A CHRISTMAS COLLECTION

by Wilton, Patrice

  “Geez! That’s rough. Poor girl.” Finn scrutinized the bag. “What’s unusual about this?”

  “The stain on it.”

  “Is that…blood?”

  “It is. Could belong to the skunk. I’m hoping we might get a print off it.”

  “That would be cool. Then we’d know for certain who the culprit is. Right?”

  “That’s the general idea.” The last thing Ian needed was panicked gossip spreading through the town. “Let’s not jump to conclusions—and remember, we don’t share details about a case we’re working on with people outside the department, right?”

  Finn nodded. Ian trusted that he’d be quiet—he was young, true, but a competent police officer who cared about the folks in Heaven.

  “I’ll take it over to West Chester and see if they can get anything from it. If not, we’ll just have to remain extra vigilant during the busy season—nothing we can’t handle.” He slugged back his bitter coffee and tossed the disposable cup in the trash. “It’s a cake walk compared to a day in the city.”

  “If you say so, Chief.”

  “Anything come up when you ran Jimmy’s name?”

  “The regular stuff. Got a recent address, and found out he’s an independent contractor so I listed his employment record for the past six months. Didn’t find anything out of the usual. Nothing that would pinpoint him for being Ally’s stalker, or anything that would connect him to Heaven. It’s all there in a stack next to the computer.”

  “Got it. Thanks, Finn.” The officer might be right about the small town’s bulging holiday tourist problem. Available rooms weren’t sufficient to host the number of people who wanted to come. But that wasn’t his problem, although the chamber of commerce disagreed. “Just had a thought. Why don’t you check out the bed and breakfast places and see if they have any rooms still available? While you’re there, casually ask whether there have been any single guys checking in over the last few days.”

  “Sure! I can check the motels too.” Finn got up from his chair; the wheels making it slide backward.

  “Good. While you’re doing that, I’ll drop the bulb over to West Chester and see if we can pick up a viable print.”

  “I can do that since I’ll be on the road anyway,” Finn answered.

  Ian rubbed his jaw, fighting with himself—knowing he was the kind of guy that liked to do things himself, not delegate. Yet the kid was bored, begging for a challenge, or some excitement to make police work meaningful. “Fine. Have the chief give me a call and I’ll clue him in.”

  “Will do.”

  “One more thing before you go—did you find any recent pictures of Jimmy?” He hadn’t asked Ally about one because he couldn’t imagine her hanging onto any unpleasant reminders, especially something as personal as a photo.

  “Got his senior yearbook photo from high school. And one from his college days. The photography club. He was standing next to Ally. Guy looks like a dweeb. Not someone who’d go around terrorizing anyone.”

  “Appearances can be deceiving,” Ian said. “Look at Ted Bundy. A good-looking guy who liked to kill young women.”

  “Sick bastard.” Finn grabbed his jacket and hat, and the bag with the blood-stained bulb. “Okay, I’m off. Call me if you need me,” he said, whistling under his breath as he left the building.

  Ian picked up the stack of papers Finn had printed out for him and went back to his office. He had the young man’s life in his hands—his previous addresses and schools, employment record, terrible high school picture that made Howdy Doody look cool.

  He lifted the photo of James Wharton standing next to a young, timid looking Allison Cornwall to look at it closely. What did she ever see in this guy? Must have been their mutual love for photography. Nothing else would be appealing. He was skinny, pale, with straggly brown hair worn in a ponytail. Nerdy. The kind of guy that people would look right through. He could probably go anywhere, and no one would notice, or remember him if they did.

  Nothing recent. No Facebook friends. No Twitter account. In this digital age, the guy couldn’t disappear. The most lucrative hit was the Department of Motor Vehicles, where he got a picture of a twenty-one year old Jimmy with slicked back hair. The stats: brown hair, brown eyes, glasses, five foot eight and one hundred-fifty pounds. Not even an organ donor. He knew Ally was twenty-six, and figured that Jimmy would be about the same age, give or take a year. So he wouldn’t have changed much in appearance—unless he’d wanted to, of course. Might have filled out some—could have changed his hair color and got phony ID, if he was up to no good.

