Winter Song (Seasons Pass Book 1)

by Susan C. Muller

  A tap on the door startled him, and his heart jumped into his throat. His head swiveled, searching the tiny room. Nowhere to go except out the window. From the third floor, in boxers and a T-shirt? Calm down. This was the kind of panic he couldn’t afford. The type exhibited by the dumb criminals he read about in the paper. He was above all that.

  A blast of cold air swept in, and he swung around to see the shooter slide through the door and pull it closed behind him. “Hot damn. They’re already calling the job road rage. With everything they’ll have going on for the next few days, they’ll box this one up and forget about it. Maybe we can get paid a few days early. I’m tapped out. I need the money.” The shooter’s voice edged up in excitement.

  “Forget it. For some reason, HPD is investigating. They’ll be all over this like ducks on a June bug. We’ll either have to move up the next job, or convince this client to pay even if the cops are still sniffing around him.”

  Four hours of sleep did little to improve Noah’s mood. He crept downtown over freshly sanded streets and waited while Conner signed for a pool car. Motor pool cars were a piece of shit, without decent AC in the summer and minimal heat in the winter, but no way was he driving his own car on icy roads in a city that experienced these conditions once a decade.

  Conner brought the car around, a white Taurus with a dented rear fender and broken side view mirror. Yep, another turdmobile. But the service report listed the dash cam and siren as operable, so Noah climbed in. He turned the heat up and a trickle of tepid air oozed through the vents. It smelled like something filtered through old gym socks.

  Without taking his eyes off the road, Conner brought up the question Noah had been wrestling with all night. “Do you want to start with canvassing the area or interviewing the neighbors?”

  Noah flashed back to the racket Sweet Pea had made that morning when she heard a car door slam. “The neighbors. I’d like to talk to them before the victim’s husband gets to ‘em and plants any ideas in their heads. We’ll let the sun do its best before we start the leg work.”

  Conner kept the speed low, but steady, and they made good time on almost deserted freeways. A few idiots zipped past them as if road conditions were normal, but Noah figured that was one way to keep the gene pool pure.

  They reached the victim’s home by nine thirty and it was even more enormous in the daylight. The Mediterranean monstrosity took up two lots at the end of a cul-de-sac. That left room for six houses on the block, each a mansion compared to anything Noah or Conner had ever owned. No one answered the bell at three of the houses, so Noah stuck his card in the door.

  At the fourth house, a maid opened an ornate door. From the way her eyes widened when she saw Noah’s badge, she had to be an illegal. He tried to question her in halting Spanish, but she shook her head. “No hablo ingles,” she insisted.

  The card he handed her might as well have been hot lava.

  “She’ll be in the wind the moment we’re out of sight,” Conner sighed as they started down the sidewalk.

  “Yeah, too bad, really. She might have been our best lead.”

  “How do you figure that? The Hudsons would never talk to her. They probably wouldn’t notice if she stood in the middle of the street.” Conner stepped carefully, avoiding patches of ice.

  “They wouldn’t talk to her, but their servants might. And they’d tell her things they wouldn’t tell us.” Noah shoved his hands in his pockets and continued down the deserted street. So far, the day had been a waste of time.

  A blue plastic sledding disc the size of a garbage can lid leaned against the door frame of the next house. A Frisbee on steroids. Did they still make those things? Noah hadn’t seen one since he cut classes and went to Vermont one winter weekend with a bunch of friends.

  Nearly wrecked my football knee, but it was worth it, Noah thought, remembering a girl with long blond hair and fuzzy ski boots. They’d shared a sleeping bag and she’d ditched the boots and everything else. Not his first time, but close enough that it was the first time he could enjoy it with the confidence he was doing everything right.

  What was her name? Allison. A smile quirked at the corner of his mouth. Yeah, Allison.

  But that was long ago, when he was young and thought the world was a fair place. Six months later, he knew better.

  He straightened his tie and reached up to ring the bell, but the door flew open before he had a chance to press the button. A teenage boy with multi-colored hair plowed into him.

