Light glimmered on the blade stuck into her table. Her knife, from her kitchen drawer that still stood open an inch. Someone had been in there, taken the knife, and jammed it through a sheet of paper into the table. She forced her feet to move to the table, to the note.
It was typed and printed, no handwriting she might recognize. With shallow breaths, she focused on the words.
I want the stuff.
Stuff? Oh no …
No cops or you lose the kids. Her heart chilled. The one fear that had kept her from acting the first time. He’d threatened it before, the time she told him she’d talk to the paparazzi if his infidelity didn’t stop. And again when she learned he’d participated in a fraudulent deal. She could still hear the steel in his voice. “I’ll take the kids where you’ll never find them. You know I can.” Could he? He had means she couldn’t imagine. He didn’t want the children, but he’d used that to control her.
She looked at the phone. No. She would not call Cal. He would push until he’d dragged every sordid detail from her. But what could she do? She pressed a hand to her mouth, staring at the note. Did Brian think she had taken it? She closed her eyes and pictured the white substance turning the hose water to milk as it ran down the pool drain. Bag after bagful, melting away.
Did he think she was stupid enough to take it with her? That she stole it from him? Hadn’t he heard anything she said? A shiver slithered down her back. No, he had heard, and he’d let her go, shrugging off their relationship as he had so many other disappointments. But he didn’t know she’d flushed the drugs before she left.
Would he come after her, threaten her? Had he sent someone in his place? Who? There were so many people who moved in his circles, people she knew nothing about. Some, she now suspected, whom she thought she had known. She pictured them cloaked in smiles, the beautiful people who did what they pleased, who made the rules but didn’t follow them.
She looked at the hole where the windowpane should be. What if someone were outside even now, watching? Her legs jellied, and she gripped her throat. What should she do? Call the police? Tell all she knew? The system was slow. Brian would easily post bail, and she would never see her children again.
Grabbing a pen, she wrote on the same paper: I have nothing you want. Leave us alone. She jerked the knife out of the wood and slid the paper off. Then she balled it up, walked to the door and threw it out the opening. She backed away. She had no more cardboard to tape on, no hammer and nails. She hated to think of that hole and the chill air coming inside. She stuffed a towel into the hole, slid a kitchen chair over and wedged it beneath the doorknob, then did the same with the front door. Maybe it wouldn’t keep them out, but she’d hear. Surely she’d hear.
Her breath rasped in her throat, and she clenched her teeth to keep them from chattering. She took the knife and slipped it into the deep pocket of her robe. Then she went upstairs and gathered up Luke, who had fallen asleep with his game still running in his hands. She laid him in her bed beside Maddie. Trembling, she locked the bedroom door, then wrapped herself in a blanket with her back against the wall and waited. She strained to hear, to discern any indication of entry below.
He was out of his mind to think she would walk away with a shipment of cocaine. Why would she take it? To use against him? Her purpose hadn’t been vengeance, just escape. She wanted no part of his illegal games. How could Brian do something so reckless? Didn’t he have money enough, power enough? But he wanted the risk, the thrill of getting away with it. Did his father know?
Laurie stared into the darkness. From what she knew of Stuart Prelane, Sr., he would look the other way as he did with Brian’s other infractions. As he always had. If her youth had been stifling, Brian’s was the opposite. He’d been allowed everything.
Now he had no compass at all, other than what he wanted and what he could get. She closed her eyes, picturing Brian’s expression, cold and unflinching. If her accusations fazed him, he hadn’t shown it. He’d grown too far from her to care what she thought.
And that’s why he’d never guessed she would dispose of it. She had done it in secret, waited for her moment and dumped the drugs, then taken the children and fled. Not that it would take any great stretch for Brian to find her, to guess she’d gone home. She had known he’d be furious. But she’d never dreamed he would come after her for the cocaine.