  But it was all speculation. They didn’t know if he was the person who’d left the skunk on Ally’s porch or not. Lots of strangers in town. Attractive woman living alone. Someone could have followed her home from work one night, or during her free hours in the day. Could be a creepy neighbor. Could be a pleasant-faced shop owner in town. Who really knew what darkness might lie in a man’s soul?

  Finn returned after two. “Nothing,” he said. “Did the chief call you? He didn’t think they’d get a decent print. Blood was smeared. Not human blood, they know that much.”

  “Right. I just got off the phone with him. The print was smudged, and didn’t give us anything. But I updated him on Ally’s situation and told him we might need their assistance if things escalate.”

  “Good. That was smart thinking.”

  “What about the B&B’s? Anything there?”

  “Naw. The inns and hotels are full, and there are too many strangers around right now to notice one single guy in particular. Especially if you aren’t looking.”

  “I added a driver’s license to the file.” Ian handed him a copy of the photo he’d printed up.

  “Better than nothing. And if he’s here, we’re going to find him,” Finn said. “Nobody messes with this town, or we will mess with them.”

  Ian hid a smile as he shuffled the papers on his desk. “That’s for sure.” He shrugged his jacket on. “I’m going to grab a bite, then maybe do some snooping down at the lake.”

  “No problem, Chief. I can handle things here.” Finn stood with his legs apart, in a John Wayne kind of stance. “You need any backup, just call me. Okay?”

  “Will do.” The downtown area was only five blocks away and he felt stiff from sitting so long. He decided to walk, and strode toward Memory Lane—yes, it was really called that—a small street that led from the police station to the village. He passed a well-kept cemetery on one side of the road, and a neighborhood pub on the other. He figured the town builder had been amused with the idea—Memory Lane was for folks who wanted to remember their loved ones and those who wanted a drink to forget.

  The winter air had warmed from freezing to allow a light wispy snow to fall. He lifted his face, tasting the melting snow on his lips. As a kid, he’d always loved winters. Hot cocoa, snowboarding, and snowmen. He and his brothers would play for hours, then they’d go inside with frozen cheeks and stiff hands. There’d always be a fire in the hearth, and steaming cocoa.

  Now one brother was dead, and the other lived in Florida with a wife who bored him to death. They hadn’t shared a Christmas since he’d graduated police academy.

  Once Ian reached Main Street, he picked up his pace. A chill tickled his spine and the thought of a warm cozy restaurant and hot food had his feet moving. Seeing Ally wasn’t the reason for the spring in his step, or the funny feeling in his stomach. The frigid conditions were to blame for making him light-headed.

  The street looked like something out of a fairytale, the striped red and white street lanterns, shop windows all dressed up with fresh evergreen wreaths, red bows, and flickering candles. The entire town was right out of Charles Dickens—but he thought that with affection.

  Ian spotted the sign, Nick’s Bar & Bistro, and hurried toward his favorite restaurant, stepping inside just as a couple was leaving. Ally had her back to him and didn’t see him enter. He had a moment to watch her as she took an order for a table of four. He
glimpsed the curve of her ass in the tight jeans she was wearing, and wondered if there should be a law prohibiting such an enticing display in a family establishment.

  Perhaps she was aware of his gaze, for she turned her head. Color creeped into her cheeks. Her green eyes warmed with pleasure, which made his chest expand. He couldn’t remember the last time a woman looked at him like she was happy to see him.

  She nodded to his empty table, and as he removed his coat, she was setting down a placemat, napkin and silverware. “Hey, Chief. How did the morning go?”

  “It was quiet, so that’s the good news.” He got a hint of her subtle perfume and felt a surge of heat triple through his body like a hormonal kid. He picked up the menu, feeling like a teenager hoping to ask a girl out for senior promo.

