by Lois Richer
“Just press the set alarm button and leave within twenty seconds.” Kelly chewed her bottom lip. “Um, Zach? The system wasn’t on when I came in.”
“Wasn’t on?” More writing.
“I punched in my code, but I didn’t need it,” she explained. “It wasn’t on. I’m sure someone just forget to set it in the hectic rush before the wedding today.” She wasn’t going to blame Florence.
“Anybody ever forgotten that little detail before?” Zach’s blue eyes were dark as thunderclouds.
“No. Not that I know of.”
“Uh-huh.” He scribbled in his little book some more, then peered at her through his lashes. “Anything else you can think of?”
“I don’t think so.” He kept staring at her, his gaze narrowed. “Really, Zach. I think that’s it.”
“Okay.” He flipped the pad closed. “Go home, Kelly. I’ll get hold of you if I need you again.”
“Thanks.” She glanced at her watch, grimaced. Quarter to eleven. What a way to spend an evening.
“I’ll take you whenever you’re ready,” Ross murmured.
“Thanks. I just have to get my things.”
Moments later they were in his car, rumbling toward Kelly’s home. When they arrived, she was surprised to see a police cruiser sitting outside, waiting.
“If you’ll go inside and check things out, ma’am,” the officer asked. “Zach asked me to make sure.”
She stared at him, the implication hitting home.
“You think someone has been here, in my house?” She felt a pressure on her arm, turned to study Ross’s face. “Surely no one would break in here?”
“He’s not saying they would,” Ross reassured. “He just wants to make sure you’re all right. Come on, Kelly. I’ll go with you. We’ll check things out together.”
She responded to the tug on her arm, followed Ross to the door. He took her keys, opened it and stepped inside, glancing around first, then waved her in. “Everything look the same as you left it?”
Her white cashmere coat was lying across the arm of the sofa where she’d thrown it, black heels nearby.
“I think so.”
“We’ll go through each room down here, move upstairs, then check out the basement. Don’t worry, I’ll be right beside you.” His fingers grasped hers, squeezed. “You deserve some peace of mind after what just happened. Checking everything will ensure that.”
Kelly squeezed back, but kept her hand in his, drawing him along with her. She felt weak, silly, afraid—the emotions jumbled together as she took him from room to room, nodding each time he asked, “Okay?”
By the time they’d returned to the foyer she’d regained some of her equanimity. With an apologetic look, she slid her fingers from Ross’s.
“Thanks,” she whispered, feeling the heat rise into her cheeks.
“Anytime,” he growled, grinning at her blush. Then he opened the door and addressed the officer. “We’ve been through the house. Everything looks fine.”
“Good. We’ll be patrolling past here every little while. You need anything, you dial 911.” He stared straight at Kelly, waiting for her nod.
“Thanks.” Ross closed the door, twisted the dead bolt, then turned to face her. “Would it be too much to ask for a cup of hot chocolate?”
“Of course not. I should have offered. Come on into the kitchen and I’ll put on some water to warm.”
Kelly found her feet moving slowly, as if by rote, and wondered why she couldn’t snap out of this cocoon that weighed her down. She wanted to tell Ross she was fine, that she could manage on her own. She didn’t want him to see her here in this big empty house, looking like a pathetic figure with no one in all of Chestnut Grove to turn to.
But wasn’t that exactly what she was?
“Have a seat. Would you like something to eat with your cocoa?” she asked, hoping he’d say yes.
Kelly had baked a mountain of things before Christmas, thinking she’d have plenty on hand when she invited people over. But holidays were family times and, because she hesitated to break into that laughing closeness that existed between reunited families who got together only once or twice a year, Kelly had ended up asking only a few guests. That left her with a freezer full of fattening food. Oh well, the food bank might take it.
“You wouldn’t have any chocolate cake, would you?” Ross asked. “I love chocolate cake, but no matter how well I read the cake mix instructions, I just can’t make a decent cake.”
The very thought of him mixing and blending made her smile, but she hid it by opening the fridge.
