Upon a Midnight Clear

by Catherine Mulvany

  “But why so late? What can you do in Baker City that you can’t do here?”

  His expression was grim. “Use a pay phone. I want to talk to Cesar, find out what he learned today.”

  “Can’t it wait until tomorrow?” She stifled a yawn.

  “I’m probably going off half-cocked here, but dammit, Alexandra, I have this sick feeling in my gut. What if Cesar discovered something crucial this afternoon? Something that blows the case wide open? Only he can’t warn us because he has no way to track us down.”

  She pulled on her new snow boots and began searching for her mittens, despite the fact that going out in the storm was far down on her own list of priorities, “Do the wild thing with Dixon” being first on the list, followed immediately by “Get ten solid hours of sleep.” Oh, well. The sooner he put his mind to rest, the sooner they could move on to her agenda.

  “What are you waiting for, Dixon? Christmas? Let’s go.”

  His smile warmed her clear to her toes. Who needed thermal underwear and electric socks?

  “Cesar?”

  The answering grunt was marginally human, definitely testy.

  “Cesar?”

  “Dammit, Dix, is that you? Why the hell are you calling this time of night?”

  “It’s only one.”

  “One there maybe, but two here, moron. Dammit, where are you?”

  Dixon ignored the question.

  “Why’d you call? Has something happened to Ms. Roundtree?”

  “No, she’s fine. In fact, she’s right here with me, crammed into this phone booth.” Distracting the hell out of me. Though he didn’t share that information with Cesar. “I called because I wanted to know what you found out this afternoon.”

  “Hell, man. When do you sleep?” Cesar didn’t wait for an answer. He did a little more cussing, in Spanish this time. “Can’t find my damn case notes. Oh, here they are. Look, I don’t know if any of this will help, but here goes. I pulled Danny Hall in for questioning. Had a hell of a time running him down. Talked to the Calzacorta woman at work—she’s a checker at Albertson’s—and she told me Hall was at her place baby-sitting, if you can believe it. When I showed up, he and the Calzacorta kids were all sitting around the kitchen table gluing wiggle eyes, red felt noses, and pipe-cleaner antlers on candy canes.”

  “Whoa. Hold it. Did you say Wendy Calzacorta worked at Albertson’s?” Beside him, Alexandra stiffened.

  “Right. So?”

  “So some checker at Albertson’s has been giving Alexandra the evil eye for the past couple months.”

  “Hall probably painted her as Public Enemy Number One. Ask your client what her evil-eyed checker looks like.”

  Dixon passed along Cesar’s request.

  Alexandra shivered. “Medium. Medium height. Medium weight. Medium coloring.”

  “Medium—” started Dixon.

  “Yeah, I heard. Does she have frizzy hair? Glasses?”

  “Frizzy hair?” Dixon repeated. “Glasses?”

  Alexandra nodded.

  “Yes to both,” he told Cesar.

  “Well, that clears up one little mystery.”

  “What did Hall have to say for himself?”

  “Claimed he didn’t know what the hell I was getting at.”

  “You believe him?”

  “Hell, who knows? Guys like that spend so much time lying, they sound more believable when they’re spinning some yarn than they do when they’re telling the gospel truth.”

  “Anything else?”

  “Nah. I tried to get ahold of Jordan this afternoon, but all I could learn from that damn snooty secretary of his was that he’d left town for the holiday. Skiing, she thought—which was probably the truth since he didn’t answer his phone at home. I tried several times this afternoon and then again this evening.”

  “Damn handful of nothing,” Dixon muttered. “That it?”

  “The whole enchilada. Now, can I get back to sleep?”

  “Sure. Thanks, buddy.” Dixon hung up, more depressed now than he had been earlier. He leaned his forehead against the chilly glass wall of the booth.

  “Dixon?” Alexandra’s voice was as tentative as her touch on his arm. “What now?”

  What was wrong with him? He was supposed to be taking care of her and instead he was doing his best to turn her into a human Popsicle. Her teeth were chattering and she was shivering uncontrollably.

  “Why don’t I see if the motel here’s full?” He nodded up at the neon sign advertising the Sunridge Inn. “It’s already after one, and the drive back would take at least an hour. If you don’t get warm soon, you’re going to end up with pneumonia.”