  “So, what’s the bad?” Ally asked in a low voice.

  “Who said there’s anything bad?” He kept his focus on the menu.

  “Well, there always is, right? First the good news, then the bad.”

  His looked up at her, his lips lifting toward a smile “Poor Ally. Is that how you go about life? Always expecting the shoe to drop?” She probably had to, waiting for her ex-boyfriend to show up.

  “Nope. But always on the alert in case in does.”

  “Well, I’m afraid today you’re right. There is some bad news. We couldn’t get a print from the bulb. It was too smeared.”

  Her bright eyes dimmed. “Damn. That would have been really something. Almost too easy, right? Now we’re back to nothing. No proof as to who’d do this to me.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “It’s alright. I’m used to bad news.” She hooked a hand on her hip. “So what’s it going to be? A cheeseburger and fries day, or still on that diet?”

  “I don’t diet. I just don’t overindulge as often.”

  “I think your weight is perfect, so eat what you want.” Her eyes twinkled as they slid over him. “Just saying.”

  He put a hand on his waist, wishing his belly wasn’t hanging over the belt buckle. He was out of shape. Never had been before, but life in Heaven could do that to a man. He needed to get back to being a mean, lean fighting machine.

  “Just a bowl of chili, one slice of sourdough bread, and a cup of joe.”

  “You got it.” She hurried off with the order, and returned a few minutes later with the hickory smelling coffee.

  “I never asked you if you had any recent photos of James Wharton. I found a current address, his most recent record of employment, and a copy of his driver’s license when he turned twenty-one. Care to take a look?”

  “You’ve got it with you?” Her eyes narrowed warily and she put her arms around herself in protective mode. “I haven’t laid eyes on him since I left my parent’s home. Five years ago.”

  “I’ve got it. In my coat pocket. Don’t imagine he’s changed all that much.” He smiled. “Saw a picture of the two of you together in the photography club. I’d have recognized you instantly. Although you’re prettier now.”

  “You saw a picture of us? Together? How? Where did you get it?”

  “Off the Internet. College archives. Nothing is private anymore. You can find out darn near anything you want about anyone. Crazy world we’re living in.”

  “So he could just run a Google search and find me?”

  “Well, he could try. But since you changed your name and you don’t have anything that could lead him here, I think it’s safe to say he didn’t get it online.”

  “Then how?”

  “Ally. We still don’t know for sure that it’s him.”

  “You think so, don’t you? I feel it in my bones.”

  “It could be. But with all the strangers in town for the holidays, we can’t dismiss the fact that it could very well be someone else. You noticed anyone hanging around here this week? Maybe someone who has an eye on you?” His gaze held hers, steady.

  She swallowed and put a hand to her throat. “No. Nothing out of the usual. The guy at the bookstore, he flirts once in awhile. But I don’t take it seriously. He flirts with Charlie too.”

  “Hmm.” Ian decided he should pay the bookstore a visit after lunch. The flirtation might be innocent, but he didn’t like it very much. Ally was a private person, and had been through a lot. She was not to be trifled with.

  “Finn went to a few of the B&B’s in town, and the motel down the road. No one recognized the old picture or had a single man staying with them. We drew a blank there too.”

  “Bad day all around.” She sighed. “Well, as you say, it might not be him after all. Could be anyone. Which is really creepy.”

  “I know, and that’s makes it more difficult.”

  She dropped her arms to her sides and nodded. “I’ll take a look at the picture. Now, I’m actually hoping it is him. Don’t want anyone else stalking me, do I?”

  He pushed his coffee mug aside and slid out of the booth. Ally went into the kitchen for his chili, and returned to the table the same time he did. He towered over her, noticing that she only came up to his shoulder. She was such a tiny little thing, what defense could she have against a man who wished her harm? Even though Jimmy was barely average in height, he was still larger than her.

  “You okay?” he heard the tenderness in his voice, and coughed to cover up. This feisty pint-sized woman brought out all his protective instincts.