  “Whoa, dude.” The kid jumped back. “Nobody’s home, man. Come back some other time.”

  “You’re home.” Noah stared the boy in the eyes, but the kid didn’t seem to comprehend the logic of the statement.

  “Chill, dude. I gotta run.” He pulled the door shut and tried to squeeze between Conner and Noah.

  Noah held out an arm to block the boy’s path without touching him. The look on the kid’s face said no one had ever kept him from doing what he wanted. When he spotted Noah’s badge, his eyes went wide and his jaw dropped.

  “We need to speak to you about the people next door.” He’d had enough of being brushed off. The kid was here and would stay here until they got some answers if he had to handcuff him. Maybe he could threaten to sit on him and dye his hair brown.

  “You mean party central? The dude keeps the brights on round the clock. I had to get black-out curtains. They have parties where they hire valet parking and the music blasts all night. It would be one thing if it was good music, but man. . .”

  “Do you know the family? Are your parents friends with them?” Now they were getting somewhere.

  “They’re not like friends or anything. They get invited to the parties, but just so they can’t complain about the noise. At least that’s what my dad says. My mom says who would want to be friends with them? She only goes to see what tacky thing they’ve done now.”

  A late model SUV barreled down the street, horn blaring, and skidded to a stop in front of the curb. The car vibrated in time to a bass drum Noah felt instead of heard. The passenger window lowered and from deep inside a male voice called, “Move it, dork breath. Once the sun hits that hill, all the ice will be gone in ten minutes.”

  “Later, dudes. The parental units’ll be home tomorrow.” The boy grabbed the sledding disc and slipped between Noah and Conner.

  “This’ll teach ‘em to go to Aspen without us,” he called as he dove into the back seat of the car and was gone.

  Conner stared after the car. “Am I correct in assuming this is a school day?”

  “I’m sure they’re headed for a field trip.”

  “Yeah, that’s what I always called it, too.”

  The partners picked their way cautiously across the street. Some of the ice had melted, but not in areas shaded from the sun. The final house was the smallest and had a For Sale sign listing slightly on the front lawn.

  Noah rang the bell while Conner studied the house. “I don’t think anyone’s home.”

  After ringing the bell a second time and knocking on the door, Noah shrugged and stepped back, but a sound stopped him.

  The door opened to the width of the chain and one eye peered out. From the height of the eye, Noah decided the person on the other side was a woman. “I’m Detective Daugherty, ma’am, Houston Police Department, and this is my partner, Detective Crawford. We’d like to ask you a few questions about your neighbors, the Hudsons.”

  The door closed briefly while the chain was removed then opened completely. Backlight left the person obscured. Only a short, lumpy silhouette showed. “Crystal and Gary? What do you need to know?” She craned her neck toward the Hudson house. “Did someone try to break in? Is Crystal okay?”

  “May we come in, ma’am?”

  The lump swiveled her head from Noah to Conner and back. “Sorry. Could I see that badge again, please?”

  Both men held out their badges and she studied them briefly. “Sorry. Living alone, you have to be careful.”

  Then
she should have been careful before she opened the door. “You’re absolutely right, ma’am. If it would make you feel more comfortable, you could call our boss and he’d describe us.”

  “No, that’s not necessary. Come in, come in. It’s cold out there.” She spun around and shuffled toward the rear of the house. Noah and Conner followed.

  “I’m having Chamomile tea. Would you gentlemen like a cup?”

  “That would be lovely, ma’am. Nothing like a nice cup of tea on a cold day,” Noah said, rubbing his hands.

  Conner shot Noah a dirty look, but Noah ignored him. It was hard to throw someone out when they were sitting at your table, drinking tea.

  The kitchen was over-warm and cluttered, but a draft said parts of the house were closed off, not heated. Noah unbuttoned his jacket and glanced at Conner. He looked thinner today. He must have left the long underwear at home.

  When she set the cups in front of them, Noah relaxed. A nice, big mug with a handle he could grip, not some kind of kid’s tea-party toy cup. Noah got his first real look at her as he turned and said, “Thank you.” She was much younger than he had realized.