  She bared her chattering teeth in a brave smile. “Sounds like an excellent plan to me. And if you think it would help us get a room, I could always stuff my purse up under my coat so I’d look eight months pregnant.”

  He laughed. “I don’t think that will be necessary. The vacancy sign is still lit up.”

  He left Alexandra waiting in the Jeep with the motor running and the heater blowing lukewarm air while he checked in.

  “I hope you don’t mind,” he said as he took his place behind the wheel. “I paid cash for the room and signed the register as Mr. and Mrs. Joseph Carpenter.”

  “Clever pseudonym, Dixon, but weren’t you afraid they’d say there was no room at the inn?”

  He pulled around to park in front of Unit 12.

  “Why use a fake name anyway? What’s wrong with Mr. and Mrs. Dixon Ya—” She broke off.

  “Alexandra?” He cut the engine and turned to face her.

  She stared steadily at her mittened fists.

  “Alexandra?” He tipped her face up to his. “It’s not what you’re thinking.”

  “How do you know what I’m thinking?”

  “Your face is as transparent as glass.” He rubbed the back of his hand across the softness of her cheek. “I was just being cautious. That’s what you’re paying me for. Trust no one. Remember?” He kissed her gently. “Now let’s get inside before the desk clerk realizes we don’t have any luggage.”

  TWELVE

  “Traveling light has its advantages.” Dixon slid his hands slowly up and down Alexandra’s naked body.

  Unit 12 was equipped with a comfortable king-size bed that Dixon had fully intended to use for sleeping until Alexandra’s lack of nightwear distracted him.

  “Yes.” With a sigh of satisfaction, Alexandra slipped her arms around his neck and tilted her face up to his.

  Never let it be said that Dixon Yano couldn’t take a hint. He brushed her lips with his own, teasing them open with the tip of his tongue.

  Moaning a protest at what she apparently considered his frustrating delaying tactics, Alexandra buried her hands in his hair and forced his mouth down hard on hers.

  Her kisses played havoc with his senses. A fierce, hot flood of desire engulfed him, a throbbing need he felt echoed in the silky skin beneath his roving hands. Alexandra quivered under his touch.

  To hell with finesse. Breathing raggedly, he rolled her onto her back.

  A smile tipped the corners of her mouth. “Yes,” she breathed against his lips, and spread her legs in welcome.

  Dixon lost the last vestiges of control as he plunged into her silken warmth. She felt so good, so damn good.…

  He groaned as Alexandra arched her body to meet him stroke for stroke. “Oh, God. Alexandra, you’re killing me!”

  “Now, Dixon. Now.” She writhed wildly beneath him, gasping for breath.

  Moaning deep in his throat, sobbing her name, he came fast in a wild and passionate explosion.

  Sobbing and shuddering, her muscles clenching him tightly, Alexandra sank her nails in Dixon’s back, her teeth in his shoulder.

  “Six o’clock, Dixon. Time to be up and at ’em.”

  He mumbled something unintelligible and burrowed under the covers.

  Alex prodded his recumbent form. “Come on, sleepyhead. Rise and shine. I’m starving to dea
th.”

  He pushed aside the pillow covering his face and opened one eye. “Hungry again so soon?”

  “Soon?” Alex sat up, hugging the sheet across her breasts. “I haven’t eaten for hours. Not since dinner last night with Ginger and Cousin Kurt.”

  Dixon rolled up on one elbow and stared at her. The twinkle in his eyes belied his fierce expression. “You’re forgetting that little midnight snack. You might have warned me you were a cannibal.”

  “What are you complaining about? I didn’t even break the skin.” Alex smiled slowly and seductively. “Of course, if you’d like, I’d be more than happy to kiss it and make it better.”

  Dixon tipped his head to one side as if he were giving her offer serious consideration. “Well … okay.”

  Alex pressed a lingering kiss to his shoulder. “Better?” she whispered in his ear.

  “Oh, yeah, but …” Dixon leaned back against the pillow, indicating the base of his throat. “I think I’ve got another sore spot here.”

  “Poor baby.” Alex pressed a kiss to the hollow of his throat, then slid her tongue up the side of his neck.

  “And here.” He touched his mouth.

  Alex shot him a skeptical sideways glance. “Didn’t Harrison Ford use this routine in Raiders of the Lost Ark?”

