To Hell in a Handbasket

by Beth Groundwater

  After stowing her gear in the ski closet and hanging up her outer layer garments, she entered the living room. The place was as dark and quiet as a tomb. The puzzle lay half done on the dining room table, and no note was in evidence.

  Where the hell are Roger and Judy?

  Her leg muscles reminded her that they had been stretched in new and painful ways that day as she crouched in the snowplow stance with Leon. She imagined he was sore, too. Rather than numbing the pain with alcohol like he probably was doing as his driver negotiated the mountain passes on the way to Colorado Springs, she headed upstairs for the trusty ibuprofen bottle.

  The shades were drawn in the master bedroom, so she turned on the light. Roger lay sprawled on his stomach on the bed, snoring quietly with one hand cupped under his face. Claire felt a flash of irritation. Here she had been worrying about him and Judy, and he had been snoozing. She shook him awake.

  He rolled over, stretched, and blinked his eyes. “Oh, you’re back. How was it?”

  “Where’s Judy?”

  “Asleep in her room, I suspect. After lunch and some shopping in town, we both decided to take a nap.”

  “Why didn’t you answer the phone all the times I called?”

  “I turned off the ringer so we could sleep.”

  “Did Judy ever check her cell phone?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Claire rushed downstairs and peeked into Judy’s darkened bedroom. Her daughter lay on the bed in the fetal position as if she felt cold, half covered by a comforter. After listening for a few reassuring slow breaths, Claire gently pulled the comforter to Judy’s shoulders.

  She noticed the blinds were half open and stepped over to close them. As her hand grasped the cord, she spotted movement in the bushes outside. Claire froze. Her breath caught in her throat. She peered outside, but in the twilight, she couldn’t make out what lurked in the darkened woods.

  A shadow swept between two sturdy pine trunks.

  Oh, God.

  She closed the blinds so anyone out there couldn’t see in and target Judy. She rushed through the Jack-and-Jill bathroom to the unoccupied bedroom on the other side. Kneeling on the bed, Claire clutched the windowsill above the headboard, cracked apart

  a couple of blinds and peered outside. Her heart hammered against her ribcage so hard it shook her, but nothing moved outside.

  “What are you doing?” Roger flipped on the bedroom light.

  “Turn that off. Now!”

  Roger turned off the light and came to the side of the bed. He glanced out the window, then at Claire. “What’re you looking at?”

  Claire peered outside again, but still saw nothing. “I don’t know. Something moved out there. Could be a deer or could be a mob killer with a sniper rifle getting ready to shoot Judy.”

  “What the hell?”

  “We need to call the police.”

  “And tell them you’re seeing bogeymen in the woods? I don’t think they’d come out for that. What’s made you so paranoid all of a sudden?”

  Claire’s eyes burned from straining to see through the dark woods. “Leon gave me some terrifying information.”

  Roger sat on the bed and took her arm. “Sit down and tell me about it.”

  “No!” She yanked her arm away. “You come up here and look with me. Hunt for anything that moves.”

  Roger knelt next to her, separated two blinds, and looked out. “Now tell me what’s going on.”

  Claire glanced at him to verify he was dutifully searching the woods then returned to her own vigil. “Judy’s in real danger.” She related the whole lunch conversation with Leon while staring out the window.

  “I don’t understand. Why the hell would the Russian mob be targeting Judy? What’s Detective Silverstone say?”

  “Nothing yet. He went to Denver, probably with Anthony’s computer. I left a message at his office, but he hasn’t called.”

  “I think our best course of action is to have him check out Leon’s story.”

  “But what if Petrov is stalking her right now?”

  Right then, the complex’s outdoor lights switched on. A stag stepped out from behind the cluster of pine trunks that Claire had been monitoring and leapt onto the spotlighted, snow-covered lawn behind the townhouse.

  “There’s your stalker.” Roger dropped his hand from the blinds and pulled Claire down to sit on the bed next to him. “Do you think you could be drawing some hasty conclusions? I know you trust Leon, but who’s to say his source is reliable?”

  “Leon trusted him.”

