Winter Song (Seasons Pass Book 1)

by Susan C. Muller

  A smile crossed Noah’s face. “I know. That’s why I won’t.”

  Noah watched the pathetic lump sitting on his kitchen floor. “Heck, kid, I’ll give you one break. You put my money back in my bank account and I won’t tell the DA how you stole it.”

  Ryan’s eyes widened and Noah laughed. “You think the bank didn’t send me a notice the minute it disappeared?”

  “You weren’t using it. All this time and it was just sitting there. I needed it to start a new life.”

  “Well, you’re sure as hell not going to use it to pay for your defense. And if the DA finds out you took it, you’ll have trouble playing the crazy card.”

  “You’ll never have a moment’s peace. I’ll haunt your dreams. You’ll be afraid to sleep in your own bed.” Ryan spoke faster and faster, hysteria tinting his voice.

  “Now you’re the one who’s all wet. You’re nothing to me. I’ll never give you another thought. You’re no more than a bug on the wall, just one more two-bit psychopathic egomaniac. And not even a good one at that.”

  Sirens wailed in the distance. “Have fun, kid. What’s left of your life will be spent in a cell the size of my laundry room. Everywhere you look will be gray concrete and steel bars. You’ll long for any color, any glimpse of sky. You think college food is bad, wait till you try prison chow. The only thing worse than the taste is the smell. Oh, they’ll have books, but not anything you’d want to read. And even those will have chunks of pages ripped out.”

  Red and blue lights flashed through the windows and reflected off the pale yellow walls. Ryan’s eyes filled with tears as the sirens stopped in front of Noah’s house.

  Conner twisted in a slow circle, taking in every detail of the crime scene. The woman’s bowels had let loose, adding that stink to the stench of blood and gunpowder. She might not have known what was coming, but the man had. He’d tried to flee into the hall, and it had taken more than one shot to bring him down. Even then he’d lived for a few minutes.

  How could a kid do that to his own parents? Was he born that way or were his parents to blame? Nature or nurture? The lawyers and doctors could argue that one for months to come. Years probably.

  He thought of Jeannie, safe and warm in the hotel bed, and their daughter, growing bigger every day. A shiver went down his spine. So many things could go wrong. Up till now, he’d only worried about their physical health.

  “You seen enough, Detective?” The pimply-faced techie stood waiting, paper suit on and evidence box at the ready.

  “Yeah, I’m done. Detectives Cortez and Sparks—you know, the great big guy and his partner with the velvet voice?—are on their way. They’ll be the ones in charge here. I just had to see it with my own eyes.”

  Conner stepped past the bodies, careful not to leave tracks in the blood, and left the house. The cold night air helped clear the smell of death from his nose, but even if he could scrub his eyes with peroxide, he’d never erase the sight of those two bodies.

  He’d seen worse murder scenes, much worse, but he’d met these people while they were still alive. At the courthouse, the mother had yelled at him and cried. She obviously believed her son was innocent. The father had talked about lawyers and legal technicalities. He might not have known the extent of his son’s crimes, but he’d suspected something wasn’t right. Now their own flesh and blood had murdered them.

  He trudged back to Noah’s, taking deep breaths and trying to clear his head before he had to deal with their lieutenant. There’d be questions about why Noah hadn’t left or called for protection, but in the end, they’d both come out okay.

  He passed Noah sitting in a lawn chair in the far corner of his backyard. The little dog sat in his lap.

  Conner nodded and went into the house. So far, Noah seemed to be holding up well, but even in the dark, the strain was evident from the slump of his shoulders.

  Soon, a patrolman would drive him downtown and they’d take pictures of every cut and bruise. Noah would hate that. Would they allow him to come home to sleep tonight? Conner wasn’t sure.

  Lieutenant Jansen stood in the kitchen, rubbing a hand across his face. “Man, I hate this. Poking through the life of one of my men. It can’t be helped, but having a wacko killer break into your home is bad enough without watching the people you work with going through your things.”