  Dixon grinned. “Whatever works.”

  Three hours later Dixon pulled the Jeep back into the garage at the Last Resort. “I’m going to go check in with Kurt. Want to come with me?”

  Smiling, Alexandra shook her head. “No, thanks. I think I’ll hole up and read my way through the stack of books I bought in Baker City.”

  The closer they had come to the resort, the quieter Alexandra had grown. Dixon knew she was worried. He only wished he could have told her something to put her mind at rest. Unfortunately, the only news he had wasn’t encouraging. During his morning phone call with Cesar he’d learned that Danny Hall had left Brunswick for parts unknown. The Calzacorta woman claimed he was on his way to California to stay with family over Christmas. If so, his appearance was going to be a big surprise because no one down there was expecting him. Cesar had checked.

  So where was Hall really going? Was there any way he could have traced them? Was he lurking in the shadows somewhere, waiting for a clean shot? Planning another midnight bonfire?

  Frowning, Dixon shouldered his way through the back door. The kitchen was warm and fragrant with the batch of maple sticky buns Ginger was just pulling from the big commercial oven.

  “You missed breakfast,” the redhead told him, “but if you can hang on a tick, you’re welcome to try one of these. Coffee’s in the pot. Regular, I’m afraid. The latte machine’s on the fritz.”

  “Thanks anyway. I ate in Baker City. Where’s Kurt?”

  “In the main lounge playing ye olde host.” Ginger winked. “He does it so well.”

  Except for a couple dressed for a day on the slopes, Kurt was alone in the room. Dressed in jeans, a Fair Isle sweater, and hikers, he lounged against the rustic mantelpiece, describing the best route to Anthony Lakes. Dixon noticed that Kurt’s burgundy-and-blue sweater matched the decor. Knowing Kurt, the match was no coincidence.

  Kurt acknowledged his entrance with the wag of one finger and a slight nod of his head. Alerted to Dixon’s presence, the skiers turned. Dixon knew the look of shock on their faces was mirrored on his own. Talk about coincidence.

  “Jordan?”

  “Yano!” Mark Jordan made it sound like a dirty word. “What are you doing here?” His face was pasty beneath his tan. If he was faking his surprise, he was doing one hell of a job of it—a real Oscar-winning performance. He kept a nervous eye on the archway behind Dixon as if he expected Alexandra to appear at any moment. Shelby Winters clutched his arm.

  Dixon eyed them both coldly. “I’d ask you the same thing, but I think it’s obvious.”

  Kurt, ever the genial host, broke the awkward silence that followed Dixon’s remark. “I take it you three know one another. Why don’t I leave you alone so you can catch up on old times?”

  As Kurt slipped into the adjoining room Dixon shot his cousin a dirty look. Kurt had always had a talent for avoiding awkward situations, and this particular situation promised to be about as awkward as they came.

  “Where’s Alex?”

  Dixon’s smile held little humor. “Safe.”

  “Damn you, Yano. I’ve been worried sick about her. Where do you have her hidden?”

  “Worried?” Dixon laughed. “That’s a joke.”

  “I need to talk to her. I need to explain.”

  “Explain what? How you can’t keep your hands off other women?”

  Shelby had the grace to blush, but Jordan wasn’t the type to take responsibility for his own actions. His mouth narrowed to a thin line of hatred. “You did this. You poisoned her mind against me. What lies did you tell her, Yano?”

  “I didn’t tell her squat. How do you expect her to react? She caught you at a motel with another woman.”

  A spasm rippled across Shelby’s face.

  Jordan swore. “I can explain that! Dammit, let me talk to her. I’ll make her understand. Alex is the one I love.”

  “Alexandra?” Dixon raised an eyebrow. “Or Alexandra’s trust fund?”

  “You son of a bitch.” Jordan shook off Shelby’s restraining hand and advanced within inches of Dixon, murder in his eye.

  “Go ahead, Jordan. Take a poke at me. I’d love an excuse to knock the teeth down your lying throat.”

  “Stop it. This is stupid.” Shelby’s voice rose shrilly. She clung to Jordan’s arm, trying to pull him away from Dixon.

  Jordan flicked her off as casually as a piece of lint.

  The redhead stumbled backward, landing awkwardly on a burgundy leather wingback chair.