The house was silent, no stair creaked, no door swung. She thought of the note she’d tossed outside. Did it lie in the yard? Or had he retrieved it? He had to believe her. She had no cocaine and nothing to show for it. The money he’d lost was his own fault. He should pay the consequences and leave her out of it.
But would he? Her eyes drooped and shot open, then drooped again. Every part of her felt weary, small, helpless. What could she do against him, against any of it? She was utterly alone.
Cal lay awake in spite of the full day he would put in at the station tomorrow. He was hollow inside. Had he thought he could make Laurie love him? Nothing had changed on that score. “Penthouse suite in Nowhere, USA.” Had he called her because he feared for her, wanted to help her … or because she’d fit so well in his arms?
“It’s about losing myself, Cal.” Was he so selfish? No. His concern had been for her, still was. He needed to understand her situation if he wanted to help. But his hurt was too deep. The two emotions warred inside him and came out combative. He hadn’t meant to go on the attack, but he’d done exactly what he’d sworn not to.
Friends. Where had his self-control gone, his determination to honor her wishes? Dissolved with each strain of Ronstadt’s memory song. Laurie was still riding fences, and he hadn’t convinced her to come in from the cold. He’d sent her out into it.
What if he had handled it differently? If he had not tried to force answers, but simply held her? He’d felt her surrender. But holding her while they danced had brought back Reggie’s words. “God created the laws of nature and the heart. Just like gravity, things gotta work a certain way. You can’t mess with the order.” It had felt wrong in a way it never had before. Even so, if he hadn’t let go when he did, they’d have been right back where they were seven years ago, and he knew they couldn’t survive it again.
They needed distance. If she was in trouble, she could call the police. He was no good to her if she didn’t trust him. And he was in back-up mode. She’d made it clear she didn’t want his help. “Stay out of my life”—couldn’t get clearer than that. Any connection would have to come from her. Cal wouldn’t pursue her again. It wasn’t healthy.
“Mommy? Why are you on the floor, Mommy?
Laurie opened drowsy eyes to find Maddie’s face directly in front of her own. An alarm was beeping, but not next to her head as usual. Confused and disoriented, she stared a moment into Maddie’s brown eyes, then startled up with a rush of fear and scanned the room. Soft pre-dawn light poured into the window and spilled over the floor.
The door was still wedged shut, and Luke slumbered in the big bed. Maddie’s blond curls hung in ringlets around her head, and the puzzled look hadn’t passed. “Why are you sleeping on the floor, Mommy?”
Laurie cupped Maddie’s cheek and forced a smile. “I wasn’t comfortable in the bed, punkin.” Laurie kissed her daughter’s puckered lips and dragged herself stiffly up. She leaned over and stopped the alarm, smiling at Luke still sleeping right beside it. At least someone would be rested.
Laurie glanced in the mirror, not surprised at the grim visage that greeted her. At least she didn’t have to work. Maple served so few on Thanksgiving, she’d allowed her the day off. Laurie was more grateful than she could say.
Not that the day would be any picnic. Mother had “requested” they spend it with her. Dread as palpable as last night’s fear filled her. At least they’d be away from the house. Luke awoke and raised up to an elbow in the bed.
Laurie could see his confusion. “Good morning, sleepyhead. Happy turkey day.”
He rubbed his eyes. “How did I get here?”
/>
“I carried you.”
His palms came down over his face. “How come?”
“Can’t I want to have you with me sometimes?”
“Mommy slept on the floor.” Maddie padded over to the bedside and pointed Luke’s attention to the blanket lying in a heap.
Laurie scooped it up as Luke’s eyes came to her, large and questioning, but some instinct kept him from asking. Maybe he didn’t want to know. Laurie was thankful she’d concealed the knife before either child had seen it. That was two things she was grateful for today. She made a mental checklist. She would need it.
Luke slid out of the bed and trudged to the door. “When are we going to Grandma’s?”
“As soon as we’re ready.” The sun wasn’t fully up yet, but no doubt Mother already had the bird trussed and waiting. With a tight breath, Laurie opened the door and searched the hallway. The house was silent. Had Brian accepted the truth of her note? Was he gone? Would he leave them in peace?
