Winter Song (Seasons Pass Book 1)

by Susan C. Muller

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Books By Susan C. Muller

  About Winter Song

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Chapter Twenty-five

  Chapter Twenty-six

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-one

  Acknowledgements

  Seasons Pass series

  Spring Shadow

  Copyright Notice

  The Secrets on Forest Bend

  The Witch on Twisted Oak

  Voodoo on Bayou Lafonte

  Circle of Redemption

  Redeeming Santa

  Winter Song

  Spring Shadow

  Summer Storm

  Autumn Secrets

  Homicide detective Noah Daugherty is on a mission: solve cases, lock up murderous scum, and get on with what’s left of his life. He’s on the clock, and his time is steadily ticking away. His path leads him to an icy Houston street, where a car has careened out-of-control and crashed, its driver, a beautiful young socialite, is dead. All the clues lead straight to her husband, but Noah’s intuition screams the case is more than meets the eye.

  Not willing to give up until he solves this cold-blooded murder, he finds the unthinkable . . . a hitman no one saw coming, with a chilling personal agenda that now targets Noah.

  Can he solve the case and save himself before winter is finished singing her song?

  For my parents who instilled in me the joy of reading.

  Eleanor Elisabeth Jackson Curry

  Stanford Bernie Curry

  I miss you every day.

  Sleet beat against the roof of the car in a syncopated rhythm with the windshield wipers, creating a tune only winter could sing. Bitter night air seeped inside through the rusted floorboard. The driver shivered, yet never lowered his guard, watching from the darkened lot.

  Waiting for his target to appear.

  Cars zipped by his secluded spot, but not the one he expected. His heart rate kicked up with each minute that passed. Could she have slipped by him, unnoticed? Scooted around the corner when he wasn’t paying attention?

  Impossible. He’d hardly blinked for the last half-hour.

  An industrial-sized dumpster hid his car from curious eyes, but obstructed his view. He strained forward against the seat belt as if an extra two inches of visibility would make a difference.

  Maybe if I took the belt off. His hand rested on the cold metal. No, there wouldn’t be time to fasten it again. No driving infractions. A good rule he followed faithfully.

  When her red BMW rounded the corner, she was speeding, but he’d been warned to expect that. His heart settled into a steady rhythm. Tha-thump. Tha-thump.

  “Here she is,” he called over his shoulder, the tremble in his voice betraying his excitement. “It’s showtime.” He switched on his lights and slipped into traffic, two car-lengths behind her.

  His eyes flicked from the road to her car and back, constantly measuring distance, speed, witnesses. He crept up beside her. Two more feet and he’d be perfectly positioned.

  The back window lowered with a soft whirr.

  Without warning, she swerved into the next lane. What the hell?

  He tried to copy her move, but his front wheel hit a patch of ice. The car fishtailed, forcing him to ease off the gas.

  Had she seen the ice, was that why she’d switched lanes? Or had she spotted him? The open window? The barrel of the gun?

  By the time he regained control of the car, it was too late. An SUV had pulled out of a parking lot and filled in the gap between them. Bile burned the back of his throat at the prospect of failure.

  “What’re you doing? We can still catch her.” His back-seat passenger beat on the headrest. “You said it had to be tonight.”

  “Maybe, but not here. We’ll have to wait until she’s on her way home. Close that window before someone notices. ” An open window in the middle of a sleet storm was an invitation to be remembered. He’d picked the shooter for his skill and intelligence, neither of which he was demonstrating tonight.

  “This is where we planned for. We haven’t scouted anywhere else.” The whiney voice from the back seat caused the driver to clench his teeth.

  “We’ve got an hour, we’ll scout it now. As long as we complete the job tonight, what difference does it make which side of the freeway we’re on?” He rolled his shoulders, trying to relax, but his muscles refused to cooperate. Working with a partner made every step more challenging.

  One foolish mistake ten years ago and he was still dealing with the consequences.

  “What the fuck is Bellaire PD doing in the middle of our crime scene?” Detective Noah Daugherty jumped out of the car and let his partner worry about parking.

  A gust of frigid air slapped him in the face. He trudged down the icy street, resentment oozing from every pour. With the neighboring PD here, he’d have to play nice, pretend he cared what they thought. All the while, the evidence would be growing colder.

  To hell with that. He was through pretending while bad guys got away. All he wanted was to keep busy and solve cases. Screw making friends.

  He jammed his hands deep into his pockets and studied the dynamics of the group in front of him. In seconds, he knew who was in charge and who were the toadies.

  “Good evening, officers. I’m Noah Daugherty, HPD Homicide.” He fished around for the appropriate smile, pasted it on, and flashed his badge. “I’ll take over now. You can get back to work. I’m sure the citizens of Bellaire would want you on the job, not standing out here in the cold.” He purposely spoke to the youngest man, turning his back on the top dog.

  “Now just one minute,” the lead investigator sputtered from behind him. “This crime is in Bellaire. We don’t need any interference from Houston.”

