Last Chance Christmas

by Hope Ramsay

  The last thing she wanted were highlights that would grow out in Africa, leaving her roots exposed. And she had always worn her thick hair like this, because the layers made it easy to dry and kept it from frizzing when she was sent off to the tropics.

  But how could she make them understand? They were kind. They were good people. They didn’t know her life.

  And then it occurred to her that she didn’t want to go back to Africa. And once she let that thought blossom in her head, she started to realize that maybe, just maybe, she needed more than a new haircut and some highlights.

  She needed to make over her life.

  “I’ll speak to him if I damn well please.” Lee Marshall’s voice sounded through the door to Stone’s office. An instant later the old man came barreling through the door looking as mean as nine miles of rusty barbed wire.

  “My son did not kill himself,” Lee proclaimed. The old man stood there, his frame drawn up as straight as it would go. He carried a cane, but he wasn’t leaning on it. His eyes looked red-rimmed, his jowls grizzled with unshaved beard.

  “I never said Jimmy killed himself,” Stone replied as he gestured toward the hard metal chair beside his desk. Lee eyed the chair for a moment, and a little of the starch went out of him.

  “Billy told Hettie it was a clear case of suicide,” Lee said. “Stone, that just makes no sense. Jimmy didn’t have the balls to kill himself. Besides, he was under the thumb of that holy-roller wife of his, and she would have disapproved of something like that.”

  “Sit down, Lee. You and I both know Billy’s an idiot. We won’t know what happened until we get the coroner’s report. And that won’t happen for a while, what with the holidays coming up and all.”

  “How long is a while?”

  “Not until after Christmas.”

  “You’ve got to be kidding. They’re going to keep my boy’s body for that long?”

  “I gather Doc Humphrey has gone to Aspen for the skiing and won’t be back until late next week.”

  Lee collapsed into the chair. His hands were just the tiniest bit shaky as he clutched his cane. “I should give Billy Bennett a piece of my mind.”

  “Yes, you should. He might listen to you. He sure as shooting doesn’t listen to me. By the time Doc Humphrey figures out the cause of death and Billy actually starts investigating, the crime scene will be useless. Of course, the rain didn’t help anything.”

  “Damn it, Stone, Jimmy did not kill himself.”

  “I’m sorry for your loss, Lee.” Stone invested his voice with as much compassion as he could muster for the old coot. It had to be hard burying your only child. And Hettie and Jimmy didn’t have any kids, so Lee would never have grandchildren. The Marshall line was coming to an end. It was sort of ironic, considering how many Rhodeses there were in Allenberg. A hundred and fifty years after Diamond Jim Marshall beat Chancellor Rhodes in a poker game, Chance Rhodes’s descendants appeared to have won.

  Lee cast his gaze over the blown-up printouts of Lark’s photographs that Stone had been examining when Lee had interrupted him.

  “What are these?”

  “Photos of the crime scene taken a couple of days ago.”

  “A couple of days ago, but—”

  “Lark Chaikin was out taking photos of wildlife. She photographed more than she intended to. That’s how I found Jimmy’s body. You should be thankful I didn’t run her out of town. If we’d left it up to Billy, we might never have found your son.”

  Lee leaned forward and grabbed the photos off Stone’s desk. He pulled out a pair of reading glasses and studied them, flipping through them, one by one. Stone didn’t say a thing. Jimmy’s body was clearly identified in the one blowup of the heron in flight.

  “These were taken on that old road that leads to the Jonquil House, weren’t they?” Lee asked.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “That’s mighty strange.”

  “How so?”

  “Jimmy never went out that way—not alone, anyways—not into that swampy woods. He was terrified of snakes.”

  As Lee spoke, his hands started to tremble, and his jowly cheeks went red. It was a strange reaction, more anger than anything else.

  “Thank you, Stone,” the man said as he pushed himself out of the chair. “Clearly I need to talk to the sheriff.”

  No sooner had Lee departed than Kamaria LaFlore, the mayor-elect of Last Chance, arrived. She didn’t knock either.