She took Maddie by the hand and dressed her in an angelic rose chiffon dress, then tied her curls with two matching ribbons. Her own preparations were equally meticulous, though she dressed casually. As she bundled the children into the car, she made a mental note to have the window repaired again. She sighed. Glass. What a flimsy defense. But would it matter if she boarded and barred every window?
For a moment she considered calling Cal. He would help, she knew. He would jump in fireman style and play hero to her helplessness. Laurie frowned and turned the key in the ignition. She told herself no and made herself listen.
Mother lifted the small but painstakingly stuffed bird into the oven. Her lips made a hard line, though Laurie couldn’t guess what troubled her this time. She’d done her best to cut and chop whatever was entrusted to her.
“Have you called Brian?” Mother’s question was put so innocuously it took a moment to sink in.
“No.” Laurie bit her lip. But she’d written all he needed to know on the note last night.
Her mother slipped the mitts from her hands and turned. “He is your husband, or have you forgotten that now that you’ve taken up with Cal Morrison again?”
Laurie glanced at Luke standing in the doorway. “What is it, honey?”
“The TV’s snowy. I can’t see the parade.”
“Well, take Maddie and play outside for a while.”
Luke shrugged and went to fetch his sister.
Laurie turned back to face her mother. “I haven’t taken up with Cal. He’s an old friend, that’s all.” And probably not that anymore, not after her outburst.
Her mother sniffed. “Well, it’s not my affair. Still, it seems a waste to trade in a Mercedes for an old Ford.”
Laurie drew a long breath. Yes, a drug-smuggling demigod was no compar ison to … what? A clown? Her heart ached at the thought. Why couldn’t Cal have been … Laurie swallowed the bitterness. What if she told her mother everything, the empty nights, the wild parties, the lies, the drugs, and now the threats … Would it even matter?
“I haven’t traded anything. Not anything worth keeping.”
Her mother merely nodded, sufferance supreme.
9
THE THOUGHT OF OUR PAST YEARS IN
ME DOTH BREED PERPETUAL BENEDICTIONS.
William Wordsworth
CLICKING THE DOOR SHUT BEHIND HIM, Cal stepped out into the milky glow of sun in a veil of Midwestern sky. Still a little numb, he gazed out over the bristly tips of the alders and oaks as he walked to the jeep. The winter sun warmed his forehead, where he’d changed the bandage with remarkable dissociation.
Thanksgiving. With the chill in the air it was a proper “Over the River and Through the Woods” kind of day. He wondered what it looked like to his parents in Phoenix, where they had retired last year. Personally, he couldn’t do without the seasons, the changing of the trees, the gray winter bursting into life. Warm all the time was like oatmeal every morning.
There was a dusting of frost on the ground with patches of snow in the woods, but the bare trees and the fog of his breath, the smell of the pine and the smoke rising from the farmhouse chimneys was perfect Currier and Ives.
Most of the guys would be spending the day with their families. Perry and Rob weren’t married, but both had relatives in town. That’s what it was all about—being thankful for what you had, for the people who mattered. Provided, of course, you had people who mattered.
Both his parents in Phoenix and his sister in Seattle had invited him to come visit, but he’d declined. Not that they didn’t matter, of course they did; it was just that he hadn’t wanted to face the concerned looks, the well-meant questions. “What are you drinking, son?” as his father popped the tab of a beer. “Are you seeing anyone?” in his mother’s gentle voice. “Maybe you should consider moving here.”
No, Montrose had his heart. These were his people, even if he was too damaged to serve them as he once had. Maybe that would pass. Maybe he’d snap out of it. Maybe he just had to find himself again like his brother Drew in Alaska, searching for identity in the wilderness experience. Cal might have considered going there, but he hadn’t been asked.
