A rock wall reared up out of the snow and like a conjurer’s trick, the inn and its lights disappeared. It was as though they had driven into the cold of outer space. Juliet’s nerves shrilled as the tailing car began gaining on them.
So, it wasn’t a taxi. And it wasn’t just a follower trying to see where she was going. The boss—or the brother—had decided it was time to take an active hand and eliminate the competition.
Juliet stopped talking and began calculating odds as she picked up momentum. The car behind her was larger, perhaps a Cadillac, and had the advantage of being heavier, but hers had all-wheel drive and better traction. It just might come down to who was the better driver, who knew the road best. And whom the gods smiled upon. At least she had had some recent practice driving on ice and she wouldn’t have to worry about the tires overheating in a chase.
Raphael had already opened the glove compartment and taken out the Glock. He checked the load. His beautiful, long-fingered hands did it expertly, proving that he had not always wielded only a paintbrush. He was smiling grimly, suggesting that some part of him was enjoying himself.
Men!
The car threw on its high beams and Juliet slapped down the mirror. She didn’t need her night vision destroyed and didn’t have time to rub the light from her eyes. She left her own headlights alone. The high beams were an amateurish mistake. It made things brighter, but all you saw was dazzling snow reflections and not the tarmac.
There was a slight drop coming up in the road, nothing at all on a dry day at moderate speed. One wouldn’t even get airborne. But in the dark and snow and at higher speeds? They would fly, at least briefly. There was no time to slow and she didn’t want to. Juliet braced herself, prepared to deal with the slide when they landed on earth again.
She did not want to end up in the lake—especially not with Raphael in the car. She recalled the lecture from her defensive driving instructor. It was all about math—drag coefficients, engine oxygen-consumption rates which became more critical as the temperatures went down. And where the gas tanks were located.
And, intuition. Always intuition.
“Hang on.” Juliet clutched the wheel.
The world dropped out from under them. The act of flying was so much less spectacular than in any movies—and so much more dangerous on real ice with the cold lake waiting to swallow them up if they lost control.
They came down hard. It seemed that perhaps the undercarriage actually hit the icy road, but the wheels answered her demand and grabbed the frozen tarmac, pulling them straight as she accelerated.
Juliet couldn’t spare the time to look in the rearview mirror, but Raphael was turned in his seat, watching their pursuers.
He told her later what happened. The chasing car’s landing was not catastrophic, but the driver had overcorrected a slide and the larger car spun out of control, bouncing off the rock wall and spinning half into the lake, nose down and slipping in further with each second.
When her own car was under control, Juliet dropped speed and looked in the mirror. No one was getting out of the Cadillac.
“I’m not going back,” she said, but sounded tentative. “That wasn’t a taxi. And someone else will be along to call for help. If there is any reason.”
Raphael nodded and then slipped the Glock back into the glove compartment.
Twenty seconds later the rock wall was gone and the inn popped back into view, looking like Santa’s happy workshop. Juliet slowed down even more and pulled into the nearly empty parking lot. She shut off the ignition and took a few deep breaths, silently chanting her yoga mantra.
“Okay. Let me get your chair out of the trunk and we’ll get inside.”
“Juliet.” Raphael laid a hand over hers. His fingers were as warm as hers were cold, even inside her gloves. “That was magnificent. No one could have done better.”
“Well, I always like to show my guests a fun time.” Her voice was surprisingly calm, but she allowed herself to enjoy the comfort of Raphael’s warmth for a moment longer. Then she leaned forward and opened the glove box and retrieved her gun. It made her handbag bulge but she wasn’t leaving it behind.
The inn was quiet, all but deserted. No one challenged them when they approached the dead man’s room though she was aware of the security cameras.
The door to Holtz’s room was obviously locked. Juliet was reaching into her bag for the electronic version of a master key when Raphael said, “Allow me.”
Juliet had to move back to make room for his chair, but he had the door open speedily. She stepped in, fiddling with an old-fashioned compact that held powder but also a little something that was supposed to jam listening devices just in case No-neck had left something behind. Her driving gloves, though light, were also a nuisance.
Raphael raised a brow but said nothing when she handed the gold compact to him. She went straight to the desk where all the little bonbon boxes sat. One of them had a slightly bent ribbon. She slid it off the box and then removed the one oddly shaped candy in red foil. What was inside was some kind of computer chip wrapped in insulating material. It was a small lump of miscellaneous circuitry, pretty enough to be jewelry. She showed it to Raphael.
“So, it looks like the Holtz brothers really were going into business for themselves. Then one of them panicked. Shall I suggest a new plot or do we like the old one?”
“No. I think all the general outlines are here already—and as you pointed out, it doesn’t matter about the particulars. We know who did the killing and why.”
“If only everyone had such ready understanding.”
“By everyone, you mean Captain Denver?”
“Precisely.”
“We are as God made us,” Raphael said dismissively. “Lots of competition for this little thing, I bet. Here and in China. We were lucky to get it first.”