  Her hair was honey-blond and had started out in a ponytail, but half of it had escaped, and was going in whatever direction it desired. Hard to guess when she’d last brushed it. She apparently had on several layers of clothes, the top one being an oversized Chenille robe belted loosely over flannel pajamas. No wonder he’d mistaken her for someone’s grandmother.

  On her feet were fuzzy striped socks and fluffy bunny slippers. Her nose and eyes were red, and she clutched a box of tissues. She turned her head as she sneezed and blew her nose like a honking goose.

  “Sorry,” she said, her voice raspy and raw. “I promise not to breathe on you.”

  Noah sat back in his chair, trying not to inhale any of her germs. He’d probably be in that condition or worse by tomorrow. His feet were wet again and would have to stay that way all day.

  Conner whipped out his ever-present spiral. “Could I get your name, ma’am?”

  “Oh, sorry. I’m Laurel Bledsoe.”

  Conner jotted, while Noah started the questioning. “What can you tell us about Mr. and Mrs. Hudson?”

  “Are you trying to reach them? I have Crystal’s cell number if you need it. I can’t imagine where she is. She’s usually kind enough to turn the lights down on this side of the house, so I don’t think she came home last night.”

  “Do you know if she went out yesterday evening?”

  “It was her yoga night. I used to go with her, but I can’t afford it now. Class is over at eight, and a couple of times we stopped for a drink, but we were always home by nine thirty. I doubt she’d go to a bar by herself.” She twisted from Noah to Conner and back. “Why do you ask? Is she missing? Did something happen to her? Where’s Gary?” Her voice began to rise.

  Noah generally asked the questions. He didn’t answer them until he was ready. “What about her husband? Do you know him?”

  “Of course I know him.” She sneezed again, but the hint of distaste was evident in her voice. “He’s more Peter’s friend than mine, but I know him.”

  “And Peter would be . . . ?”

  “My husband. My soon-to-be ex-husband.” She pulled a tissue from the box and shredded it. “Those men were like two peas in a rotten, stinking, decaying pod of shit.”

  A smile twitched at the corners of Noah’s mouth. He gave Conner a knowing glance. This was about to get good. Thank heavens for disgruntled wives. They led to more solved cases than the HPD, the Sheriff’s Department and the Texas Rangers put together.

  “In precisely what way is Gary Hudson a rotten, stinking, decaying pod of shit, Mrs. Bledsoe?”

  “Call me Laurel. Mrs. Bledsoe’s my mother-in-law. The best part of getting a divorce is that you get to divorce your mother-in-law as part of the deal. Oh, sorry. I probably shouldn’t have said that.”

  Noah hadn’t gotten that many apologies in the last six months, maybe a year. This woman must have the self-respect of a snail. Bad for her, good for him. Given time, he could find out her pin number and password. Scoop on neighbor guy was going to be a breeze.

  She coughed into the crook of her arm, then pulled a wadded, damp tissue from the pocket of her robe and swiped at her nose. “Would you excuse me for a moment, please? I need to take some cough medicine and slip into some clothes. Help yourselves to more tea.”

  Well shit, there went his advantage. Anytime an interview was paused, he lost some degree of control. And with women, it was even worse. Once they combed their hair and put on underwear, he’d lost. It seemed like they kept their backbone hidden in their bra.

  Laurel Bledsoe fled as fast as she could manage in bunny slippers, down the hall to her room.

  What was she thinking, sitting at her kitchen table at ten in the morning with two good looking guys, while still in her robe and with a nose that must rival Rudolph’s? More importantly, why in the world was she about to tell two strangers things she hadn’t even told her mother, or her sister?

  She needed to stall while she decided what to do.

  In the corner was a deep purple warm-up suit that she’d worn . . . whenever the last time she’d had on real clothes. She slipped it on and then splashed some water on her face—great, there was crusted booger on the side of her nose—and put on a swipe of powder and a dash of lipstick. Getting the band out of her hair was no easy feat and running a brush through it was almost more than she could manage.

