by Judy Clemens
“Stella,” he said. He put his hands on the sides of my face, leaned in, and kissed me.
I planted my hands on his chest, ready to push him away, but stopped.
I was remembering a kiss four months before, in that very room. A kiss with Abe. A kiss that felt anything but how a kiss should feel.
This kiss was everything.
I slid my hands upward on Nick’s chest, circling my arms around his neck, and returned the kiss with more energy than I thought I possessed at the moment. My breath came deeper from within me now, and as my heart raced I pulled myself closer to Nick, feeling his response in his arms and kiss.
But just when I decided I couldn’t pull myself away, Nick stepped back. He reached up to grab my hands, and lowered them between us, resting them on his chest.
“What?” I said, more snappishly than I’d meant.
He smiled. “I’d say that felt right.”
I raised my eyebrows. “But?”
“But it’s late.”
I stepped back from him, while he kept holding my hands. It was late. But I hadn’t minded until he’d mentioned it.
He pulled gently, bringing me back toward him. “I’ll see you in the morning.” He kissed me again, more lightly this time, then let go of my hands and disappeared into the front room, where the couch awaited him.
I looked around, wondering what had happened and why I’d missed it. I closed the doors of the fireplace and went up to bed. Alone.
Chapter Sixteen
Christmas Day began with the smell of scrapple. Not a usual smell for that holiday, but a welcome one. After my alarm pulled me from a deep sleep and I’d put on jeans and beaten Lucy to the bathroom, I found Nick in the kitchen, frying up southeastern PA’s version of breakfast meat. One of those things you eat but try not to think about too much, like hot dogs. But put a little apple butter on a slab of scrapple, and it’s pretty close to early morning heaven.
“Couldn’t sleep?” I asked Nick.
He turned away from the stove long enough to smile and warm me up from my stomach to the farther reaches of my body.
“Thought I’d start Christmas off with something good.”
I thought of something that would start it off even better, but refrained from suggesting it, not sure how it would go over, or how I’d feel about it afterward.
“It smells great,” I said. “Want help?”
“Just with eating it. Go ahead and grab a plate. I’ve got some ready.”
I had just stuck my knife in the jar of apple butter when Lucy came in and spied the goods.
“Wow,” she said. “And a Merry Christmas to you, too.”
Nick laughed and pointed at the table with his spatula. “Have a seat.”
Lucy gave me a look of delight and pulled out a chair. “You seen the news yet?”
My stomach jumped. “No. Why?”
She inhaled sharply. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you. I assumed the detective hadn’t called, since I hadn’t heard the phone, and wondered if there was anything on the news about Wolf. Or if the weather’s better down in Virginia.”
I put my knife down, my appetite gone, and went out to the living room, where the early news had nothing new to report. Didn’t even mention Mandy’s murder, let alone Wolf’s status. You’d think a little kid being parentless on Christmas would’ve garnered more airtime. The one piece of relevant news was that the storm had moved on in Virginia. Roads were open, and Nick’s family and fellow Virginians were free to slip and slide around the highways.
Lucy appeared at my elbow. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to ruin breakfast.”
I bent my neck side to side and felt it pop. “S’okay. Maybe it’ll make me hungrier for lunch. You’re cooking, right?”
“Yeah. Lenny will be over mid-morning to help with that. And to help open presents, of course.”
“Of course.”
Nick came out from the kitchen, apparently having heard our conversation. “I can help with the milking again, Lucy, if you want to get started in the kitchen.”
Lucy looked at me.
“Fine,” I said. “He’s practically a pro by now. By this evening I’ll let him do it himself.”
Nick grimaced.
“What?” I said.
He stuck his hands in his back pockets. “I need to go home today.”
I stared at him. After what happened last night, he was leaving?
He sighed. “I talked with Liz, my oldest sister, last night. Mom really needs us all there. You know, the first Christmas without Dad.”
Lucy nodded. “You should go.”
I glared at her, all the while knowing she was right. I looked down at my fingernails and concentrated on pushing back a dried cuticle. “When?”