  A voice called from the front room. “Lieutenant, I found something I can’t identify.”

  Conner stepped to the back door and motioned to Noah. He heard a soft groan as Noah pushed out of the chair. The cane and crutches were now sealed away as evidence and Noah limped slightly as he headed toward the door.

  Conner placed his hand on his partner’s shoulder and they walked into the living room together. There wasn’t much he could do to help, but he could be there for support. That’s what friends did for each other.

  One of the techies held out a wadded mass of wires.

  “Guitar strings,” Noah said. “My Seagull got busted when we moved in and I thought I might get a new one. I was checking to see if I needed to buy strings. Those are too old and used to be any good.”

  He held out his hand and the tech handed him the wad. He stuffed them in his pocket and limped back outside.

  Conner watched him go, well aware that something he didn’t understand had just happened.

  Noah hadn’t seen Laurel for two weeks and he’d forgotten how much he enjoyed her company. Their drive to the jail to visit Crystal’s brother had been easy. They’d talked. They’d laughed. As if they’d know each other for years, instead of only through this case.

  The trip home was another story. She’d been silent, staring out the window.

  Yeah, jail visits did that to even the most hardened soul.

  He should have done more to prepare her. Or taken care of it himself.

  He parked in her driveway, crossed to the passenger side of his truck and opened her door. She was so short, she had to use his arm for support as she stepped out. And he didn’t mind that one bit.

  Her eyes lifted and she studied the sky. “Look at that beautiful shade of azure. Makes you think this awful winter might finally end.”

  Noah wasn’t sure what azure was, except maybe the same color as her eyes. He unzipped his jacket. “I think I can feel spring coming on.”

  “Well, it’s not here yet.” She pulled her coat tighter. “Let’s get inside and have some tea.”

  She started for the back door and he followed, enjoying the view. When he reached the kitchen, she was standing by the sink, a strand of hair held under her nose.

  “I don’t know which I want to do more; wash my hands or wash my hair. I swear the stink of that awful place has soaked into my skin. How do they stand it? How do you stand it? You were obviously familiar with it. You must have to go there to conduct interviews.”

  Noah sat in his usual chair, unsure what to say, unsure what to do. Unsure about everything. In the days since Ryan Howell had tried to kill him, his body had healed. The bruises had faded away. Even his mind seemed clearer than it had since… Before. He could concentrate better, but the loneliness sometimes caught him unaware.

  He rubbed a hand through his hair. I should have gotten a haircut. “They tell me the noise is worse than the smell. It’s never quiet, it’s never dark, you’re never alone. But long-timers get so used to the life, sometimes they can’t adjust to the outside.”

  “Sitting in that horrid room looking at him—those rotten teeth, those hate-filled tattoos—I couldn’t believe he was Crystal’s brother.”

  “That’s called meth mouth. He inherited enough money to have his teeth fixed. Don’t know what he’ll want to do about the tattoos. Having you stand up for him in court is going to make the difference in his life.”

  Laurel set a mug of coffee in front of him. “I couldn’t have done it without you. Convincing the DA to drop the charges, driving me to the jail, guiding me through security, even warning me not to wear anything tight.” She glanced down at
her dirty jeans. “Do you think he’ll be alright? Arizona is far from anyone he knows.” She stood so close, he could feel the heat from her body.

  “That’s the best thing that could happen to him. He’s there because he wants to be. He agreed to be locked down for a full year and live in a halfway house for almost as long. He can’t touch his money unless he completes the program, so he has a million good reasons to try.”

  “None of this would have happened if you hadn’t set it in motion. I hope he realizes how much you did for him.” She rested her hand on his shoulder. The warmth seeped through his shirt and thawed that nugget of ice hiding in his heart.

  Noah pushed his chair back and stood facing her, inches apart. His voice felt rough, ragged. As if he hadn’t used it in weeks, months. He hadn’t been this nervous since he was a teenager. There was a time when he knew how to do this. “I didn’t do it for him. I did it for you. So you could let go of any guilt you felt over Crystal. I know guilt can eat away at you worse than a cancer.”