“You certainly are the man of the moment. I happen to have two of them sitting here, but only one is waiting to go to the church outing tomorrow.” She held the door open so he could see. “Is that what you’d like?”
At the sight of her mile-high chocolate layer surprise, his eyes grew huge. He licked his lips.
“Perfect. But are you sure you want to cut into one? If you were supposed to bring two—”
“Just one. But I always make two because the filling is a double recipe. Somehow it doesn’t taste right if you cut it in half so I always make two cakes. There’s plenty for you. I’ll give Pilar’s dad Salvador a quarter, take some to work, maybe even sneak a piece or two to Rachel’s father Charles if I think her mother won’t catch me.”
“Why shouldn’t she catch you?”
“Beatrice is vegan, vegetarian in the extreme. This cake is worse than red meat to her.” She giggled at his squinched-up face. “If nothing else, I can always throw what’s left away.”
“In the garbage?” Ross looked scandalized.
“What else? If I had a dog, I’d feed it to him, but then he’d probably get sick. It’s pretty rich,” she warned as she set the cake on the counter in front of him.
Ross seemed content to sit there, staring at the cake, so Kelly busied herself making two big mugs of hot chocolate, adding water to the gourmet mix she’d purchased. Then she laced both drinks with some leftover whipped cream. She sprinkled some peppermint mint chips on top, then added a striped candy cane poking through the cream.
Kelly carried her favorite etched mugs to the counter, set one in front of him and one at her own place. She got a plate, a knife, a cake lifter, two forks and a couple of festive napkins. In minutes she had two place settings on each of the quilted placemats she’d made for the holidays. With a flick of a button, the radio began playing soft music that filled the room and helped drain away some of the emptiness she felt inside.
“Aren’t you going to taste it?” she asked when Ross made no effort to pick up his fork.
“Uh-huh.” But he remained transfixed, his eyes riveted on the dark chocolate layers that sat on regal layers of pure white cream.
The sound of her grandfather clock chimed twelve and sent the sound echoing from the living room throughout the house.
“I’m a bit late but I don’t think I ever wished you a happy New Year, Ross,” she murmured, holding up her mug.
His eyes met hers. He reached out, grasped his mug and lifted it, touching the rim against hers.
“Happy New Year, Kelly.”
The phone chose that precise moment to ring. Kelly set down her untouched mug and lifted the receiver.
“You’ve been warned,” a voice cackled. Then the line went dead.
Chapter Three
Her silence wasn’t normal.
Ross glanced up from his drink, took one look at Kelly’s face and lifted away the receiver. He clamped it against his ear, but heard nothing.
“Who was it?”
“I don’t know.” She took the phone from him and hung it up. “They’re gone.” Her hand was shaking. “Before you ask, whoever it was said only one thing. Apparently I’ve been warned.”
Ross hated to see her so disturbed on what should have been a night for celebrating her friends’ marriage. Barricading her inside that closet had been no accident and a threatening phone call proved someone had malicious inten
t. But he wasn’t going to say it and add to her concerns, not now. He reached over, squeezed her fingers with his.
“I’ll call Zach.”
But Kelly stopped him. “Please, let it alone for now. Telling him in the morning will be soon enough. I don’t want to ruin the entire night for him.”
He didn’t like it but her tone was so beseeching that he finally nodded and let it go. “I guess they wouldn’t be able to set up tracers tonight anyway.” He hit * 69 and listened as a bodiless voice told him the call could not be traced.
“Probably used a cell phone. Or a pay phone.” She pretended lack of concern, though her cheeks were paper white. “Let’s take our food into the den. I’ll light a fire and we can reminisce about happier times.”
Though he followed her out off the kitchen and into the oak paneled den, cake and cup in tow, Ross knew he didn’t have a whole lot of memories he wanted to reminisce on. It was all right for Kelly, she’d had a happy childhood. His, not so much.
“Here we are.” She lit the fire then sank into a big armchair and waved him to a nearby seat. “Now tell me about yourself. You came here from Richmond?”