  Jordan turned to Dixon, his expression venomous. “Where are you hiding her, you bastard?”

  “Someplace where you’ll never get your filthy hands on her.”

  “Who has filthy hands?” Ginger entered the room at a trot, two paper sacks in one hand and a thermos jug in the other. “You, Dix? Don’t touch the furniture, then. We just had everything reupholstered and it cost the earth. Oh!” He planted himself directly between the other two men. “Here’s the lunch you ordered.” He pressed the food on Jordan, who was too surprised to do anything but take it. “Have a fabulous day on the slopes. They’re saying the new powder up top is simply to die for.”

  “Come on, Mark. Fighting won’t get you anywhere. You’re a civilized human being. Don’t stoop to his level.” Shelby urged Jordan toward the door.

  Dixon smirked at Jordan over Ginger’s bulky shoulder. “Later.”

  “Outside,” added the cook. “Blood is so difficult to remove from the carpet.”

  “This isn’t over,” Jordan blustered. “I will talk to Alex.”

  “Come on.” Shelby tugged once more at his arm. This time Jordan let her lead him toward the door. Just before they left, however, Shelby surprised Dixon by turning around to face him for a second. “He does love her, you know.” Her eyes were tragic, but her chin was firm.

  No, he doesn’t. In that moment Dixon felt sorry for her. Jordan didn’t love Alexandra, but he didn’t love Shelby either. He’d cheated on her just like he’d cheated on Alexandra. The sad part was, Shelby knew it and loved him all the same.

  As the front door slammed behind them Dixon turned to Ginger. “An inspired entrance.”

  Ginger sank down on one of the two plaid sofas set at right angles to the fireplace. “Kurt’s idea. I used to be a bouncer at a disco club in Portland back in the seventies.” A slow, reminiscent smile spread across his homely face. “I thought for a minute there the Ken doll was going to try to punch you out.”

  “Try being the operative word.”

  “Well, if he tries again, I don’t give a rat’s behind if you beat him to a bloody pulp. Just make sure you do the deed out-of-doors. I wasn’t kidding earlier. Blood really is hell to get out of the
carpet.” He glanced up as Kurt strolled in. “Did they leave?”

  Kurt nodded. “Coast is clear. Sorry about that, Dix. If I had realized who the guy was, I’d have turned him away when he showed up last night looking for a room.” He collapsed in the wing chair with a grunt.

  “I told you about Jordan, warned you he might show up.”

  “Yes, but Jordan didn’t register with his real name.”

  “Oh, yeah?”

  “He rented the room as John Smith. Actually, Mr. and Mrs. John Smith.”

  Ginger rolled his eyes. “God, how original.”

  Dixon frowned. “And you didn’t suspect John Smith might be a phony name?”

  “Oh, I was sure of it.” Kurt stifled a yawn.

  Dixon raised his eyebrows.

  “We get Mr. and Mrs. John Smith an average of twice a week,” Ginger confided. “The poor deluded fools always think they’re being so clever.”

  “As a rule, they’re couples who are married—just not to each other.”

  “Damn, what a mess.” Dixon could feel a headache starting at his temples.

  “Frankly, my dear boy, I think you’re worried about nothing.” Ginger shook a finger for emphasis. “Jordan might have a shot at you, but he seems genuinely attached to your Alexandra.”

  Dixon hit the mantel with his fist and started to protest.

  “Wait,” Ginger interrupted. “Let me guess. Seems is the operative word.”

  Dixon knew damn well that Mark Jordan wasn’t in love with Alexandra. He was, however, deeply attached to Alexandra’s money, and no matter how much Dixon wanted to pin the murder attempts on the philandering slimeball, he just couldn’t convince himself Jordan was a threat. The man had no motive. Zero.

  And Cousin Shelby had even less. The redhead might have the hots for Alexandra’s ex-fiancé, but that hardly called for a solution as drastic as murder. And the fire had left her unemployed, a poor incentive for arson.

  Yet their sudden appearance on the scene couldn’t be a coincidence. They must be up to something.

  Reluctantly, he mounted the steps to the garage apartment. He didn’t look forward to sharing this latest development with Alexandra.

  Dixon paused on the landing, then knocked out the series they’d agreed on, three quick raps, two slow, then three quick.