  He put his hand on her waist and she melted into him. He kissed her gently at first and when she returned the pressure, he pressed harder, hungrier, drinking her in greedily. His tongue met hers and he tasted sweetness.

  She slid her arms up his back. His hands tangled in her hair. She rose on tiptoes and the kiss deepened. Time stood still and every smell, sound, sight, except her, disappeared. He felt himself grow tight against her.

  “Noah?” she murmured against his lips.

  “Yes?”

  “I can’t do this.” She pulled away, breaking the current of electricity between them. “I’m still a married woman, and that means something to me even if it doesn’t to Paul. But that’s not all. I just don’t think I’m ready. Not yet.”

  Oh, thank God. I wasn’t sure I could manage it.

  “I understand. I don’t think I can, either. I’m still a married man. Or at least it feels that way sometimes. Not all the time. I’m getting there, but not quite yet.” He took a step back, but didn’t release her. “It’s not that I don’t want to.”

  “I can feel that,” she said, laughing. “So what do we do now?”

  “We can be friends. You call me any time you need something, and I’ll be here before you set the phone down. You finalize your divorce. I’ll work on learning how to find the joy in life. Maybe sometime down the road we can try this again.”

  She reached up and stroked his face. “That sounds like a plan.”

  Noah’s backyard warmed under a weak March sun. The azaleas were covered in buds. Another two weeks and they would be a riot of color.

  Not quite spring, but close enough to see her shadow.

  Emma tugged at his shirttail. “I don’t like mine with blood running out, Uncle Noah.” She put her hands on her hips and watched him flip her burger.

  “Duly noted. No blood in Emma’s burger. What about Iris, does she like hers charred as well?” He pressed the spatula against the burger and a few drops of blood escaped.

  “What’s charred? I don’t know what that means. But Iris won’t eat it anyway. She doesn’t eat anything. Mommy says she’s going to dry up and blow away. Good. Then I’ll be the only little girl at our house.”

  He watched Iris playing tug-of-war over an old sock with Sweet Pea. Maybe if she got more hamburgers instead of tofu casseroles, she might be willing to eat.

  Or maybe it wasn’t the tofu. Maybe it was just his sister’s cooking.

  Everything she cooked tasted like pink gum erasures and smelled like a wet dog.

  He’d have to pick the kids up every week or so. Take them out for some real food.

  Rachelle stepped out of the house carrying a bowl of baked beans. Please don’t let her have put tofu in them.

  “There’s a big empty spot in your living room. What happened to the piano? Did you send it out to get that key repaired?” She set the bowl on the picnic table and came to stand beside him.

  Her salmon steak looked about done, and he didn’t want it to dry out. He moved it gently away from the fire. “A guy came to the house to fix the key. Then I donated the piano to Betsy’s school. She always said how much they needed one. They put a brass plaque on it with her name engraved.” His eyes stung—probably smoke from the grill—and his voice caught on the last words.

  He grabbed the beer sitting next to the grill and gulped down several swallows, trying to push back the lump starting in his throat.

  Maybe her friends and family weren’t the only ones who’d remember her. Kids not yet born would sit at that piano and read her name, passing the love of music to another generation

  Rachelle squeezed his shoulder.

  Enough of this emotional bullshit. He cleared his throat. “Wait till you see what I got.” He waved to his brother-in-law. “Frank, can you come over and watch the fire?”

  There went his steak. It would be as charred as the girl’s burgers. At least he’d left the pepper in the cabinet where Frank couldn’t find it. “Wait here. I’ll show you.”

  He rushed into the house and was back in less than two minutes, carrying a new guitar. The warm, honey-blond wood gleamed under his fingers. “It’s a Taylor 300 series acoustic.”

  Rachelle’s eyes lit up and she reached for it. She ran her hand over the wood and pulled it to her nose, breathing deeply. “What is this, spruce?”

