Tommy’s sister, Hannah, was there, of course, and she greeted him with the same cold, lawyerly suspicion as the last time he’d seen her. It seemed that she wore the same shapeless dress, too, and he couldn’t help comparing her to Neesy’s warm familiarity. Not to mention her body-hugging wardrobe.
What was Neesy doing today? Who was she celebrating with? Quickly, he nailed the thought behind tightly closed shutters. They had arrived at détente, but the less he thought about her, the better.
Not that he was eager to talk to Hannah, either. Her cool wariness put him on edge, as though she knew he had secrets and she would make it her business to uncover them. At least he managed to keep their interactions confined to the table. She seemed less dangerous when everyone was there.
But leave it to Hannah to bring up the one subject Mitch would have gladly avoided. In the midst of passing turkey and dressing, Hannah said to Sara Jean, “I hear you’re on quite an Old Yeller kick.”
“Not me,” said Sara Jean. “Julia. It’s because of Huck.”
“Huck? Isn’t that a different book?”
“Huck’s the dog in the alley that got murdered.”
“I don’t think that’s a subject for conversation today,” Bitsy said.
“Murdered?” Hannah’s brows rose. “I didn’t know anyone had determined what happened.”
“Sheriff said it was a bobcat,” Julia said. She’d piled her plate, especially the sweet potatoes, which she loved.
“A bobcat?” Hannah raised doubtful brows. “So close to town?”
Bitsy said, “Well, honestly, Hannah, what else could it be? And I really don’t want us talking—”
“Do you think a person could have done it?” This from Sara Jean.
“Why would they?” Julia asked.
“Don’t you believe in evil?” Hannah asked.
“Hannah!” Bitsy turned to her husband. “Do something!”
“It’s just conversation, Bits,” Tommy said. “And, for your information, I do believe there’s a force for evil out there. It’s called Satan.”
“Satan?” Julia asked. “You mean, like, the Devil?” Julia turned to Mitch. “We don’t believe in the Devil, do we?”
“People make choices,” Mitch said quietly. “For good and for evil.”
“Well,” Bitsy said, spooning green beans on her plate, “if you insist on continuing, I did hear a rumor that Boyd Collier was behind it.”
“Does that mean he’s a devil?” Sara Jean asked.
“It means he’s got evil in him,” Tommy said. “And that could be the work of the Devil.”
“Or he’s just plain evil,” said Hannah.
“You don’t believe in the Devil?” Mitch asked her.
“I’m with you,” Hannah said. “I believe in choice. Free will. And, of course, proof. I heard Boyd Collier was out of town that day.”
“I think it was the bobcat,” Julia said. “Did you know that bobcats can show their claws or pull them in?”
“Like Wolverine?” Sara Jean asked.
And the conversation turned to other things.
As was customary, Julia stuffed her face and ended up groaning on the floor with Sara Jean. The two of them went up to her room, but only after making the adults promise to call when dessert was served.
They were clearing dishes when Bitsy brought up the subject of Christmas.
“We’re taking Sara Jean to Florida. It would be good for her to get away for a while.” She dropped her voice. “You know, from all the… memories.”
“She doesn’t need a trip to Florida,” Hannah said. “She needs a trip to a counselor.”
Bitsy glared at Hannah. “There is nothing wrong with Sara Jean. It’s just… growing pains. Anyway,” she continued to Mitch, “we are going to Florida. To Disney World, actually. We rented a condo and there’s plenty of room. I was hoping you’d let us take Julia, too.”
Mitch almost dropped the plates he was carrying. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“See?” Hannah said. “Even Mitch doesn’t approve.”
He shot Hannah a “mind your own business” look. “That’s not what I meant. I just don’t want Julia going so far away.”
“We’ll take good care of her. I promise.”
“I’m sure you will. It’s just that—”
At that moment, Julia and Sara Jean came thudding down the stairs in a whirl of whoops and burst into the kitchen.
“Sara Jean wants me to go to Florida. Can I?” Julia was hopping up and down with excitement.