  Roger ran his fingers through his hair, mussing it even more than his nap had. “This whole story doesn’t make sense to me. A killer goes to a memorial service to scope out his victim—the girlfriend of the deceased’s brother, his employer’s accountant’s son?”

  Slapping her thighs in frustration, Claire said, “He could have. I don’t know.”

  “Okay, let’s say your crazy notion is true. What can we do about it? You’ve already alerted Silverstone.”

  “We could call the police and get them to protect Judy.”

  “They aren’t going to do that, not without real proof she’s a target. And Silverstone’s the one to get that proof.”

  Claire nibbled on her lip. “We could take Judy to Colorado Springs.”

  “Do you really think she’d go? Leave Nick?” Roger smoothed his hand across Claire’s hunched shoulders. “Look, this townhouse is in a row of four, the whole complex is lit up like Christmas, and the houses on either side of us are occupied. What was his name, Petrov? He’d be stupid to do anything here where there’re so many witnesses.”

  Crossing her arms tight across her chest, Claire mulled over the situation. She finally had to conclude Roger was right. She blew out a breath. “Okay, we’ll wait for Silverstone to call.”

  Roger massaged her shoulders. “You’re tenser than an overwound spring.”

  Claire blinked back tears. “I can’t help it if I’m worried. I’m her mother.”

  “I know. And I’m her father.” He circled his thumbs along the back of her neck and kissed the top of her head. “But worry won’t solve anything. And it may not even be justified. Judy’s safe and sound for the moment. All we can do is wait. The next move is Silverstone’s.”

  Feeling her panic-tightened muscles loosen under Roger’s ministrations, Claire sighed and laid her head on his shoulder. She hoped he was right, but niggling doubt knotted her stomach.

  “That’s better. I know what you need right now—a soak in the hot tub and a glass of wine.” He gave her a pat on the behind. “Go get into your swimsuit.”

  The two of them went upstairs to don swimsuits, robes, and rubber flip-flops. While Roger went into the kitchen to open a bottle of wine, Claire popped a couple of ibuprofen for her sore legs. She stared at herself in the bathroom mirror, willing her anxiety to subside. When she came downstairs, Roger stood by the sliding glass door with two plastic cups and an opened bottle of Riesling.

  He arched a brow at her. “Ready for our rendezvous?”

  No. “You bet.”

  She preceded him out onto the deck into the frosty evening and quickly pulled off the hot tub cover, anxious to slip into the warm water before the below-freezing air chilled her even more. She shucked her robe and sandals and climbed into the marbled-green acrylic tub, easing into the steaming water. The temperature difference took her breath away and made her toes burn, but her body quickly adjusted as she moved to a corner seat.

  After setting the bottle and cups on a built-in shelf in the corner of the tub, Roger followed her lead and slid into the tub with a loud “aahh.” He poured two servings of wine, handed a cup to Claire, and tapped his against hers. “Now this is the life. Why haven’t we gotten in this tub before?”

  Claire sipped some wine, taking a surreptitious scan of the woods over the rim. Cut it out, Claire. No one’s there.

  She leaned her head against the side of the tub and let her feet float up in
the soothing water. “Too much happening, I guess. But you were right, this is exactly what I needed.”

  She pushed the button for the air jets and set them to low for a gentle bubble massage. She positioned herself so a set of jets thumped against her back, loosening the tight muscles. Then she found a jet near her feet and ran her soles over it for a foot massage.

  “I feel guilty,” Roger said, with eyes closed and blissful smile on his face. “I didn’t even ski today to deserve this.”

  Claire gave a little laugh. “And I snowplowed all morning. After walking the streets all afternoon looking for you two, my thighs were killing me.”

  “Sorry about that. I’ll remind Judy to turn her phone on.”

  In companionable silence, they sipped their wine and gazed at the stars beyond the tall, swaying pine trees. When their cups were empty, Roger refilled them. After taking a few sips of his, he set it aside, took Claire’s out of her hand, and placed the cup next to his.

  He tilted her chin up and gave her a soft, lingering kiss.