“I was thinking after lunch. That way I could be home for the evening. If that’s okay.”
“Of course it’s okay. I’m not going to keep you here if you want to leave.”
“I meant is it okay if I stay for dinner.”
“Oh.” I was being a jerk, and I knew it. Of course his family would want him home. Just like I’d been glad when Lucy decided to stay with me for Christmas instead of heading off to Lancaster.
Lucy laid her hand on Nick’s arm. “We’d love to have you stay for dinner. We have plenty of food.”
He looked at me. “Stella?”
“Stay as long as you can. But I’m sure you’re right. You belong there at least part of the day.”
He smiled with relief, whether because I’d said it was all right or hadn’t bitten his head off again, I wasn’t sure.
We worked companionably in the barn, as we had the day before, and held off from repeating last night’s events. We were part way through when the phone rang. I dropped my sponge in my bucket and jogged to my office. When I picked up the receiver, Lucy was already on the extension in the house, telling Detective Shisler I was in the barn.
“I’m here,” I said.
“Oh,” Lucy said. “Good.” I heard the click as she hung up.
“You get Tank?” I asked Shisler.
“We did. He’s supposedly ‘helping us with our inquiries,’ but won’t say anything until his lawyer shows up. Try getting a lawyer here on Christmas morning—I have a feeling Mr. Snyder’s going to be our guest for turkey and filling.”
“Lovely for you.”
“Tell me about it. Now I have a question. We’ve been trying to check up on his movements on Monday. What time would you say he left Wolf Ink?”
I considered this. “I don’t know. Four-thirty, maybe? Quarter till five?”
“Would work. The only thing he’ll tell us is that at six he was in the North Penn ER having those stitches sewn across his face. He claims he drove away from Wolf Ink—he says right after their disagreement—and slid his truck into a car parked along the road on the other side of town. Banged his face on his steering wheel and received a total of twenty-eight stitches.”
“Thought it looked like a lot of X’s. Do we know for sure he wrecked his face on his truck? Mandy or Wolf couldn’t have done it?”
“We checked out his steering wheel, but he’d already cleaned it up. The front end of the truck is damaged, but there’s no way of knowing when exactly that happened. And we have yet to find the other vehicle. It’s possible the owner moved it from where Snyder claims he hit it, but nobody’s filed a report.”
“So he could’ve gotten cut in a fight? Like if he’d kidnapped Wolf and Wolf attacked him? It could even have happened in the truck, or earlier, before he hit Mandy. She wouldn’t have hesitated to whack him one.”
“We’re certainly considering that. We’re hoping to have a technician go over his truck for signs of Wolf, but seeing how today’s a holiday it’s hard to find anyone, and like I said, Snyder’s already cleaned it out.”
“Tank’s big enough to overpower Mandy and then Wolf.”
Shisler made a grunt of agreement.
/> “Much more likely than John Greene,” I said. “Gentleman John’s kind of a weenie.”
She let out a laugh. “You’re right about that. Unless, of course, he had a weapon. Then all bets are off.”
Of course. And it wouldn’t surprise me if Greene had some sort of pearl-handled pistol we didn’t know about. That or a fancy sword.
“Tank acted like he didn’t even know Wolf was missing,” I said. “And certainly not that Mandy’s dead. Not that he cared—he seemed glad to hear they’d had trouble.”
“Yeah,” Shisler said. “No matter what he did, he’s still a jerk.”
I wondered why he hadn’t said anything about Wolf’s “other woman.” Probably just being as unhelpful as possible.
“What about Tank’s girlfriend?” I asked. “Think she could’ve helped him?”
“What a sorry specimen,” Shisler said. “Mary Detlor’s had dealings with us but nothing ever violent. More alcohol and illegal substance issues.”
Surprise, surprise.
“He won’t say anything else?” Like Wolf having a girlfriend with a butterfly tattooed on her cheek? I held my breath.