  Noah reached in his pocket and pulled out a stick of gum. He took his time, twisting toward the other man. “Are you sure? According to my calculations, her car crossed into Houston at least twenty feet before she was killed.” He slipped the gum into his mouth and waited. Would the Bellaire detective fold, or was his night about to get more complicated?

  Noah held his breath as the man glanced to the car and back again several times before answering. “She was shot approximately in front of the dry cleaners. Her car rolled to the intersection and the bumper may have kissed the Houston city limits, but the crime, the car, and the body are all in Bellaire.”

  The Bellaire detective’s face grew redder with every word. He pulled his puny shoulders as high as they’d go and puffed out his chest. Noah sighed and pushed the gum to one side of his cheek. Great, a Napoleon complex. He took a step forward, towering over the smaller man.

  “I don’t know what they teach you in Bellaire, but in Houston, we learn exactly where our city limits are. On the west side of the freeway, the city limits are at this intersection.
But for some unknown reason, on the east side they start a block back. That means the whole crime scene, from the first shot to when the car stopped, all belong to me.”

  The detective chewed on his lip and scratched his bald head. “You want it, buddy, you take it. We’ve got plenty to keep us busy.” He spun on his heel and had his cell phone to his ear before Noah could answer.

  Noah sucked in a deep breath. The raw air burned his lungs but couldn’t dampen the moment. That’s one for the win column. Seemed like confrontations with other officers was all the fun he had these days, and no matter how many cases he worked, he couldn’t stay busy enough.

  Footsteps on the icy roadway caused Noah to glance behind him as his partner approached, the frost on his breath almost obscuring his face.

  “Started a fight and finished it before I could park the car. Thought you were going to wait for me.” Conner Crawford was a hair under six feet and whip thin. Noah topped him by two inches and twenty-plus pounds, but Conner could hold his own in any situation and Noah never worried about his back with Conner around.

  “No sense letting ‘em get the drop on us. It was an argument that could have gone on for days. Now it’s settled and we can get to work.” Noah had never been good at politics. Lately, he just did what needed doing and let his partner clean up the mess.

  Conner trailed behind Noah as they made a wide circle around the crime scene before approaching the vehicle. The stoplight overhead cycled to red, giving the area an eerie glow.

  As they approached the car, Conner took a moment to mumble a private prayer. After six years of working together, Noah still didn’t know if his partner prayed for the deceased or for his own abilities to offer justice. It seemed too personal to ask.

  He just hoped the prayer covered him, too.

  Noah leaned in the shattered window and studied the body. She’d once been a beautiful woman. Not anymore. “Looks like a single shot to the left temple. A through-and-through, judging by the amount of brain matter on the passenger seat.” The coppery smell of blood filled the car and turned Noah’s empty stomach. Or was it the sight of a woman whose life was snatched away much too early?

  A thought pricked at his heart. Would anyone mourn for her?

  He swallowed back the question. This wasn’t the time to be sentimental. “We’ll have to wait for the M.E. to give us official time of death, but this weather might skew the numbers. Looking at her, I say less than an hour. You checked with the responding officer on the way in. What’d he say?”

  Conner pulled out his pocket spiral. “Fletcher over there,” he pointed his chin at a motorcycle patrolman, “arrived at 8:17 and switched off the engine. Said he didn’t want to take a chance the body would shift and she’d bump the accelerator. It’s 9:00 now, so yeah, less than an hour. You want to question him about it?”

  “Hell no. Much as I hate anyone messing with my crime scene, it takes a set of stainless steel cojones to ride a donor-cycle on a night like this. I’m not going to cross him.”

  “Wise choice. Personally, I planned to step back out of the way if you did. The DMV lists the car as belonging to Gary Hudson. Address a few blocks from here.”

  “Our vic doesn’t look like a Gary.” Noah ignored the honks and shouts as drivers objected to the cordoned-off street. Didn’t anyone have respect for the dead anymore? These were probably the same people who blew past funeral processions, horns blaring.

  “Big diamond, fancy car, trophy wife. Gary must be doing well for himself.” Conner made more notes in his spiral.

  “Yeah, but she’s just wearing some kind of sweats.”

  “Yoga pants and top. See the emblem on her left shoulder? That means designer duds. I’ll wager my left nut they cost more than your suit.”

  “I already own your left nut from our last case, and I sure as hell don’t want the right one. Besides, this is a nice suit.” Noah brushed dog hair off his jacket. He decided not to mention the pieces of crumbled liver treats in the pocket.

  “It may be the best suit Men’s Warehouse sells, but it’s not a nice suit.” Conner adjusted his perfectly fitting jacket. “This is a nice suit.”

  Noah eyed Conner’s suit and groaned. What a waste of money. He owned one expensive suit and he’d worn it exactly twice: to one wedding and one funeral. He didn’t plan to ever wear it again. Except maybe to his own funeral, but that was someone else’s problem.

  For the moment, his only concern was a dead woman in a red car. “One bullet to the side of the head. That’s a hell of a shot into a moving car. So was the shooter mobile or stationary?”