“Yes, competition of the cutthroat variety, and I really do think Joshua was too much of a coward to cross his boss. That had to be Jeremiah, not the other way around. His Scottish mania was farther advanced. But.…” Juliet shook her head, making herself let go of the puzzle. There were too many variables she couldn’t calculate. “Well, I think it may be time to call the office and try this story out on them,” Juliet said and then reached for her phone and her lipstick. She twisted off the bottom of the gold tube and pulled out a small square of plastic which she plugged into her phone in an almost invisible slot next to the charging port.
“You aren’t giving this back to Columbus?”
“Are you kidding? Not without orders. Besides, we don’t know that it’s his. And if it was his, his federal watchers aren’t doing a very good job of keeping him on a leash. Unless they ordered him to steal it—God! Sometimes it gives me a headache. I’m so glad I left.”
“I suppose it is just possible that we have it wrong, though it seems more than probable that Columbus is our man. And someone else’s man. The Feds won’t be happy if we take their toy.” He watched her as she played with the phone.
“Scrambler,” she said helpfully. He nodded. “Again, it doesn’t matter. We just need this in a safe place since we don’t know what the hell this is and we can’t be sure of the players. That is more important than proving Joshua killed his brother, or the Feds’ possible annoyance, at least for now. The others in the upper echelons can sort it all out later.”
Juliet said this to convince herself. She wanted to dig up her old connections at the NSA about as much as she wanted to disinter a graveyard, but some things wouldn’t stay buried—not in these circumstances. The submergence of her wishes was necessary. She placed the call. She hadn’t forgotten the number nor any of the series of digits that she spoke into the phone. They were a routing code, but a computer somewhere was comparing her voiceprint to the one on record and deciding whom she should talk to.
“Juliet?”
The voice belonged to David Merton. Not her favorite man, but competent and honest and middling important. Unless he had been promoted. She could h
ave done worse. That he answered immediately and didn’t route her through secretaries and security suggested that he had been expecting a call.
“So, are you perhaps looking for an information-tech drain happening around Las Vegas? Maybe one that another agency has been baby-sitting?” she asked.
There was a second of silence.
“Vegas or Tahoe?”
“Body in Tahoe, thief from Vegas—though I suspect that Christopher Columbus and company are still in town and actively looking for their lost treasure.”
“You have something physical?” The voice was almost excited.
“Oh, I think so. It’s small and square and wanted for computers everywhere. It was also on its way to China.”
“I’ll have someone there in four hours. Don’t pass it on to locals or the federal boys. If there are questions, refer them to me.” He didn’t ask for her location. The phone would provide that. She could go anywhere in the world or probably off of it and her phone would guide her old masters to her. It was her leash.
“I wasn’t planning on it.”
She disconnected and popped the chip which she put back in her lipstick case.
“Want some breakfast?” she asked Raphael after she had everything stowed back in her purse. “I would love some pancakes.”
He didn’t look at his watch or question her choice of meals.
“Room service? Your place or mine?” he asked.
“You have better etchings, but I have extra ammunition.”
“Your room it is.”
“I don’t think we’ll mention any of this to Captain Denver just yet. Or maybe ever. It’s a decision a little above my pay grade. And his. And my keepers don’t want this thing going anywhere. Do you mind being a silent accomplice?”
“The angry captain and Cain’s boss aren’t all that charming, so you’ll get no arguments from me.”
Juliet finally smiled. It was small and wry, but it was a smile.
“Was it very hard to call them?” Raphael asked.
“Yes. I hate being reminded that I am still on a chain, but sometimes you hold your nose and do what you have to do. There really is such a thing as national security. Even if a lot of villains have been using that as an excuse for all kinds of reprehensible behavior.”
“You’re talking to the choir and also a veteran nose-holder,” Raphael said, moving toward the door. “Let’s be on our way before Denver arrives. He’ll eventually see the security tapes and want to talk to us about this visit.”
“Yes, but I think someone will chat with him long before he gets around to yelling at us. It is one of the few retirement benefits that came with this job. I don’t have to explain things to outsiders if I don’t want to.”
“Right now, that might be better than a dental plan.”
Chapter 10
Esteban called just as they were finishing their meal. Joshua Holtz had had an accident by the lake on his way back to the inn. It was a strange accident because he had somehow managed to twist his head around backward while crashing his car—but Captain Denver wasn’t questioning the logistics. Not yet. That was the coroner’s job after all.
Juliet was betting that after the coroner had been spoken to, he wouldn’t question the oddity of the broken neck either.
“He was a bad man,” Juliet said to Raphael when she hung up the phone. “I know this.”
“Just like the original,” Raphael agreed. “But still a human.”
“And it offends me that the explorer will probably get away with killing him because he is of some use to someone who has the power to make things like this go away.” She held up a hand. “I know that this is just the realities of the situation and being offended helps no one—not even myself. I just don’t like it when the evil prosper.”
“He may not prosper long,” Raphael said consolingly. “Not if he’s crossed his handlers.”