“Yes.” He knew from experience that not responding only elicited more questions in Chestnut Grove. “Originally from New York,” he muttered. “Brooklyn.”
“Wow! I’ve never lived in such a big city. It must be interesting.” She paused, waited for him to embellish, and when he didn’t she turned her attention to the fire. “Someone told me you used to be a cop. What was that like?”
“Ugly.” Her blink of surprise told him his one word had said too much to stop now. He took a sip of his drink while his brain organized his thoughts. “I was assigned to some pretty nasty areas. Too many drugs, too many weapons, too much poverty.”
“And you burned out?” She nodded, her brown eyes soft with compassion. “I can understand that. Sometimes I feel that way when an adoption doesn’t go through. The adoptive mom loves that child so much but all she can do is watch the child be taken away. It’s heartbreaking for both of them.”
Kelly fell silent, the cup still clasped between her hands though her mind was obviously on just such a case. Ross fidgeted, wished he could think of something to change the subject.
“Was there something specific that made you leave?” she asked several moments later. “I’ve heard that it usually takes a life-altering event for a police officer to move away from that line of work.”
“Private investigation isn’t that far off,” he murmured and sighed at her expectant gaze. “But yes, I did have a reason to get out. I almost killed a kid.”
He waited for the shock and horror those words always induced. Kelly Young displayed none of that. She simply sat in her chair, legs curled under her, watching him as if she knew there was more to the story.
Why was he telling her this when he’d kept it to himself for so long? Ross didn’t know but he blamed it on the fire and the intimacy it brought.
“He was strung out—crack, heroin, I don’t know which. Didn’t really matter. All of fifteen years old and he looked thirty.” He dragged a hand through his hair as his stomach knotted into a hard lump of anger. “He’d robbed a convenience store, assaulted the owner and taken his gun. When I got there the kid was strutting his stuff in the street, waving that gun like it was Excalibur and he was Arthur.”
Ross closed his eyes, relived the moment.
“I tried to talk him down, tried reason, control, everything I could think of. He was too high. A little girl came around the corner. He grabbed her, pointed the gun at her head.” He stared at Kelly, prayed she’d understand. “I had to take my best shot. I couldn’t let another innocent die. I couldn’t stand there and let it happen.”
“Of course you couldn’t. I understand that.” She leaned forward, her hair slanting over her smooth pale cheek as she set her untouched drink on the table. Then she reached out to touch his knee. “You did your job, Ross.”
“Yeah, I did.” He pinched his lips together. Some job. Shooting a fifteen-year-old addict. “It was the third drug call that night, all of them violent. By the time I got back to the station I knew I couldn’t do it anymore. So I handed in my notice, worked my time and left.”
It was a little more complicated than that, but she didn’t need to know.
“And came to Richmond.” A soft sweet smile tilted up her lips. “That was when?”
“Two years ago.”
“And you’ve never gone back?”
“A couple of times.” He did not want to get into this now.
“I suppose you miss your friends from the precinct. Or is it the fast pace of the work?”
“Neither.” He swallowed, sucked in a breath. “I went to see my mother. And my sister, Trista.”
“That’s nice. Your mother must love having you back to spoil.” The look in her eyes told him she’d shared a lot of happy times with her adoptive mother.
“Hardly. I doubt she even knew if I was there. She has Alzheimer’s. Most of the time she doesn’t even know who I am.” Ross couldn’t stop the rush of words. He’d have to get out more often. Maybe that would help him get control of his tongue.
Something, possibly pity, washed over Kelly’s face. He hated seeing it, didn’t want her to offer him that. Ross blurted out the first thing that came into his head.
“When are you going to see Sandra?”
Kelly’s alabaster skin lost some of the faint glow it had begun to regain and stretched a little tighter. “I don’t know.”
“Soon?”
“I told you, I don’t know when. Too much has happened, I haven’t had a chance to really think about it.” She stared at her hands, fingers threaded together. “I suppose after the holidays.”
