by Donna Ball
“Actually,” I said, “I wouldn’t have figured it out at all if it hadn’t been for the puppies. That’s how I ended up at Lester Stokes' place this afternoon, and that’s how I met Nick.”
“What puppies?” my aunt asked.
So I told her about the box of puppies that Nick had left by my mailbox, and how I had gone out there to talk to his father about retiring their breeding program at the same time Buck had been trying to question him about Ashleigh. “I knew he was trying to hide something,” I said, “I just couldn’t figure out what.”
“Of course he had a lot to hide,” Buck said, coming up beside me. “Petty theft, misdemeanor possession…”
I nodded and accepted the beer he had brought me. In honor of the holidays, beer was served in glass mugs instead of in the can, and it was amazing how much better it tasted that way.
“When he mentioned his brother,” I went on, “I remembered we had trained his Golden—from one of Lester’s litters, naturally—over the summer. Then when I saw his address on Burdock Road—about two blocks from the Dairy Queen—it just made sense that Nick would try to help his girlfriend out by letting her stay in his brother’s empty house while they were away.”
“And it all made a lot more sense,” Buck added, “when you remembered that when the wife brought the dog to training classes, she was driving a green Chevy. They left the keys to the Chevy with Nick's folks while they were on vacation.”
“The poor child,” Aunt Mart said. “She didn’t even know her daddy was dead.”
“Oh, she knew, all right.” Buck’s tone was a little grim. “It’s been all over the radio, and besides, Nick had to have told her. What we don’t know yet is why she continued to hide out there when she knew we were looking for her, and why she ran away in the first place.”
Buck had called me to let me know Ashleigh had been found at Keith Stokes’ house, and that they had brought her in for questioning. I hadn’t heard anything else, and I was anxious for the details.
“So what did she say?” I asked. “Do you still think she was involved in her father's death?”
My aunt's eyes went wide and Buck shook his head. “Luckily for her, the medical examiner's report came back today, the wound was inflicted by a person about the same height as the victim. There's no way a five-foot-tall girl could have done it."
"So what was she doing in town Friday afternoon?" That was the one thing that had been puzzling me all day. "She had a safe hideout, and then she blew it by hitching a ride into town."
"Who knows? She wasn't making much sense when I left. She claimed she didn’t know anything about the bloody sheets in the tub, and the last time she saw her father was when he stormed out of the house drunk Wednesday night. There are rules about interrogating minors, and until she's officially declared a ward of the court she can't be assigned counsel.”
“You didn’t take that poor child to jail?” Aunt Mart sounded alarmed.
“Yes, ma’am,” Buck admitted, and he added quickly, “but we released her to social services as soon as they got there. The only thing we had on her was petty theft, and when we called the minister and told him we had her, he decided not to press charges. He said the kid had enough problems as it was, and he's probably right. She'll probably go into foster care until the court makes a decision.”
“Well, I should think you could show a little more compassion for the victim, it being Christmas and all.”
Buck drew a breath to reply but Uncle Roe said, “Now, Martie, let the man do his job.” Then to Buck, “If you ask me it's that boy, Nick, you ought to be looking into, and that Harper kid. There's a bad card if I ever saw one.”
Buck said, “We added obstruction to the charges against Nick, which will probably keep him in jail overnight, but he’ll bond out by morning. I still think he knows more about Earl Lewis than he’s letting on, and the girl is definitely keeping something back. She had eyes like a scared rabbit. I'll tell you what's bothering me, though. In three out of four of the burglaries we investigated, neighbors reported seeing a red pickup truck. Dusty Harper drives a red pickup truck and he lives in the same trailer park as Lewis did. His kid, Dave, is best buddies with Nick, and he even admitted he was the one who dared Nick to steal those baby Jesuses. But not a scrap of real evidence to tie either one of them to Lewis. How does that happen? ”
Aunt Mart rolled her eyes and slipped her arm through mine. “These men never stop talking shop, do they? Even at a party! Let’s get a table. These shoes are killing me. Yours are awful pretty.”