  She opened her eyes and saw the familiar half-lidded gaze that signaled Roger had lovemaking in mind. Feeling languid and soothed, Claire couldn’t agree more. She licked her lips and parted them, inviting him in for a taste.

  Slipping his tongue between her lips, Roger cupped her breast and teased the nipple with his thumb through the thin fabric of her swimsuit.

  “Oh, gross.”

  Blinking, Claire sat up, releasing Roger from the kiss.

  Judy stood on the deck with arms akimbo, staring at her father’s hand on her mother’s breast.

  With a wry smile, Roger slipped his hand into the water and moved away to fetch his cup of wine.

  Frowning, Judy said, “Should I leave you two alone?”

  “No. We thought you were still asleep.” Claire beckoned. “Please come in. You need to relax as much as we do.”

  When Judy hesitated, Roger added, “C’mon, honey, don’t stand out there in the cold.”

  Judy hung her towel on the deck rail next to the hot tub and turned her back to her parents to sling a leg over the side of the tub. As she climbed in, her pink bikini bottom slid down.

  Claire gasped. “What’s that?”

  Judy looked down over her shoulder. “Damn.”

  Claire crooked a finger over the edge of the bikini bottom fabric and slid it partway down to reveal a two-inch tattoo of a purple and blue butterfly.

  Judy pushed her mother’s hand away and tugged up her suit bottom to cover the tattoo. She slumped into the water, sat on the offending artwork, and glared at Claire. “I don’t want Dad seeing my butt crack.”

  “Your father’s seen your bottom many a time, Judy. I wasn’t the only one who changed your diapers.”

  Roger grinned and Judy rolled her eyes.

  “But I’m more worried about whoever tattooed you. He or she saw plenty. I hope it was a she.”

  From the half-guilty, half-defiant expression on Judy’s face, Claire could tell the tattoo artist was not a she. “When and where did you get that done?”

  “Two months ago, in Lyon.”

  “Are you crazy? Getting a tattoo in France? What are their safety standards? How do you know they used a clean needle? Did you research the place?”

  Judy pursed her lips. “I’m not an idiot, Mom. Yes, I researched the place, and France has even stricter standards for their tattoo places than the U.S. does. They know about AIDS and hepatitis there, too. It’s not a third-world country.”

  Claire was still having trouble digesting the fact that Judy had actually gotten a tattoo. She crossed her arms. “Well, I don’t like it one bit.”

  Judy shrugged. “It’s a little late now. It’s permanent, you know.”

  “I wish you’d talked to us first about it, though.”

  “I’m an adult.” Judy picked up Claire’s cup of wine and took a sip. “I don’t need your permission to get a tattoo.”

  Roger laid his hand on Claire’s arm.

  The touch was enough to make her pause before she blurted out a quick retort. No, Judy didn’t need their permission, and she was old enough to make up her own mind about mutilating her body, but . . . Claire glanced at her daughter.

  Don’t push her away, Claire. You need to keep her close, especially now, when her life may be in danger. Should I tell her? No, she wouldn’t believe me, would call it maternal paranoia. Better to let Owen tell her after he verifies Leon’s information—and finds out if the Russian mob is really after Judy, and if so, why.

  Claire let out a deep sigh. “Sorry, honey. Seeing the tattoo was such a shock. I never thought you’d . . . Never mind. Let’s not let this spoil our evening, okay? At least it wasn’t a belly-button ring.” Claire shuddered as an image of rampant infection spreading in Judy’s gut appeared in her mind.

  An evil grin split Judy’s face. “That’s next on the agenda.”

  Oh, God.

  _____

  The phone rang Sunday morning. Claire snatched up the receiver.

  “Claire, this is Sheriff Silverstone. I’m returning your call. Hope I didn’t wake you.”

  She rubbed the sleep out of her eyes and checked the clock. Nine-fifteen. She was amazed she had been able to sleep after hearing Leon’s news. Guess I needed the rest.

  She sat up and cupped her hand over the receiver so as not to wake Roger. “Don’t worry. I’m usually wide awake by this time. I have something to show you. Can I meet you at your office?”

  “I’m here now.”

  “I’ll be right over.”

