certainly convenient of Emma to show up now. Especially if Audra was going to be no good to her.
“It’s M-Micky,” Audra was saying on a quiet sob. “He knows about—” She stopped suddenly, then took a breath and continued. “He’s making me miserable, Mother. He’s made me move back in with him and he’s bossing me around.”
The girl’s nasal whine was more than Lexine could take. Couldn’t Audra see that she was the one suffering here behind bars?
“I’ve told you before, Audra,” Lexine said in a somewhat harsh tone. “You need to stand up for yourself and take what you want. No one’s gonna hand you anything in life. Maybe if you cleaned yourself up, you could find a real man, not a loser like Culver.” She dismissed the subject with a wave of her hand. “I didn’t summon you here to talk about your problems. Have you found the mine?”
Audra sniffled and tried to steady her voice. “You don’t understand. I can’t go back there.” Despite the effort, her swollen eyes looked downright scared. “He…he’s watching me. He knows what happened there.”
Lexine had no patience left. “What are you rambling about now?”
Her estranged daughter looked her right in the eye and said in an emotionless voice, “I killed someone there. Christina Montgomery. And Micky knows.”
Without reacting to the monotone, not even so much as a blink of an eye, Lexine asked, “How could you have been so stupid to get caught? Tell me what happened.”
And like the dutiful daughter, Audra did. She told Lexine the whole sordid tale of being surprised by Christina out in the hills and of hitting her over the head. She told her how the murdered woman had grabbed her locket and how Audra hadn’t realized it was missing until days later.
“I—I don’t know what to do,” she said on a shaky breath. “But I do know I’m not going back up to the hills. I’m not going anywhere near there again. So I won’t be looking for your mine anymore.” Audra sat taller in her chair and raised her chin. “I’m sorry, but I can’t take a chance. Not when Micky can turn me in at any time. You’ll have to find someone else to help you.” Audra looked pleased with herself, as if she’d been practicing the little speech and was proud that she’d been brave enough to deliver it.
Lexine wasn’t exactly a receptive audience. Her eyes narrowed and she leaned closer to the partition, trying hard to rein in her blood pressure, which raced out of control. She hoped her face didn’t redden and give away her anger. “Is that so, my daughter?” she said in a sweet voice. “Well, I think you’re just upset. Why don’t you let me help you with…your little problem with the law. After all, that’s something I know a lot about.” She smiled at Audra, but her eyes were cold as the wind that ripped down from the Crazies in winter.
Audra, who had been staring her straight in the eye, averted her gaze suddenly. She shrunk back in the chair, looking leery and frightened. She got the message, all right, loud and clear.
“It’ll be all right,” Lexine crooned. “Mommy will think of something…now that I know your secret.”
Rachel sat on a tree stump in the backyard, sketchbook in hand, her eyes on the scene in front of her, then down at her drawing. Jack had left early this morning after convincing Sloan to show him around the reservation, and the baby was down for her morning nap after a bottle. Rachel had some time to herself and had been itching to sketch since picking up some supplies.
The temperature hovered around thirty so she couldn’t stay out too long, though she was warmly dressed. It had snowed again last night, just a couple of inches, enough to snarl traffic and leave the landscape with a clean covering. Pine trees of varying heights flanked the frozen stream. A shivery Western meadow-lark huddled on a barren limb, eyeing her. Snow blanketed most of the backyard, pristine and white, untouched. It was cold, but the wind had died down altogether. Her busy hand sketched away as in her mind she imagined what all this would look like in the spring.
The Ponderosa pines would be fuller. The dormant grass would once more be bright green. The stream would be flowing over rocks she co
uld see only the tops of from her chilly perch. A soft breeze would warm her cheeks and the little bird would no longer be shivering, would instead be singing.
Montana in full bloom was beautiful, she remembered. Far too few months did the landscape look like that, but it was hardly different than Chicago. The winters there could be beastly with the wind whipping the cold from frozen Lake Michigan and spreading it liberally all over the city. The short walk from her apartment to her office on winter days seemed interminable. She rarely took a cab, choosing to tough it out, but she still didn’t like it.
However, moving back here wouldn’t be such a drastic change in weather. It would be a culture shock, though, as it had been going in the other direction nine years ago. There she had designer shops available, theater, fine restaurants and amenities galore—and the money to indulge in much of them, all of which she’d gotten quite used to. Back in Whitehorn, she’d be able to buy only the bare essentials at local stores, necessitating a drive to Bozeman for most everything else. There was no theater, no five-star restaurant, no designer clothes.
Money might be a problem. Oh, she had a hefty portfolio, for which she had her father to thank. The family had inherited money even before Ellis founded the bank, and he’d invested on behalf of each his children. After Ellis entered politics, Max had taken over her investments and done very well for her. She got monthly reports on all of it, her dividends reinvested each month. She could change that, have the dividend checks sent to her and use that money for living expenses for a while. But it had been ingrained in Rachel since childhood to never touch her capital and to help it grow by leaving the dividends in.
Using her gum eraser, she changed the shape of the bird, hurrying to finish before the cold little thing flew off or froze to death.
So, if she gave up her job at Kaleidoscope, Rachel thought, she’d cut off a lucrative income, which she’d been using for living expenses. Of course, living expenses would spiral downward here in Whitehorn. She could freelance, of course, but it was questionable how many of her clients would remain with her if she “moved to the boonies,” as Pete Ambrose chose to describe her home state. Since he was her boss, she’d merely smiled at his little joke, especially since she’d secretly agreed with him for years.