To be honest, I would have rather talked shop with the men than shoes with my aunt, but it was a party, after all. We chose a table where a couple of members of the administrative staff
had settled and made small talk with them for a while. Then Aunt Mart turned to me, her eyes sparkling, and said, “Now for the big news. Roe gave me my Christmas present early this year and you’ll never guess.”
“Diamonds?” I suggested. “Emeralds?”
She laughed and pressed her hands together. “We’re going on a cruise! Can you believe that? Twenty years and I haven’t been able to get that man out of the state, and now he wants to take me to Antigua!”
“Aunt Mart, that’s wonderful.” I was delighted for her. “You’re going to have so much fun! When are you leaving?”
“Christmas Eve,” she said, and suddenly I wasn’t so delighted. If my expression fell she didn’t notice, because she rushed on, “You don’t mind taking Majesty, do you? It’s only two weeks. We’ll be back right after New Year’s.”
“Mind? Are you kidding? I’ve already hung her stocking!” I found a smile. Having Majesty back was the silver lining in a rather dark cloud, of course, but…Christmas. We always had Christmas dinner together.
“Do you know I had to get out a map to even find out where Antigua was?”
Annabelle, the night dispatcher, leaned across the table and said, “It’s in South America, isn’t it? My brother-in-law, J.T., was there last spring and he said…”
I smiled absently and sipped my beer and let my eyes roam around the room until I saw Buck and Uncle Roe coming toward us, still deep in conversation. There’s a saying that old cops, like old soldiers, never die; they simply fade away. But in the case of Uncle Roe, it was clear he would neither die nor fade away, but continue to uphold law and order in Hanover County as long as there was a county to uphold law and order in. Over the past couple of months he had been working with the sheriffs in the surrounding three mountain counties to form a cold case squad from retired officers and other volunteers, so he no longer went to office every day. But nothing went on in this county he didn’t know about, and he wasn’t hesitant about offering his assistance to the Department whenever he thought it was needed.
As you might imagine, Buck had mixed feelings about that. On the one hand, he had gone to work for Uncle Roe since before the ink was even dry on his criminal justice degree, and like just about everyone else in the county, he worshipped the ground my uncle walked on. On the other hand, Buck was sheriff now, and it couldn’t be easy, trying to find your own place in the shadow of a legend.
“What did he say when you questioned him?” Roe was saying as they reached the table.
“What could he say? We had witnesses.” Buck’s eyes were roaming the room, the way they did when he was looking for a way to change the subject.
“Who’s that?” I asked, sipping my beer.
Uncle Roe sat beside me. “That fellow we were talking about, Harper. He was one of the last people to see Lewis alive.”
“But he was alive,” Buck pointed out, still standing. “The neighbors corroborate the daughter’s story that they had a fight in the front yard on Wednesday night, then Dusty drove away.”
“Anybody know what it was about?”
Buck shook his head. “Dusty says Lewis owed him money. He seemed pretty pissed that he wouldn’t get to collect, with Lewis being dead and all.”
“Fine fellow,�
� observed Uncle Roe.
Aunt Mart leaned across me to admonish, “If you two don’t hush with that talk about work I’m never coming to one of these parties again.” She said that every year. “Buck, sit down, for Heaven’s sake. You look like you’re waiting for a bus.”
Buck grinned and took the chair beside Uncle Roe. “Well, maybe for a minute. They ought to be opening up the chow line pretty soon.”
“Oh, wait,” Aunt Mart exclaimed, “I’ve got to get a picture.” She dug in her purse for her camera. “Annabelle, honey do you mind? You just push that big button. Raine, switch places with Roe. How’s my lipstick? Now won’t this be pretty with the tree in the background? ”
We spent a few moments changing places, shuffling chairs and checking lipstick. The flash clicked the perfect shot as we leaned in close, and at Annabelle’s insistence, said, “Reindeer!” I found myself sitting next to Buck, while Uncle Roe rested his arm across the back of my aunt’s chair, their heads close together. Annabelle took a couple of more shots and handed the camera back over to Aunt Mart.