  Claire went in the bathroom to splash cold water on her face then threw on a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt and ran a comb through her hair. She looked like hell, but this was important. She had begged Leon to give her the photo of Ivanov and Petrov, in exchange for a promise not to leave it with the detective. Leon’s source, the man who had taken the photo, felt jumpy that the Russian mob would trace it back to him if it became evidence. I would, too, if the price of discovery was a body part, or even your life.

  Claire grabbed an energy bar, wrote a note to Roger, peeked in on Judy sleeping soundly in her dark basement room, then went out to the car, her breath fogging in the cold mountain air. When she arrived at the justice center, the door to the sheriff’s office was locked. She knocked on the glass.

  In a moment, Owen appeared behind the door and opened it for her. He was dressed casually in jeans and a sweatshirt. “I’m the only one in today, so I left the door locked.”

  “You got coffee?”

  “Sure do.” He glanced at her face as he led her to a small kitchenette. “Looks like you could use a cup.”

  Claire raised a brow.

  He winced. “Sorry, shouldn’t have said that. I’ve got the tact of a bull elephant.”

  Claire gave a half-hearted laugh while Owen poured coffee into a sheriff’s office mug and handed it to her. She sipped the bitter slurry. Good, it’s strong enough to wake an elephant. She took another swallow. Just what this old elephant needs.

  “I know I look like hell. Feel like it, too. But I needed to show you a photograph. Unfortunately, I made a promise not to let you keep it.”

  With a puzzled look, Owen led her to his office. “What’s this all about?”

  “I have a source—a drug boss I met a couple of months ago.”

  Owen’s eyes went wide, then a wry smile tugged at the corners of his lips. “You seem to have a habit of hanging around with the wrong people. If they’re not the targets of criminals, they’re criminals themselves.”

  Once again, Claire wished she could have done something to stop Stephanie or Boyd from dying. “While the dead tell no tales, criminals can be a good source of information.”

  “So, who’s this drug boss?”

  “His name is Leon and I trust him.” Between sips of coffee, Claire told about her previous day’s discussion with Leon and his description of Ivanov’s and Petrov’s backgrounds. She pulled the photo out of her pocket and pointed ou
t the two men.

  After studying the photo, Owen said, “I dug up stuff on Ivanov at Denver PD similar to what you found. His gang seems to be involved primarily in financial crimes—extortion, loan-sharking, white-collar fraud, and money-laundering for drug rings. Is that how your contact knows him?”

  “No. Leon said he stays away from the Russians. Claims they’re too dangerous for him. That scares me. In fact, Leon thinks Ivanov brought Petrov into the country to kill Judy.”

  “Your daughter? What the hell reason would he have?”

  “Maybe her dating Nick Contino is somehow a threat to Ivanov’s operation. Or to his plan to bring Nick into the business.”

  Owen nodded. “But murder seems excessive for that situation. There’re lots of ways to separate couples without harming one of them.”

  “It’s obvious your daughter hasn’t reached her teen years yet. Anyway, all I know is that Ivanov and Petrov were staring at Judy and seemed to be arguing about her at the reception after Stephanie’s memorial service. When I suggested to Leon that they may have been wondering about her suitability as a mob wife, which she definitely is not suitable for, by the way, Leon said Petrov isn’t concerned with those issues, only killing or hurting people at Ivanov’s command.”

  Claire shuddered and stared into her empty mug, afraid to broach the next subject, but knowing she had to. “I want to arrange for protection for my daughter until I can get her out of here, away from the Continos. Can your office do that?”

  Owen frowned at the open case file on the desktop before him. The file was already a couple of inches thick. He rolled the beaver fetish between the fingers of his left hand and looked up at Claire, his expression grim.

  “We don’t have the manpower to assign twenty-four-hour guard over someone unless we’ve got really clear cause. And a hunch by a drug boss just doesn’t cut it.”

  “But—”

  He held up his hand. “I know these Russians are dangerous, and I sympathize with your concern. But until I have solid proof that Judy is their target, I could talk to the sheriff until I was blue in the face, and he wouldn’t authorize the protection.”