“Did you ask him?” Sara Jean said to her mother.
“Can I go?” Julia asked Mitch.
He wanted to strangle the Blunts. “I don’t think so, Junebug.”
“But—”
“The Blunts have done enough for us. A trip like that… It’s just too much.”
“It would be our pleasure,” Bitsy said.
“I could never repay it.”
“You wouldn’t have to.”
“Dad—”
“I’m sorry, Jules. It’s out of the question.”
“But—”
Mitch could predict the coming explosion. “Dinner was great,” he said quickly. “I think it’s time to go.”
“I don’t want to go,” Julia said.
“We’re going anyway. Say thank you to the Blunts.”
She set her jaw but got out a frosty thank-you, and he managed to drag her to the carriage house before the volcano erupted.
“Why are you doing this to me?”
“We can’t live off other people, Jules.”
“But they want me to come. Sara Jean wants me to come.”
“We’re living here rent free. Every stick of furniture belongs to them. They feed us, gave me a job. We can’t keep taking and taking. It’s not right.”
She crossed her arms and flounced on the couch. “Someday I’m going to be richer than rich,” she shouted. “I’m going to have six houses and hang out with whoever I want and go to Florida whenever I want and sleep wherever I want!”
She stalked off to her room, and Mitch didn’t follow or try to cajole her out of her bad mood. He couldn’t blame her for being mad. He wanted her to have everything she deserved, too. The beach house, the ski chalet, the mansion on Park Avenue.
He closed his eyes.
Someday, Junebug. Someday.
But not this day.
Florida was just too far away. He couldn’t watch her. And if he couldn’t watch her, she would never be safe.
12
Roger Carrick spent the entire month of November and almost right up until Christmas working on a bank fraud case involving loans to two New Jersey men who wanted to start a turkey farm in Wilton, Iowa. When the men defaulted on their payments and vanished, both their identities and their ownership of the businesses used for collateral turned out to be false. It took Roger and an agent from Cedar Rapids nearly six weeks to track down the two men and arrest them as they were about to cross the Mexican border. But once the men had been processed and the investigative part of the case closed, he had time to think about the newspaper article he’d received from the Crossroads Sentinel.
He spent the day before Christmas tracking down the right Crossroads. He struck out in both Maine and Pennsylvania but hit pay dirt in the Memphis field office, where an agent put him in touch with the Crossroads police chief, Abe Marfield.
“Oh, sure,” Marfield told him. “We got the Sentinel here. What’s the FBI’s interest?”
Roger dodged the question. “Who can I talk to about the paper?”
“Well, Shelby Townsend’s the owner. She got herself mixed up in something?”
“No, no, just a few questions. Background stuff.”
The officer paused. Roger could almost hear the frown forming on his face. “Nothing big coming my way? I’d appreciate any heads-up if you know of something. Drugs, gangs, anything like that.”
“Nothing like that,” Roger assured him. “But
I’d appreciate any contact information you can give me for this Shelby Townsend.”
Marfield put him on hold, then came back with a phone number. Roger thanked him and disconnected. He ran a computer search for the newspaper owner’s name. Most of the hits revolved around her retirement two years ago. The accompanying pictures showed a box of a woman with a bulldog face. When he called, her voice barked at him through the phone.
“Crossroads Sentinel, Shelby Townsend.”
Roger introduced himself. “A month or so ago, you wrote an article about the rescue of a young girl by a Mitch Turner.”
“So the FBI is interested in Mitch, too.”
“What do you mean ‘too’? Has someone else asked about him?”
She told him about an anonymous tip she’d received shortly after the story ran. “After that, I had a friend up in Detroit do a search, but Turner came up clean. Almost too clean. But you can’t write a story unless one exists, so I didn’t pursue it.”
“What’s he done since he got to Crossroads?”
“He’s a short-order cook at one of the restaurants in town. Takes care of his daughter. Keeps a low, law-abiding profile.”
“What about the daughter?” Roger scanned the article. “Julia? That her name? How old is she? What’s she look like?”