“I’ll e-mail these to you, Raine,” Aunt Mart said, checking the pictures in the digital display. “And the ones from the parade last night, too. Oh, look here’s Majesty. Doesn’t she look sweet?”
I leaned over to see the picture but the glare on the screen made it difficult. “Send it to me,” I said. “Maybe I’ll use her in next year’s Christmas card.”
Aunt Mart put the camera away. “Did you find out anything about that poor little baby?” she asked. “Who would do such a thing?”
Buck shook his head. “Unless the mother comes forward, or some witness does, it’s not likely we’ll ever find out who left her there. With all the people in from out of town this time of year, it could have been anyone.”
Aunt Mart’s frown was troubled. “Well, I suppose it makes me feel better to think it was some stranger. I’d hate to find out it was somebody from around here who was that desperate and no one knew it.” Aunt Mart was very active in the local charities, and when someone in need went without help, she took it personally.
Clarisse, who was sitting beside Annabelle, hadn’t heard about the abandoned infant and wanted to know the details. Aunt Mart was happy to fill them in, and Uncle Roe was reminded of a similar incident that had happened twenty years earlier. While they chatted, Buck and I sat in easy silence for a while, gazing around the room, waving at people we knew.
Buck smiled at me. “You look pretty tonight, Raine. I like your hair.”
I felt a little flush. I admit it. “Thanks. It’s fun to get dressed up.”
He sipped his beer, and we enjoyed a moment of feeling comfortable together. There had not been very many of those lately. “Have you got your tree yet?”
I shook my head. “Not yet. Maybe this weekend.” Usually he and Uncle Roe would go out and cut two trees, one for me and one for Aunt Mart, then deliver and set them up around the middle of the month. After Uncle Roe’s heart attack I certainly didn’t expect him to be tramping all over the mountain looking for Christmas trees, and I wasn’t about to ask Buck. Everything was different this year.
I added, “Mischief has been busy decorating, though.” And he laughed along with everyone else as I told the stories of Mischief’s exploits. For a moment it was just like old times.
And then Buck saw someone at the door and his eyes lit up with a smile. He excused himself and stood. “Y'all enjoy the party,” he said. He touched my shoulder lightly. “See you later.”
I craned my neck around to watch him cross the room to greet the new arrival. Wyn was stunning in a blue, scoop-neck, stretch velour tunic and silver leggings, with her dark hair drawn over one shoulder in a silver clasp. Her eyes lit up when she saw Buck, too, and she stretched out her hands. I turned away when he leaned in to hug her.
I don’t know why I hadn’t expected her to be here. But I hadn’t. And there was a moment when it was actually hard to catch my breath.
My table had gone stone silent, and everyone was looking at me, breaths suspended, waiting. But whatever they were waiting for, they weren’t going to get it from me. I was determined to be mature about this thing. I turned to Uncle Roe with a smile and elbowed him playfully in the ribs. “So, you! A cruise, huh?”
Everyone relaxed and started to enjoy themselves again, and I pretended to as well. But the thing about being mature is that it hurts like hell.
It was a good party. Really. I laughed along with everybody else when four of the deputies got up dressed in Santa hats and did a tribute in song to Uncle Roe with customized lyrics to the tune of “The Twelve Days of Christmas”. I applauded along with everyone else as Buck gave a report on the collections the department had made for the Toys for Underprivileged Children drive, and when he handed out the year-end awards and commendations to officers who had distinguished themselves. And when he called Uncle Roe up to the front and presented him with a framed “Lifetime Achievement of Service” award, along with a gold-plated commemorative department badge, I was misty-eyed. I was glad I hadn’t missed it.
I’m sure the ham and mashed potatoes and green bean casserole were delicious; I don’t remember tasting them, but they usually are. Wyn came up to me in the buffet line and said an uncertain, “Hi, Raine.” I said hi back because we used to be friends, but there wasn’t much to say after that. It was nice of her to make the effort, though.