“Not a word. He’s shut up like an iced-over car door. Why?”
Why? “Just wondered.” Pangs of guilt shot through my stomach.
A sound of something dropping in the parlor brought me back to the present.
“Anything else?” I asked. “I’d better get back to work.”
“Not right now. I’ll call if I have any more questions. Until then, we’ll keep on Mr. Snyder.” She hung up without acknowledging Christmas again, and I trudged back to the parlor, feeling even guiltier for holding back on her than I did the night before. I swallowed the lump in my throat and tried to concentrate on the cows.
“They get him?” Nick asked.
“Yup.”
He let it go at that, seeming to realize I didn’t want to talk. When we got back into the house around eight, after making sure everything was ready for the milk truck to empty our tank later that morning, Lenny was already there, and Tess was about to explode with impatience.
“They’re here! They’re here!” she screamed into the kitchen. “Time to open presents!”
Lucy called from the kitchen. “Hold your horses, honey! We’re just about ready to put the turkey in the oven.”
“Oh, turkey.” Nick made salivating sounds, and Tess giggled and grabbed his hand.
“Come on. Let me show you which one’s yours.”
He threw me a glance, and I shrugged. I hadn’t put anything under the tree for him. I let him be dragged off by the eager youngster, and went into the kitchen.
“Hey, Len,” I said. “I guess I should say Merry Christmas but with all that’s happened I can’t really mean it.”
“And a not-really-meant Merry Christmas to you, too.” He slid the roaster into the oven and shut the door. “Any word on Tank?”
I told him about my conversation with Shisler.
“I guess it’s good they have him,” he said.
“I guess.”
“And I suppose she didn’t have any more news on Wolf’s whereabouts?”
I shook my head. My night had been interrupted with dreams of where he might be, and none of the situations were good. I hated to think about Billy, wondering where his parents were this Christmas morning.
I leaned on the doorjamb. “Bart didn’t hear anything, either?”
Lenny grabbed a dishrag to wipe some stray pieces of onion off his shirt. “Nope. Nobody knows anything. Lots of guessing, but nothing for sure.”
Tess appeared in the door. “Are you guys coming or not?”
“We’re coming, we’re coming,” Lucy said.
We trooped into the front room, where we’d set up the Christmas tree to get full use of the front windows. Any vehicle driving down the road in the dark got a great view of the white lights strung around our tree. Lucy was no skimper when it came to lights. We hardly even needed the lamps on in the room.
Tess had Nick situated on the floor, where he lay on his side, resting on his elbow. Lenny and Lucy took the sofa, which saved me from having to sit where Nick had been sleeping the last few nights. Nick smiled up at me and patted the floor in front of him. I hesitated, then crossed the room to sit by his feet, my knees pulled up in front of me. He scootched his legs so they were touching my back, and I sat up straighter.
“Okay, Santa,” Lucy said. “Do your thing.”
Tess clapped, then started passing out gifts one by one, until all of us had a couple of presents in front of us.
Lucy snuggled against Lenny and regarded her daughter. “Who goes first, sweetie?”
Tess tapped her finger against her chin, then began ordering who would open what, when. We had just gotten started, Lucy opening the Fix-it-and-Forget-it cookbook I’d gotten her with appreciation for her having become my personal chef, when the doorbell rang. Tess’ face fell.
“Don’t worry,” I said. “I’ll send them away.”
A woman stood on the stoop with a boy, probably about eleven or twelve. With a start, I realized it was Billy Moore, and this must be his grandmother. What was her name? Eve something. Freed? Yes. Freed. Forgoing my promise to Tess, I opened the door. “Come in. Please.”
The woman’s eyes were rimmed with red, the half-circles underneath them dark and puffy. She gently nudged Billy, and he stepped into the house.
“Hi, Billy,” I said.
He didn’t answer, keeping his eyes toward the floor.
I looked at the woman. “I’m so sorry. For everything.”
For leaving your daughter out in the cold to die.