  “No, it’s Hawaiian Koa.”

  “The heck you say. You went all out.”

  He could afford it since his money was safely back in his own bank account, thanks to the department computer wizards.

  “How’s it sound?” she asked

  He reached out but she pulled it away and sat on the picnic bench, strumming. “Sweet. Dad would be proud of your choice.”

  Hardly. Dad didn’t approve of anything that wasn’t classical, but he did appreciate fine workmanship.

  “What are you going to do with it? Hide in your house and play for Sweet Pea?”

  “I’ve joined a band.” He laughed when he saw Rachelle’s jaw drop. “Not a real band. A group of cops that go to local hospitals and play for sick kids. Do you remember Earl Sparks? You met him at that Christmas thing a couple of years ago.”

  “Skinny black guy that thinks he sounds like Barry White?”

  “That’s the one. He put this thing together and asked me to join them.”

  “He probably thinks he’s going to sing lead. I’ll bet that lasts about one song after they hear you.”

  “Maybe, we’ll see. But I can be happy just playing back-up.” Noah went back to the grill and rescued what was left of the steaks from his brother-in-law.

  The side gate creaked and he glanced over to see Conner and Jeannie approaching. Jeannie carried a bowl of potato salad. Well, there’ll be something to eat if Frank burned the steaks and Rachelle ruined the beans.

  “Hey, partner, I heard a rumor you were pretending it was spring and had fired up the grill.” Conner slapped him on the back and shook hands with Frank. “Rachelle, you’re looking as lovely as ever. It’s hard to believe you’re any relation to this big, ugly guy.”

  Jeannie gave Rachelle an awkward hug around her growing baby bump and pointed to the guitar in her hands. “What’s this?”

  “Noah’s new toy.” She grinned at her brother. “He claims he’s actually going to play and sing in public. Hard to believe. No one, and I mean no one, has heard him sing in years.”

  Betsy heard me sing plenty of times, whenever she asked.

  The girls rushed over and Conner picked up Emma, swinging her around until she squealed.

  “Mommy, Mommy, sing for us.” Iris tugged on her mother’s skirt.

  Rachelle strummed a few cords and began to sing I Hope You Dance, her voice a cross between their mother and Sarah McLachlan.

  Noah breathed in the aroma of grass, cooking meat, and little girls. Sweet Pea ran in circles around his leg, waiting for a taste of steak.

  A sense of peace washed over him. A new case would be waiting for him on
Monday morning, and he’d work it hard, but it would be his job, not his life. This was his family. He was home.

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  How do you say thank you to the many people who pass through your life every day, bringing joy and encouragement?

  Ron and Karen, Angela and Jason you are my anchor. I depend on you. Andrew, Sam, and Caroline, I am so proud of the people you have grown to be. Bode, you light up my heart and make me smile. I love you all.

  Thank you Jan and Shawnna and the CC group. You gave me a push when I needed it and suggestions when I needed them. You made me laugh while challenging me to do my best.

  To the Lethal Ladies of KOD, your help was invaluable.

  Christie, Steve, I thank you both for more things than I can mention in one line

  Kimberly, thanks for all your help. I couldn’t have done it without you.

  Did you enjoy Winter Song? Follow the Seasons Pass series with Detective Noah Daugherty and his partner Conner Crawford as they solve more cases and face new problems throughout the year.

  Homicide detective Noah Daugherty finds purpose in solving the most horrendous of crimes. The last thing he wants is to babysit some spoiled country singer, but that’s exactly what his lieutenant demands.

  Posing undercover as a member of the singer’s band, he makes it his mission to protect her from a stalker whose ominous threats have become increasingly personal. As things heat up, she hides a piece of her past that is key to solving the case, ashamed of the part she plays.

  Can Noah unearth the painful truth before spring casts its dark shadow?

  Read Spring Shadow now

  It’s a scorching Houston summer, and homicide detective Noah Daugherty’s only consolation is his life’s work: solving crimes to atone for the sins of his past.