“Oh, I’d say she’s maybe eleven or twelve. In the fifth grade, I think.”
His interest quickened. “Anything unusual about her? Anything stand out?”
“She’s eleven. Not been around long enough to do anything unusual. Unless you’re talking about physical appearance. She does have very striking blue eyes.”
Roger stilled. His hand tightened on the phone.
“I don’t suppose you’re going to tell me what this is all about?” Shelby Townsend asked. “What’s the FBI’s interest in a short-order cook and his daughter?”
“Appreciate your help, Ms. Townsend. Merry Christmas.”
He disconnected. Stared at the opposite wall, where memos and bulletins were pinned to a corkboard. Was Mitch Turner the end of Roger’s free fall? Or just wishful thinking? Should he check it out? Or should he follow procedure and alert New York? Faces wanted by the Omaha division stared back at Roger. Physical description, criminal caution, whether or not they were armed and dangerous. Mitch Turner wasn’t up there. But it was still Roger’s case. The case that had sent him tumbling into oblivion. If anyone was going to sweep up the pieces, shouldn’t it be him?
He filled out a 302, requesting resources for a case, and picked up the phone to call Marbrue, the SAC in Omaha.
But Marbrue wasn’t as eager to pursue as Roger. “First off, all you’ve got is a couple of maybes and a hunch. I’m not going to release Bureau resources on a wild-goose chase. And even if I was, it’s New York’s case. Let them pay for it.”
Roger twirled a pencil maniacally. He hadn’t expected to have to fight for this. “No one knows the case better than I do.”
“Even after ten, eleven years?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Is this why you’ve requested transfer back to New York twelve times in the last ten years?”
Roger frowned; his personnel file must be in front of Marbrue. “That and the corn, sir. I’m allergic.”
“We’re all allergic to the corn.”
“Yes, sir.”
“If you’ve got time on your hands, I just got a call from the Muscatine Police Department. They’ve got two skinhead yahoos in custody for beating up some black men at the Canterbury Pub in the Econo Lodge. Victims are calling it a hate crime. So head over to Muscatine, which is in your district, and see what you can find out.”
Roger bit down on what he really wanted to say, murmuring only, “Yes, sir.”
He hung up, crumpled the 302 on his desk, and threw it against the wall. Then he threw the entire contents of his pencil jar against the wall.
Then he yanked out another 302, barked at the office manager to give him a new case number, and filled out the form.
Ten minutes later, he was in his Bucar, heading southwest to Muscatine.
13
Mitch intended for Julia to spend the long Christmas break at Crick’s, helping Loritta, reading, and doing whatever else he could think of to keep her entertained. There’d definitely been a cooling off between them. She didn’t say she hated him and flounce off to her room anymore, but he could tell she was holding a grudge.
In other circumstances, he might even have resented it. But he could hardly blame her, considering what he’d asked her to give up. Not just a trip to Disney World, but also things she didn’t even know she should have.
And it was Christmas. He hadn’t mentioned it yet, and she probably thought he’d forgotten, but the promised deadline was upon them. Their stay in Crossroads was almost over, and Julia was not going to like moving on. He wanted to give her one lovely memory to take with her and hopefully ease her over the hump of leaving.
So on the day before Christmas, he snuck out of the restaurant while Julia was helping with the salt shakers and the customers hadn’t come yet.
But Neesy burst through the swinging doors just as he was stepping through the back one.
“Going somewhere?” she said.
He took in a deep breath, braced himself not to feel anything, then answered her. “I’ll be gone fifteen minutes. Got to set up a surprise for Julia.”
Her brows rose. “What kind of surprise?”
He told her, and her whole face softened. “Well, the phone’s for you. Want me to take a message?”
“Who is it? I’ve only got a few minutes to do this.”
“Shelby Townsend. Said it was important.”
Important? What the hell could she want? He hesitated, needing to get to the house but not wanting to leave without knowing what Shelby was after.