  She placed his chili on the table and looked up at him. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

  “Because you should be free of this jerk and until he’s caught, you won’t be.”

  Ally closed her eyes for a second and shook her head. “That’s not true. I am free. I have been for years. Nobody can take that away from me, unless I let them.”

  He slipped the most current photo into her hands. “Is this a good likeness of him?”

  She scrutinized it closely. Ally tossed her head back with a defiant laugh. “This guy terrorized me? I never realized what a little dweeb he was before.” She dropped the pictures down to the table and walked off to take care of her other customers.

  He slid into the booth, stirring his bowl of chili. Big chunks of seared sirloin floated to the top. He blew on the steaming spoonful. Ally was strong, but he was pretty damn sure she wasn’t nearly as tough as she sounded. She might need to be. If it was her stalker. If. It was a waiting game until the creep made another move.

  He pushed his bowl to the center of the table and wiped his hands on the napkin. “Anything else?” Ally asked, her friendly smile back in place.

  “You going home this afternoon?” He spun the salt and pepper shaker. For some reason he was anxious—not the high adrenalin rush he got before a drug bust, or when bullets were flying over his head. But tense.

  “Yes.” Her jaw was set as if expecting an argument. “I need a break.”

  “Want company?”

  “Nope.” Her nose tilted north, and she squared her shoulders.

  “You sure?” He almost smiled, but this was a serious matter and he needed her to know that.

  “Sure I’m sure.” She wrote out his check and slapped it on the table. “Don’t you be worrying about me. I can take care of myself.”

  “Yes, ma’am. And I’ll hold you to that.” He took some bills out of his wallet and placed them on the check. Putting on his hat and coat, he left the warmth of the restaurant and headed over to buy a book for Christmas. He wanted to check on this bookstore owner, and then get back to the station. He had an idea in mind and was ready to get moving. If it worked he’d sleep better and hopefully Ally would too.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Ally left the restaurant and headed home. It had been a shock to see Jimmy’s pale face in that driver’s license photo after all of this time. He was small, skinny. Crazy in his attachment to her. Love letters had turned into pages of hate mail. Threats to her life. That was then. Now? She refused to be afraid. If she gave into that fear—then Jimmy won. And unless she was in a coffin, that was not going to happen.

  She wasn’t stupid,
so when she pulled into the driveway she surveyed the woods and the adjacent properties with an eagle’s eye, looking for a slight movement in the tree line, something out of place. Surveillance experience that she had regrettably became very proficient at.

  How she wished she’d never set eyes on Wharton, and had not fallen for his false words of praise. He’d told her she was gifted, had real talent, and she’d wanted to believe it so badly that she’d trusted him, and they began hanging out together. They would foray into the woods for hours and he taught her how to sneak up on a critter in order to capture the image perfectly.

  Little did she know he used these talents for stalking his victims.

  Had she never met him, she might have finished college, became a freelance photographer, perhaps even worked for National Geographic. Why not? She was good, but now her talents had to remain undiscovered as they could lead him to her. Like all good photographers she had her own signature and style. The way she captured the light, and how her compositions used a strong focal point and were always deeply emotive. She had perfected her technique over the years, so each photo would tell a story, and speak to a viewer’s emotions.

  Surely, the few photos she’d sold in the past year hadn’t somehow led him to her. She’d only signed with her initials, and there was nothing in any of the photos to indicate the locale. But she had given a couple of exceptional pieces to an art gallery in New York on her trip there last summer. They’d taken it on consignment and sent her a check when they’d been sold. Had that act of vanity been her downfall?

  No. She refused to believe that. She’d taken so many precautions for so many years. She would not be his victim or anyone’s victim ever again. And if she wanted to sell her art, damn it, she would. If Jimmy Wharton took that away from her, he’d won anyway. Photography was her passion, her life. It was the closest thing to happiness she’d ever known. She’d promised more work to the art gallery, and intended to follow through.