“We can live in hope.” She picked up her coffee cup. “So, I’m thinking of starting home as soon as I’ve gotten some sleep and have wrapped up things here with my people. Skiing has somehow lost its charm and I don’t really need to see the finalists in the bagpipe championship.”
“I believe that Esteban is also ready to return to his bone collection. He said that he wished to construct a Saint Nicholas and Robert the Bruce as soon as possible.”
Juliet chuckled.
“Given my feeling about the holiday, I might just buy his Santa Claus.”
Raphael shook his head.
“Perhaps we can work on your shriveled spirits.” She raised a brow. “There is a charming Victorian bed and breakfast in Ben Lomond that does a full Dickensian feast on Christmas Eve. It may not be too late to get reservations.”
He meant not too late for the famous Raphael James to get a reservation. Juliet looked at Raphael and considered the offer. Part of her wondered why he made it. The rest of her didn’t want to question it. She had found a friend. She should just enjoy it.
“You know, I might like that. It would be nice to pour some healing waters on the holiday. Um … do I have to wear hoopskirts and a corset?”
“Dressing the part is encouraged but not mandatory. And the dress you have on now is beautiful.”
“Okay. If you can get a reservation, we’ll go eat plum pudding.”
* * *
The man who knocked on her door just before two a.m. had masses of red hair and a pugnacious face that could have come off a portrait of Henry VIII. But he also had the proper ID and knew the right verbal exchanges so Juliet let him in to the room.
Raphael excused himself after checking that it was what she wanted. It was handy that they could do that without exchanging words because she didn’t want Raphael featuring too heavily in the official report. She would describe him as a friend who was keeping her company and hope that the wheelchair again misled opinion.
The man’s name—he said—was Thomas Herbert and he did his best to smile and put her at ease. But it was an exercise that moved his lips only so it wasn’t a great success. Juliet recognized him for what we was—a troubleshooter. He seated himself so he faced her full on. If he was curious about her medieval garb or why she was entertaining men in wheelchairs in the middle of the night, he said nothing.
“You have something for me?” The voice was crisp.
“Yes.” She opened the end table and handed him the chip, still resting in its candy wrapper.
“I’m authorized to debrief you if you would prefer that to speaking with Mr. Merton on the phone. He did ask me to gather your informal impressions of the people involved. He says you have superlative instincts.” The voice gave no indication that he believed or disbelieved these statements.
“How kind of him to say so.” It amused Juliet to say this because she knew David would hear this. While David Merton had many stellar characteristics, kindness was not chief among them, nor did he wish it to be. “Do you have a recording device?”
“Yes.” Since he didn’t move to switch anything on, that meant he was already recording and she was more than ever glad that Raphael had said nothing.
Juliet took a long breath and made herself focus. She wanted to keep things short and on point and then to get to bed. She had been serious about wanting to leave Tahoe as soon as possible.
“This concerns the death of two brothers, Jeremiah and Joshua Holtz, and a shady businessman called Christopher Columbus who may be a federal asset—when he isn’t committing industrial espionage. Or other kinds of espionage….”
Chapter 11
Her cabin had the abandoned look of a place that has been left waiting, getting colder and lonelier every day. It reminded her about some poem that talked about hell being as cold as a great lord’s kitchen without a fire in it—or something like that.
But a match to the kindling stacked in the stove and Marley rubbing on her ankles soon made it home again.
Juliet blessed the quiet as she unpacked, carefully hanging her velvet dress and tucking away her gold sh
oes. They were her one happy souvenir.
She had given the chocolates to Garret in exchange for her cat. He had loved them, but she had the feeling that he had been a little sad to see Marley leave. Perhaps a feline was in his near future. Maybe for Christmas. The local cat rescue always had cats that needed good homes.
After she had made a cup of tea, Juliet went into her studio and stared with pleasure at her supply of canvasses, some filled, most not. They rested against the walls, blank and waiting like her earthenware pots, stained so many colors by the brushes she stored in them. Tomorrow she would set down in ink and paint some of the things she had seen while away—the mountains, the lake maybe. But not the blizzard and the things hiding in it. That wasn’t something she wanted looking back at her, and the images in her head were not anything that appealed to her commercial market. It was art strictly for art’s sake.
The old crank phone clanged. Seven rings meant the call was for her and coming from somewhere in the compound. The choices of caller were limited because most of her neighbors were still away.
“Hello,” she said hoping it was the right person on the end of the line.
“We’re in luck. We’ll be eating goose and plum pudding tomorrow night.” Raphael sounded happy and she found that she also felt lighter for hearing his voice and knowing that she would be seeing him soon.
“I’ll brush up my bah, humbug.”
“And God bless us, every one.”
Juliet hung up her phone. She was smiling.
About the Author
Melanie Jackson is the author of over 60 novels. If you enjoyed this story, please visit Melanie’s author web site at www.melaniejackson.com.
eBooks by Melanie Jackson:
The Chloe Boston Mystery Series:
Moving Violation
The Pumpkin Thief
Death in a Turkey Town
Murder on Parade
Cupid’s Revenge
Viva Lost Vegas
3 Requiem at Christmas Page 10