  “The town is in an uproar. Is Jimmy Marshall really dead?” she asked as she sat herself down in his chair. Kamaria must have come from her day job at Voorhees College, where she taught African studies. She wore a suit and a take-charge attitude.

  Stone folded his hands on his desk. “Yes, ma’am.”

  “How did he die?”

  “The cause of death has not been officially determined.”

  “I heard he was shot in the head.” Kamaria’s gaze narrowed.

  “Well, that’s true, but how the bullet hole got there, what caliber the gun was, and the rest of the important details remain unclear.”

  “Are you saying he was murdered?” Kamaria didn’t look very pleased.

  “No, I’m saying I don’t know how he died. But you can relax because Jimmy didn’t die in Last Chance.”

  He picked up one of the wide-angle shots of the crime scene. “It happened out in the swamp on the old game trail that runs from Bluff Road to the Jonquil House. It’s Billy Bennett’s jurisdiction. Billy says it was suicide, but he hasn’t yet consulted with the coroner. Lee is on the warpath, though, so the situation is likely to get more complicated.”

  “Did you find the gun?”

  “No, ma’am. Billy called off the search before the dive teams could come out.”

  “Why would he do a thing like that?”

  Stone gave the mayor-elect a direct stare. “I’ve got two theories. The first is that he’s an idiot. The second is not as flattering.”

  “Are you saying that the sheriff is trying to cover something up?” She leaned forward.

  Stone reached into his bottom desk drawer and pulled out the old paper files that he’d copied from the county archives a few days ago. He handed them to Kamaria. “It wouldn’t be the first time the Allenberg sheriff covered something up.”

  She frowned. “What is this?”

  “It’s the investigation into the death of Zeke Rhodes. I have to be honest with you, Kamaria, I never bothered to look at these files before, because all this happened before I was born. It seemed irrelevant until Lark Chaikin arrived in town.”

  Kamaria’s eyes grew round. “Stone, I realize that I have not yet been sworn in as mayor of this town, but I’m going to ask you to please put these files back where you found them. I don’t want you digging up the past. In fact, I wish you had run that woman out of town the minute she arrived. She’s been after my momma asking a lot of questions. She’s got Momma all upset.”

  “I’m sorry about that. But Lark has a right to be here. And besides, if I had run her out of town, I wouldn’t have found Jimmy’s body.”

  “What?”

  Stone explained the situation.

  “What is it about the Chaikins?” Kamaria asked rhetorically when he’d finished. “They show up in this town, and people start dying.”

  “Lark Chaikin didn’t kill Jimmy Marshall. And after reading that report of what happened in 1968, I don’t think my grandfather died by falling off a ladder either. I think someone beat him to death. And I don’t think it was Abe Chaikin.”

  “Stone, drop this. My mother could get hurt.”

  “I know that. But don’t you want to get to the truth?”

  “Are you asking me to stop the Bennetts from doing whatever they want in their jurisdiction?”

  “No. I don’t know that we can. But we can investigate the cold case. Zeke’s so-called accident happened inside the town limits.”

  “Listen to yourself, Stone. You sound crazy, like your daddy. Who wanted to kill Jimmy M
arshall? And why would the sheriff be so determined to cover something like this up?”

  “Jimmy was no saint. I’m pretty sure he bribed an inspector to keep the chicken plant open. And he might have borrowed money from the wrong sort of person. That sort of thing can get a person into some real hot water.”

  “So you think this was blackmail?” Kamaria asked.

  “No. Blackmailers usually don’t commit murder. And neither do loan sharks. You can’t collect from a dead man. To be honest, I’m more concerned because Billy Bennett has been kind of dragging his feet on this case.”

  “Stone, please, this isn’t a good time to pick a fight with the Allenberg Sheriff’s Department. I want you to forget about those old files and I want you to let Billy Bennett do his job the way he sees fit. I like you. I don’t want to get ugly over this. So I’ll just remind you that your contract with the town is up for review next month, and it’s customary for an incoming mayor to clean house.”