  My God, when was the last time she’d brushed her teeth? Her breath would probably strip varnish. No wonder she hadn’t wanted any food. Her mouth tasted like she’d licked a garbage can.

  Five minutes after she reached her room, she felt more human than she had in days. If she used the phone in her room, the kitchen extension would light up. She dug through the debris and found her cell phone. The battery showed only one bar. Hopefully that was enough for a single call.

  She punched Crystal’s number in from memory and waited while it rang unanswered. Now what? As she thought about the conversation with Officer Grumpy and Officer Neatnick, she realized she hadn’t gotten a single answer to her questions. Both detectives’ eyes and hair could be considered brown, but Grumpy’s edged closer to black. If eyes were the windows to the soul, Grumpy had pulled the curtains and didn’t want anyone to see inside.

  What was he hiding from her? Where was Crystal? And worst of all, was it her fault?

  As soon as the door closed, Noah was on his feet, prowling the kitchen. From the look of the dirty dishes, she’d been living on cereal and crackers. An inch of milk was left in a carton with an expiration date of yesterday. No real food was in the fridge, and only a few cans of vegetables sat in a pantry even emptier than his own. Could she not afford food or was she too sick to go out?

  When Noah saw Conner step into the half-bath and close the door, he knew his partner was taking advantage of the privacy to make the phone calls necessary to check on Peter and Laurel Bledsoe without the lump hearing him. Noah stuck his head into the next room, but it was dark and musty. No wonder she kept sneezing.

  Crystal’s phone, sitting in an evidence bag in his pocket, vibrated. He’d been waiting to see who might call her, not realizing she was dead. Seeing Laurel’s name appear was no surprise. He was pretending to refill his cup when the bedroom door opened.

  Yep, she’d done more than take a dose of cough syrup. Her warm-up was loose fitting and rumpled, but still becoming. The pony tail was gone and her hair had been visited by a brush, but only briefly. She had on a hint of makeup and, thank the Lord, the crust on the side of her nose was gone. It was hard to look someone in the eyes when you knew that thing was sitting only a few inches down. It made him want to rub his own nose.

  “Mrs. Bledsoe,” Noah called out, louder than necessary. “I mean Laurel. Let me pour you another cup of tea.” He pulled out her chair and placed the fresh cup in front of her as he glanced at the closed bathroom door. With several
layers of clothing discarded and that God-awful pony tail gone, he couldn’t think of her as the lump anymore. On a better day, or if he were a different man, she would even be considered appealing.

  Of course, he never saw people on their better days. Too often, when he knocked on their door, it was about to become the worst day of their lives.

  The toilet flushed in the half-bath and Conner stepped out, drying his hands. “Ah, Laurel, you look like you feel better.” He nodded at Noah. “All nice and clean.”

  “You were going to tell us about Gary Hudson.” Noah folded his hands and waited patiently. He was good at waiting patiently.

  That hadn’t always been the case. He’d lost his mojo for a while last year. His usual calm replaced with sighing and twitching and pacing, never giving the suspect time to trip himself up. At times, Conner had needed to take over the questioning. But he was better now. He could sit unmoving for half an hour, hardly blinking. Another couple of months and it would be an hour.

  Laurel twisted her head from him to Conner and back again. She took a deep breath and lifted her shoulders slightly. Not a good sign.

  “I need to know what’s happened to Crystal. I keep imagining terrible things.” Her eyes, already bloodshot and puffy, brimmed with tears.

  “Why do you think anything’s happened to Crystal?” Noah’s lips were the only thing that moved. The sound of a clock ticking in some distant room filled the air.

  Laurel slammed her hand on the table hard enough to rattle the cups. “Answer me, damn it. No more questions until I know what happened to my friend.”

  Noah considered asking her why she hadn’t asked about Gary, but one look told him she was on the edge. Best not to push too hard.

  “Mrs. Hudson died last night, presumably on her way home from yoga.”

  Instead of dissolving into tears as he’d expected, Laurel’s eyes cleared and she sat even straighter. So straight and stiff she looked as if one touch would shatter her into tiny pieces. “I don’t guess you’d be here if it was an accident.”