“This is after the holidays. Tomorrow?” he persisted, knowing she hated being pressed but he was worried on Sandra’s behalf. She’d waited so long for that special moment when she’d finally meet her long-lost child. Surely Kelly could understand that.
Kelly shook her head. “I can’t tomorrow. I told you, we’re having a church social. We usually spend the afternoon at the ski hill. After that we go to the Morrow mansion. Lindsay Morrow—do you know her?”
“Know of her.” He nodded. “The mayor’s wife.”
“Yes. Around here she’s known for her big society events. Remember the Christmas tree lighting and reception? Well, every year she hosts a second event at her home a few days after the festive season is finished—to celebrate the New Year, she claims. It’s always a big deal, casual, but something we all talk about for weeks to come.”
“Talk about, why?” He couldn’t fathom what that odd little note in her voice alluded to.
“I guess you’d have to know Mrs. Morrow to understand.” Kelly nibbled on her fingernail, her smooth forehead furrowed. “They go to our church sometimes, but…well, she’s not a joiner. She’s more high society than most of us, moves in a different circle.”
“There are circles in little old Chestnut Grove?” he teased, then watched her cheeks flush a warm clear rose.
“Sort of. People like the Morrows belong to the country club set. You know, the wealthy, perfect people. I mean, have you ever looked at Lindsay Morrow? She could have been a model with that rail-thin body of hers. Makes the rest of us envious.”
“Really?” He thought Kelly was far more attractive. Judging by tonight, he’d found her comfortable to be around, friendly, the kind of person you could easily talk to. She was also gorgeous; the whole package was perfect. By contrast, Mrs. Morrow, whenever he’d met her, seemed cold, standoffish. “I guess she looks okay, but—”
“Okay?” Kelly laughed. “Lindsay Morrow is pure glam. The way her glossy black hair swoops across that aristocratic jaw, never a hair out of place. Those deep, dark midnight eyes, the straight confident set of her shoulders—she’s regal. Her clothes only reinforce her image—nothing but designer labels.”
“Huh.” He mulled it over. “Ambitious, powerful, privil
eged. It’s intimidating. She’s the opposite of Sandra, I guess. I think I’d feel like an overgrown oaf around Mrs. Morrow, but Sandra always makes me feel welcome. She gets this look, kind of a shy smile that makes you glad you came to see her.”
“Really?” The temperature of Kelly’s voice dropped several degrees.
“Really.” Ross frowned. “Why do you hate her?”
“Me? I don’t hate Sandra Lange. Not at all.” Bright red spots of color appeared in her cheeks. To hide it, she fiddled with her mug of hot chocolate, then rose to her feet with some excuse about cookies and rushed out of the room. When Kelly finally came back she carried a dish of gingersnaps and a glass of milk.
She held out the plate.
“These used to be my dad’s favorite,” she murmured, then froze, her eyes flying to his. “My adoptive father,” she corrected. She took a deep breath, met his gaze head on. “I just realized—if you know who my birth mother is, you must know who my biological father is as well?”
He hated lying to her, hated the secretiveness Sandra had insisted upon. But the secret was not his to share.
“You’ll have to ask Sandra,” he murmured. “It’s something she should tell you.”
“Of course.” She stared at the big round cookie, took a bite. After a moment she pointed to the bowl. “Help yourself.”
He moved to take one, then realized that the luscious piece of chocolate cake still sat on the plate on the table in front of him.
“I’d rather eat this,” he told her with a grin. “What’s with that glass of milk?”
“I’ve changed my mind. I don’t feel like hot chocolate tonight. Too much of a good thing at Christmas, I guess. Anyway, Dad always said gingersnaps and milk were made to go together.”
They sat together in front of the fire, he with his chocolate overload, she with her cookies and milk. She had the art of dipping down to a science, holding the cookie in the milk just long enough to saturate it, but not long enough for it to fall apart. Then she’d slip the sopping bit into her mouth. She caught him staring and grinned.