  CHAPTER

  14

  Ruby called them the casserole brigade, and Lark had to admit that Ruby’s friends had an understanding of logistics that rivaled U.S. CENTCOM in Afghanistan. The women fed a veritable army of people who stopped by Hettie’s house that evening. They put Lark to work in the kitchen because she hadn’t brought anything to eat and because the dishes were piling up fast.

  Hettie seemed to be holding herself together. She was a brave woman, and Lark was happy to help in any way she could. In fact, standing in Hettie’s kitchen with her hands in soapy water, Lark had found a kind of fellowship with the ladies of the auxiliary. Her mother had died when she was young. Lark didn’t have girlfriends. This community of women was new to her.

  The only community she knew about was the brotherhood that existed among soldiers in the field. But in a way, Semper Fi applied as much to the ladies of the auxiliary as it did to the marines she knew. These women were always faithful. And when bad things happened, they closed ranks and took care of their own.

  By the time Ruby drove Lark back to the beauty shop, the rain had turned to sleet, and the forecast was for ice through much of the night. Ruby was in a hurry to get home before the roads became impassable.

  “Now, honey, if the power goes off, and it probably will, you just give Stone a holler. That apartment’s going to get cold if the baseboard heating goes out. So don’t you be stoic, you hear?”

  “I won’t. Thank you for everything.”

  “Oh, it’s nothing, honey. Thanks for coming out and helping in the kitchen. You didn’t have to do that, you know?”

  “I wanted to. It really made me feel better about everything.” She didn’t explain how, for just an instant this evening, she felt as if she belonged here.

  Ruby smiled, the dash lights limning her face in green. “I know. In fact, everyone knows. I’d say you went a long way toward changing some minds today. Not that people should have judged you, but people do sometimes. Don’t you worry, now, I’m working on Elbert, and we’ll figure something out for your daddy.”

  “Thank you.”

  “You have a good night. And you call if the lights go out. Don’t be shy.”

  “I won’t.”

  Lark hurried through the sleet to the stairway. The steps were slick already, and she suspected they would become treacherous before the night was out.

  So much for Indian summer.

  She had just hung up her wet pea jacket and was searching the kitchen for a kettle and some tea when someone tapped at the front door. The knock startled her, but when she saw the silhouette of a man wearing a Stetson through the window curtains, all her fears vanished.

  And the temperature in the apartment rose a good ten degrees.

  She hurried to the door and opened it. Stone stood there looking tall and strong and sober as black coffee. She had to fight the urge to walk right out there and wrap him up in her arms. He looked huggable, even if he was wearing a rain slicker, a holster, a bulletproof vest, and twenty pounds of communication equipment.

  She didn’t act on her desires. Instead she stood there taking him in. The corner of his mouth lifted just a fraction, and Lark felt oxygen-starved.

  “I see Momma had her way with you,” he said.

  Lark self-consciously touched the short bob that Ruby had given her. “Your mother has a gift. I was so sure she was going to give me something that required a ton of hair spray, and instead she gave me this. It’s probably the best haircut I’ve ever had.”

  His smile deepened. “Thanks for playing along with her. I also heard you spent the evening over at Hettie’s place. People are surprised.” He paused for a moment. “But I’m not.”

  He reached into his trouser pocket. “I came to return this.” He handed her the memory card containing the photos she’d shot that morning out in the swamp.

  She took the card, their fingers brushing in the exchange. “Did you look at all the photos?”

  “Yeah.” His voice was low. A plume of steam escaped his lips. It was amazing how much meaning the man could put into a single word.

  “Come in,” she said. “I was just making some tea. You look like you could use something warm.”

  He hesitated for a moment, then pushed off the door frame. “I can’t stay long. The weather’s turning and it’s only a matter of time before someone slides into something. We’ll probably have downed tree limbs and power lines, too.”