“If you want”—Neesy picked up a spatula and tapped it nervously on the counter—“I can run over to the house while you take the call. We got time, and Loritta is here in case anyone comes early.”
“Thanks, but—”
“Look, if it’s about… about what happened. I mean, about the—”
“It’s not.” God, he didn’t want to talk about that kiss.
“You don’t have to worry. I mean, it won’t happen again.” She gave him a little self-deprecating laugh. “I can keep my grubby hands off you.”
“Your hands aren’t grubby and I don’t want—” them off me. He almost said it. Instead, he clamped his mouth shut.
She looked down at her hands. “I… I haven’t gotten either of you anything for Christmas.”
“It’s fine. We haven’t gotten you anything, either.”
“Well, I’d be honored to help with this. Call it my Christmas gift.”
Loritta stuck her head in. “You going to take that call or not? Can’t keep the line tied up.”
“Be right there.” He turned back to Neesy. “You’re sure?”
“Sure I’m sure. It would be my… my pleasure.”
He cleared his throat. “Maybe you’ll stop by tomorrow?” What the hell was he doing? “For a… a beer or something?”
She looked at him, her green eyes puzzled and pleased. “Maybe. Sure. We’ll see.”
He gave her the instructions, and she took off her apron and ran out the back.
Then Mitch went into the restaurant to talk to Shelby.
“Something’s come up,” she said. “I need to talk to you. Can you come to the house?”
Mitch had the afternoon all planned out, and a trip to see Shelby Townsend was not on the agenda. “Today? On Christmas Eve?”
“It’s not Christmas Eve until tonight.”
Which was true but beside the point. Especially when he had something special lined up. “What’s it about?”
“I’d rather not go into it over the phone. But I will say it’s about Julia.”
Julia. What the hell did she have to do with Julia? The possibilities nearly gagged him, so he quickly arranged a meetin
g for later that afternoon.
Mitch was uneasy all day. He got two orders wrong, and when Loritta popped into the kitchen to bring one back, he snapped at her.
She eyed him with a sour expression. “What’s wrong with you? Get bit by a Christmas troll this morning?”
“Sorry.” Man, he had to calm down.
But then Neesy dropped off an order, and he did the same thing. “What the hell does that say?” He touched the order slip with a greasy finger.
“Eggs over easy,” she said calmly, then pursed her lips and gazed at him thoughtfully. “You know you’re being an ass. You got Loritta all whipped up. Mary Nell is afraid to come back here. There’s nothing to worry about. Everything is lined up. She’s going to love it.”
As if pleasing Julia was his biggest worry. He flipped a sausage patty. He was being an ass. Truth was, he had no idea what Shelby wanted. Could be she wanted to announce the winner of the Christmas essay contest. Could be nothing at all.
He let out a huge breath. “Okay. Yeah, you’re right. I’m being an idiot. Apologies all around. And… well, thanks for what you did. Appreciate the help.”
She gave him the amazing smile that set off the dimple in her chin and made her green eyes sparkle. How could anything bad happen on a day that included Neesy’s smile?
After Crick’s closed, he and Julia drove over to Shelby’s house. He left Julia in the truck where he could see her and knocked on the front door. There was no answer, and he tried the knob, but it was locked.
He knocked again. “Ms. Townsend?”
“Try the back!” Julia stuck her head through the window opening.
“Get inside,” he yelled. “And lock the doors like I told you to.”
Julia grumbled but did as he asked. Why was he so weird about everything? Sara Jean said he was overprotective and that Julia had to break out one day.
Wouldn’t take much. Just a pop of the lock and she could jump out and wait for him in the truck bed.
But she didn’t.
Something was out there. Something Mitch never named or referred to, but something worse than the worst thing she could imagine.
Once, when she was little, she’d seen a miniature town in a store window. She still remembered the tiny stores and the train that went around and around. She’d let go of Mitch’s hand to look at it. Next thing she knew, she was alone, surrounded by a swarm of strangers. It was interesting but not scary. Not until Mitch found her again and crushed her so tight he could have broken all her bones. And then he shook her.
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