And every time I saw Buck touch her back the way he used to touch mine or lean in to say something to her and then laugh or even just rest his arm across her chair and absently toy with her hair…well, it was like somebody punched a hole in my stomach and pulled out my guts. I was furious with him for inviting her, but then why shouldn’t he? She was a former member of the department much as Uncle Roe was; everyone was glad to see her and everyone knew she and Buck were together now. All things considered, she had more right to be here than I did, and she probably should have been mad at me. But knowing that did not stop the icicle that stabbed through my chest when she found herself standing under the mistletoe and Buck kissed her on the lips, and it wasn’t exactly a quick peck either. Even the most mature person would have trouble dealing with that.
As the hour grew later and the crowd grew noisier, Uncle Roe was pressed into service handing out the Secret Santa gag gifts everyone exchanged each year. I was convinced my face would crack if I gave one more phony laugh, so I thought that might be a good time to sneak out. I hugged my aunt, asked her to say goodnight to Uncle Roe for me, and gave a cheery wave to everyone else at my table. I found my coat in the pile by the door, and I don’t think anyone even noticed when I left.
Sometimes being mature really sucks.
The fire had gone out by the time I arrived home, and the ancient furnace was doing a poor job of keeping the house above sixty degrees. Cisco came bounding up to me with a plastic reindeer in his mouth, which meant Mischief had been into the Christmas decorations again. She was, of course, innocently relaxing behind the closed door of her crate, and I didn’t even bother to wonder how she had opened a closed door and climbed up on the highboy to overturn the box of decorations again. I simply rescued the reindeer, cleaned up the mess, turned up the heat, and let the dogs out into the yard. Things are pretty bad when even the sight of Cisco with a reindeer in his mouth can’t make me smile.
I checked the answering machine, and there were three messages: Miss Stockton, this Jason Wells from Estate Assurance Investments and I have a matter to discuss with you that I think will be great interest…Delete. Merry Christmas from America’s First Credit Card. Holiday bills getting you down? We’d like to help you out with our low, low interest rate of…Delete. Miss Stockton, this is Jason Wells from Estate Assurance again. I’d very much like to talk to you about this important opportunity…Delete.
Well, what had I expected?
I put on water for tea and tried to restart the fire in the kitchen stove, getting a smudge of black soot on my new red dress in the process. That’s when I
had a temper tantrum. I kicked the stove door shut—getting soot on my silver shoe as well— and threw the poker at the iron stovepipe in frustration. The clatter was so terrible that it aroused the dogs into a barking fit outside, and I was ashamed of myself.
I started toward the door to calm the dogs, and the flash of bright headlights on the window made me realize it wasn’t my temper tantrum they were barking about. The sound of tires roaring up the gravel driveway could be heard even through the closed windows, which meant the vehicle was going far too fast for safety. I felt a little lurch of alarm as I turned toward the front of the house.
I didn’t make it out of the kitchen. A thunderous BOOM shook the house and I cried out and covered my head instinctively. Pots and pans clanged together in the overhead rack and cookbooks tumbled off the shelf. The teacup I had placed on the counter crashed to the floor. The dogs were going crazy in the yard.
I ran through the house and flung open the front door. There I stopped dead, staring. There was a pickup truck on my front porch, its steaming hood only inches from my torso as I stood on the threshold.
Worst Christmas ever.
_______
TWELVE
I called 9-1-1 and rushed back out into the cold to try to help the driver. I had to climb over the hood to reach the driver’s side door and lost one of my silver shoes in the process. The air bag had deployed, and I could see him struggling with his seat belt while trying to wrestle the air bag away. His face was bloody.
“Just take it easy,” I called to him as I clambered over the porch railing and dropped to the ground. “An ambulance is on its way.”
I discarded the other shoe and pulled myself back up onto the step, wrenching the door open. Lester Stokes turned on me with blood-shot eyes and a bloody nose and enough bourbon on his breath to knock out a camel, and he roared, “Where is he? Where is that lying, meddling, no-account husband of yours?”