Cissy came out on the porch toting a pail of birdseed. She wore a lavender flowered dress and a yellow-green apron with zigzag trim. She gave him the same smile she gave the finches darting on the rail around her. “Hello, my pets. Hello, Cal.”
“Morning, Cissy.”
“Are you having turkey with us?”
He shook his head. “I’m at the station today.”
She clicked her tongue. “Oh, that’s a shame.” She scooped a teacupful of seed into one feeder.
The birds darted close, and Cal half expected one to perch on her head. Feed the birds, tuppence a bag … She seemed as happy among them as he’d ever seen her. No worry in her sweet doughy face, just pure contentment. He waved and left her to her feathered friends.
At the station Frank pulled on his coat the minute Cal walked in. “Margaret’s so tickled about this she sent a homemade pumpkin pie to keep you company.” He stood an ancient, olive green thermos on the table. “And hot spiced cider.”
“You’ve been covering the holidays a lot of years. You deserve the break.” Cal eyed the pie. “Thank her for me. That’s really nice.”
Frank didn’t waste any time heading for the door. “We’re going to Mary’s to see the grandbaby. Margaret’s helping Mary cook her first bird.”
“That’s great. Enjoy yourself.”
“You know how to reach me.”
“Yeah, I know.” Cal waved him out, then settled in for a quiet day. With most everything closed, not many people were out and about. After browsing the current Newsweek, he went down to the garage and walked the length of the engine. It didn’t shine as it once had, but every inch was clean and everything in place.
He pulled open the engineer’s cabinet and fingered the controls. He knew this truck like his own body. At one time they had been almost one unit, man and machine interconnected. Lifting a spanner wrench, he balanced it in his hand. The tool of tools for a fireman. What you couldn’t do with a spanner … He put it back and closed the doors.
A loud tone from the claxton device alerted him, and adrenaline surged as he picked up the hotline. “Lieutenant Morrison.”
The dispatcher was not Frieda. A male voice monotoned, “Man down on Route D.”
Cal listened to the specific location, then answered, “Engine two in service.” The call would have gone out to the volunteers’ pagers. Since it was a medical emergency, only the EMTs might respond, and that depended upon holiday availability. Taking the smaller search-and-rescue truck where he’d already stashed his jump kit, he hit the siren and sped out.
A car sat on the shoulder of Route D with hazard lights flashing, and the driver climbed out and waved him down. Cal parked and ran toward the bundle sprawled half on the road and half down the ditch. At the bottom lay a bottle of Wild Turkey. Guess the guy had drunk his Thanksgiving dinner first thi
ng that morning.
After his own short romance with the bottle, Cal felt a singular sadness for the old guy and stood a moment, letting the emotion fade before he examined him. There was no hurry. He’d already noted the marked line of lividity—the top side of the face and neck white as wax, and the lower portion, where the blood had pooled, purple. By the angle of the head there was a C4 fracture, and “C4 breathe no more.” A break that high to the neck would have blocked the ability to expand the lungs—a quick death. There were also abrasions and blunt head trauma. He’d been struck, probably by a car.
Cal shook his head. No amount of hurrying or life support could help this ragged piece of humanity. But he dropped anyway and checked for a carotid pulse. Maybe he just wanted to touch him, to give him the dignity he might have known in a kinder life.
He pulled his handy-talkie from his belt and radioed the police officer who was probably en route. “Yeah, I’ve got a DRT, looks like hit-and-run.” DRT, dead right there. He was surprised at the sadness he felt saying it. He gave the mile marker on route D, then sat on his haunches and waited.
He looked up at the hum of an engine, tires on gravel and door closing. Patrol officer Simon Tate and Sergeant Danson, who more or less acted as detective. Danson’s shadow loomed over him, and Cal shook his head. “Checked out a while ago. Internal bruising near the waist, head trauma, and abrasion.” Again the sadness. Who was this old guy?
Danson stood like Matt Dillon, assessing the victim from his sixfoot-four vantage, then turned to the driver of the other car, whom Cal had scarcely noticed. “Did you see it happen?”
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