She held out her hand, and I grasped it automatically. She patted my hand with her other one, then turned my wrist so she could see the half-done tattoo. Her eyes filled with tears, and she patted my hand again. “It’s not your fault, sweetheart. No one blames you for anything.”
Except me. I blamed me.
“Stella, are you coming?” Tess appeared in the doorway to the front room, Lucy at her heels. They both stopped short at the sight of Mrs. Freed and Billy.
Mrs. Freed took a breath. “I’m sorry. We should have called first. With everything that happened I almost forgot it’s…it’s Christmas.”
“It’s okay. Really. Lucy and Tess, this is—” God, what do I say? “This is Mrs. Freed. She needs to talk with me for a minute.”
Lenny angled his way through the front room’s door and came to the foyer. Mrs. Freed let go of my hand and accepted Lenny’s.
“I’m so sorry,” Lenny said.
She blinked. “You knew Mandy?”
“A little. She was an amazing woman.” Lenny turned to Billy and bent down to the boy’s level. “I’m sorry, buddy.”
Billy shrugged with one shoulder, but still looked at the carpet.
“If it’s a bad time—” Mrs. Freed began.
“It’s fine.” I nodded toward the sofa. “We can talk here, if you like.”
She glanced at Billy, and I reconsidered. “We can go out to my office. Let me get my coat.”
“Me, too?” Lenny asked.
Mrs. Freed looked up at him. “If you don’t mind…I think I’d prefer just…Stella.”
“Of course.” He picked up her hand again, which had fallen to her side. “If I can do anything for you, please let me know.”
“Tess,” Lucy said. “How about you show Billy the computer? Maybe there’s something he’d like to play.”
Billy’s head came up at that and Lucy gave Tess a gentle push.
“Sure,” Tess said. “Come on, Billy.”
Throwing Lucy a grateful glance, I grabbed my coat and led Mrs. Freed to the barn, through the winter wonderland of my yard. It really had turned out to be the white Christmas Bing used to croon about. We had other things to dream about this year.
Inside the parlor door Mrs. Freed stopped and gazed at the herd. Her face softened.<
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“You can touch one, if you want,” I said.
Her face lit up, and she stepped toward Cinderella, who stood calmly chewing her cud. When Mrs. Freed put her hand on the cow’s broad forehead the chewing stopped, and the cow watched her.
Mrs. Freed smiled. “She’s so big. But her eyes are kind.”
I patted Cinderella’s sizable flank. “They’re nice animals.”
When Mrs. Freed pulled her hand back and stepped away, Cinderella resumed her chewing, and I led Mrs. Freed on through the short hallway to my office. I took the seat behind the desk, unzipped my coat, and gestured to the visitor’s chair. Mrs. Freed lowered herself into it, at the same time pulling a tissue from her pocket and wiping her eyes. She didn’t bother to take off her coat or even her gloves.
“How can I help you?” I asked.
She took a deep breath, looked out the window, then focused her eyes on me.
“You were the last one to see them.”
“Yes, ma’am, I was.”
“How was she? My Mandy?”
I folded my hands on top of my desk. “Herself. Lively. Funny. Happy.”
She pinched her lips together. “I’m glad about that. I’d hate to think of her last day being a bad one.”
I sat silently, not knowing what to say.
“Why I’m here,” Mrs. Freed said, “is I’m so worried about Wolf. That he might be…that he could be hurt.”
Again, the desire to use the less threatening word. No one wanted to say dead.
“Do you have any idea where he might be?” I asked. “Anyone who might want him…hurt?”
She looked at her lap and twisted her hands together.
“Wolf and Mandy are…were…good people. Helpful people. But they also stood up for things. People’s rights, including their own. They aren’t pushovers.”
I almost smiled. That last afternoon alone Mandy, especially, had pissed off—or talked about pissing off—several people: Tank, the mom who wanted her twelve-year-old pierced, and Gentleman John. Then there were the ones I’d heard of since that day, like Lance Thunderbolt and the gangbanger.
“What about their political activities?” I asked.