  “No way the shooter stood beside the freeway. Anyone could have seen him. Must have been from a car.”

  Noah twisted to stare down the street. “You’re right. The shooter would have been completely exposed. Not likely he was standing out there, waiting in ambush. We’ll have to check anyway, but what are the odds?”

  “About as good as the mayor inviting either of us to dinner.”

  That slim, huh?

  “Could be road rage. A bright-red BMW sometimes hints at an aggressive driver. Doesn’t take much to set some people off. Might be a good idea to check her driving record.”

  “Already on my list.” Conned tapped his spiral.

  He could always count on Conner. Best paper-jockey, detective, friend he’d ever had. “So was the shooter angry and trying to scare her, the bullet connecting by accident, or cold and calculating, pulling off a one-in-a-million shot?” Noah tried to breathe warmth onto his frozen fingers.

  Conner scanned the area, measuring, angles, distance, visibility. “I’d call it more of a one-in-a-hundred shot, but as soon as we finish here, let’s go talk to the husband.”

  Sure, because talking to a grieving husband is so much fun.

  Noah turned his back. He’d seen enough. “Wonder if he’s missed her yet? Maybe he isn’t actually expecting her to return.”

  Brightly lit store fronts illuminated the parking lot, but left the street dark. Noah and Conner cased the area, their flashlights poking temporary holes in the gloom. Fragments of broken glass littered the pavement, marking the spot where the BMW was hit. The raised side of the freeway dropped down to meet the street with no curb. The slush beside the road had iced over and showed no sign of footprints. Noah squatted and poked at the slush with one finger. The ice gave way, sending his finger two inches into semi-frozen muck.

  He motioned for a forensics tech. “Step in this ice, then time how long it takes to freeze over again. Does it freeze smooth or leave a footprint?”

  The tech frowned, but Noah ignored him. The tech was dressed for this weather—parka, rubber boots, gloves—let him run the tests.

  Conner joined him in the street. “Nothing’s open for a block either direction on this side of the freeway. An ExxonMobil station is the first business open to the north. An Auto Zone stays open till nine to the south. I’ve told them both that nobody leaves till we talk to them. I suggest we start with the Exxon. They have hot coffee.”

  Noah stuffed his hands back in his pockets, fingering the crumbled dog treats, and spun toward the gas station. “Sounds like a plan. I need to get out of this cold soon, or I’m going to develop frostbite on parts of my body that I’m very fond of.” Not that he’d had any use for that part lately. “If this weather keeps up, I may actually have to invest in a heavy coat.”

  “Weatherman says another seventy-two hours and we’ll be back to normal, sunny and clear, just in time for the groundhog to see his shadow.”

  “Fuck the groundhog. He’s just a big rat with good PR. What does he know?” Noah studied Conner under hooded eyes. “Why aren’t you colder? Do you have on long underwear or something? Don’t answer that. I don’t think I want to know.”

  Conner gave a how-did-you-guess grin. “Toasty warm all the way down. Only problem was fastening my pants. I took a cue from when Jeannie first got pregnant. I stuck one of her hair bands through the button hole and looped it around the button
for an extra couple of inches, then put a belt on top of it.” His lips clamped shut as if he could move fast enough to prevent the words from escaping or suck them back in before they reached Noah’s ears.

  Well, shit. Now what?

  Talking about Jeannie’s pregnancy in front of him made Conner uncomfortable, but they had to get past it if they were going to keep working together. Noah cast around for something to say that would put his partner at ease. “Women. Pregnancy brings out the mama bear in all of them. I’m surprised she didn’t put you in one of those knit hats with flaps hanging down over the ears and a puff ball on top. If you pull one of those out of your back pocket and put it on, I’m walking out of here right now.”

  “Nah. If she’d tried that, I would’ve refused. I still have some backbone left.” Conner’s voice eased as if the moment had never happened.

  And Noah wished it hadn’t, but if that’s what it took to get his partner back, he’d gladly endure two minutes of discomfort.

  The ExxonMobil station smelled of scorched coffee and wet clothes, but the attendant spoke English with an accent that wasn’t too heavy to understand. “My last customer left at least fifteen minutes before all the commotion down the street. He paid cash, and no, that’s not unusual. He’s been in before. I think he’s a waiter. He always has small bills. I had several customers shortly before that and I’ve got their credit card receipts ready for you. I know you’ll want the surveillance video. I took it out when I heard the sirens. I’ve been expecting you.” He held out a paper bag with the video and receipts.

  Noah glanced at Conner. Was this guy for real? Witnesses were never this helpful. No point asking what he saw, the windows had fogged over, and the guy insisted he hadn’t left the building. Noah handed him two cards. “Thanks for your help. Call me if you remember anything else. And if the waiter comes in, get his name and ask him to call.”

  He grabbed his coffee and faced Conner. “You take this side of the freeway, and I’ll cross over and take the other side. I’ll meet you back at Auto Zone.”