  He hung up his raincoat and Stetson next to her wool coat, then divested himself of the utility belt and holster. The tiny kitchen shrank the moment he stepped into it.

  “I think there’s some tea up here.” He pulled open one of the cabinet doors just as she was heading in the same direction. They bumped hips. And like charged electrons, the motion sent them both spinning off to opposite sides of the kitchen.

  He found the tea. She reached for the kettle. Somehow they managed to get water going and find a teapot and mugs without running afoul of each other again.

  The sudden lack of words between them left her with no choice but to focus on the ping of sleet against the window above the sink. Lark stopped herself from saying something inane about the weather.

  She had something she wanted to say, but it wasn’t inane, and it would probably shock him.

  He took a seat at the small kitchen table. She turned and leaned back against the counter. “Haley said something very interesting this afternoon,” Lark said.

  Stone cocked his head. A flame burned in his eyes. “Haley is always coming up with zingers.”

  “She said she thought you were lonesome.”

  “That’s hardly a startling observation.”

  “You don’t have to be,” Lark blurted.

  He stared at her unblinking. “Are you making me an offer?”

  “Life is short. Just ask Jimmy Marshall.”

  The kettle whistled to life, saving Lark from further embarrassment. Why the hell was she having such a hard time telling Stone that she wouldn’t mind warming his bed for a few nights? She’d never had a problem doing that before.

  She turned away, filling the teapot with hot water.

  The silence was thick and tense until he asked, “So is this some kind of holiday gift?”

  She picked up the teapot and put it on the table. She sat down. “Okay, forget I said what I just said. I have a different moral code than you do. I find you attractive. I got the impression from the kiss you laid on me earlier today that the feeling was mutual. But I get that this is a small town and you’re kind of, well, old-fashioned.”

  His lips quirked. “That wasn’t a compliment, was it?”

  “No, yes. I don’t know,” she murmured.

  “No?”

  She poured the tea and wrapped her hands around her mug. The warm cup was a contrast to the storm raging outside the window. Stone was old-fashioned. Last Chance was old-fashioned. They took care of their own here. They embraced tradition. It was crazy to think that Stone would be willing to bed down with her, just because he was lon
ely.

  Just because she was lonely.

  She pushed that thought away. Maybe instead of jumping into the sack with him, she should talk with him. Maybe she should listen to the advice Miriam Randall had given her. Stone was so much like Carmine, and she’d always told Carmine everything.

  She screwed up her courage. “About this morning, when I fell apart. See, I had a bad experience in Libya last April.” It seemed like such a relief to say it out loud like that.

  He reached across the Formica tabletop and snagged her hand. There was more warmth in his hand than in the mug of tea. “I figured as much. Libya, huh?”

  “I was in Misurata and…” Her throat closed up.

  “I know. You were there when that TV guy was killed.”

  “You know about that?”

  He shrugged. “I checked up on you when you first got here. I saw your photos, and I read that you were a witness to the incident in Libya.”

  She didn’t know whether to be flattered or ticked off. “You checked up on me?”

  “It’s what I do. I always check up on strangers. You want to tell me what went down in Libya? I’m a pretty good listener.”

  She already knew that about Stone. If there was anyone who would actually hear what she had to say, Stone would. She took a big breath and started. “His name was Jeb Smith. He was my friend. Well, actually more of a mentor. And if I hadn’t been such a coward that day, I would have been sitting right beside him when the rocket hit. But I chose not to cross the street.”

  “Shit.” He squeezed her hand.

  “But I shot the whole thing. All of it.”

  “What? His death?”

  She nodded. “I captured it all. During the rocket attack, I got stuck in some weird way, and I couldn’t move my finger off the shutter. And now, I’m kind of scared of my camera.”

  He didn’t say anything for a long time. He just held her hand and managed to communicate a world of comfort with his fingers. When the silence had grown long and deep, he finally said, “I lost a buddy the same way. He was next to me, then suddenly his head exploded. A sniper took him out. It shook me up for days. But that stuff is just random. You can’t blame yourself for surviving.”