Caley showed her the bottle.
Susan took it and scooped all the tablets back inside. “I’ll get you some more.”
Caley picked at a small rip in the tablecloth. “He had something on his mind.”
“Zach did? What?”
“He’s not a real talky kid, but if there was something on his mind and I asked, he’d tell me. If he didn’t want to tell me, he’d just say so.”
“He’d tell you something was bothering him, but that he didn’t want to tell you what it was?”
“Yeah.”
“You’d accept that? You didn’t try to find out what it was?”
“I figure a kid has things come up in his life he doesn’t want to discuss just like there are things in my life I wouldn’t want to talk about. He’s an intelligent person and entitled to be treated like one.”
Susan thought not many parents had that attitude.
“Maybe he was hit by a car!”
“No one answering Zach’s description has been taken to Emergency.”
“Maybe he hasn’t been spotted yet.”
“Patrols are looking. We’ll find him.”
“That’s what cops always tell hysterical mothers. ‘We’ll find him.’ I’ve seen the TV shows. Months or years from now some pathetic little bones are found and—” Caley burst into sobs.
“Oh God, oh God, people go missing all the time. How many are found? It’s so cold. He’ll freeze. He could be lying somewhere. Like that poor old—” She jumped up. “The Littles!”
Susan took her hands. “The Littles are fine. Please, sit down. We’re looking for Zach. We’ll find him.” She was thinking maybe she should call Dr. Cunningham for a sedative when Caley took a breath, blew her nose forcefully, and straightened her back.
“I have to go to the Littles. They’ll be scared, and Mat isn’t too used to the parenting thing.”
“Sure,” Susan said. “Ask Mat to come in here.”
* * *
Mat James came in immediately. “Any word?” His face was pale and the lines around his eyes and mouth were deeper, and exaggerated even more by the harsh ceiling light. He looked defeated, a man standing on the mountaintop of middle age and seeing before him nothing but the same grayness of his life day after day.
“Not yet, Mr. James, but a lot of people are looking,” she said. “Please sit down.”
Mat got a mug from the cabinet, looked at the empty coffee carafe, and rummaged in the cabinet for instant coffee. He spooned crystals into the mug and filled the teakettle with water before he sat down.
“Zach is the child of your first wife,” Susan said.
“Yes. That have anything to do with him taking off on his bike?”
“Does he know her family? Would he get in touch with any of them?”
Mat pinched the bridge of his nose. “Kathleen—his mother, biological mother—died.”
Susan nodded.
“She didn’t have any family. She was an only child. Both her parents died in a plane crash. They were going on a vacation to—” He put his hand on his forehead, then slid it down until it covered his eyes. After a moment, he brought it down to his chin. “I can’t remember where. Somewhere in Mexico. She had a couple of aunts somewhere, but Zach doesn’t know them.”
“Where might he have gone?”
“To see a friend would be my guess.”
“What friend?”
The teakettle shrieked, and he filled the mug with hot water, then held it out with a questioning look.
“No thanks,” Susan said.
Mat took a sip, winced, set the mug down, and rubbed his lip.
“You never told Caley,” Susan said, “about the death of Deirdre Noel, or your long friendship with Branner?”
Mat took in a breath and murmured, almost to himself, “Bran and I were going to get rich together.”
“How?” She was hoping, with the stress of his son missing, he’d let something slip.
He shook his head. “Long in the past. The murder of his wife was a tragedy. I didn’t understand it then and I don’t understand it now. It happened twelve years ago. What does it have to do with Zach?”
Maybe nothing, she thought. A cop asked questions. “Why would Noel want information about Caley?”
“He didn’t know her.”
“Would he be looking for revenge? Felt all his years in jail were your fault?”
“Haven’t we gone over this already?”
“The prosecution at the trial claimed you were the motive for the homicide. You were having an affair with his wife.”
“It wasn’t true. What does any of this have to do with Zach?” he said again, with more impatience.
What indeed? She had a homicide and a missing child. How were they connected? She asked more questions. Nothing came from any of them.
Finally, she said, “Ask your mother to come in here, please.”
He rose, for a moment looked like he was going to say something, but simply nodded and left.
* * *
Ettie Trowbridge looked ten years older than when Susan first saw her. Nothing like adversity to take years off your life. Her face was drawn, her eyes red and bloodshot from crying. A lace-edged handkerchief was crushed in her hand.
“I am so irritated with Caley. If that child is hurt or lost—”
“Please try not to worry, Mrs. Trowbridge,” Susan said. “We’ll find him.”
“If Caley watched these children like she should, this wouldn’t have happened. She’s negligent. Always has been. More concerned with her own goings-on than with the children.”
“How is she negligent?” Susan asked sympathetically, implying that Ettie herself would never be anything of the sort.
“She lets them do whatever they want, go all over the place by themselves, and doesn’t make sure responsible adults are present. She has men in the house.” Ettie’s breath caught on a sob. “If anything happens to that child, I’ll—I’ll just die, that’s all.”
“What men?”
“First a man in the basement and now that Devereau man and God knows who else.”
“Evan Devereau, you mean? The music director at the church?”
“Yes, well, he shouldn’t be here. She should know better. She should think of the children.”
“And the man in the basement; Caley claimed he was only here twice and that was to repair the furnace.”
Ettie waved that away and daintily blew her nose. “I’m sorry, pay no mind. I didn’t mean it. Even Caley wouldn’t take up with a man who has a tattoo. I’m just so upset—”
Susan’s cell phone rang and she dug it from her shoulder bag.
“A bicycle’s been found,” Hazel said.
27
“Where?” Susan took pen and notebook from the shoulder bag at her feet and scribbled down the address Hazel gave her. Ettie watched with a fearful questioning expression.
“Is it Zach?” Caley stood in the doorway with Mat behind her. “Where is he?”
“A bicycle’s been found,” Susan said.
Caley sagged. Mat caught her and, when he pulled her into his arms, she didn’t resist. She desperately needed someone to lean on right now; even an ex-husband would be better than nothing.
Susan gave Demarco a short nod and he followed her out. As they hurried toward the pickup, she pulled on gloves. He didn’t even have his coat buttoned. Probably ate nails for breakfast.
“Learn anything?” Cold air clawed painfully at her throat.
He shook his head. “Mat needs money. That was apparent from a conversation his mother started. Mat shut her up. He’s guilty of something. I don’t know if it’s the homicide.”
It confirmed her own feeling, but didn’t get them any further. “Dig into the man,” she said. “His job, his extracurricular activities, his playmates. What he buys. How he gets his money, drives the car he drives, and lives where he does.”
Demarco nodded. A man of a thousand words with nine hundred left. She got
into the pickup and he headed for the squad car.
“And Demarco?”
He didn’t click his heels, but he did spin on one.
“This isn’t the military. Watch yourself.”
A smile flashed across his face.
What had she unleashed by setting him on Mat James?
The bicycle had been located on Brooks Street, near the 4-H fairgrounds, but before she’d gone two blocks the radio stuttered at her.
“Yes, Hazel.”
“Crenshaw found the James boy.”
A rigid tension in her neck and shoulders that she’d been barely aware of slowly eased as she let out a long breath. “Can you patch me through to him?”
“Sure, hold on.”
A series of clicks and then Crenshaw said, “Ma’am?”
“Is the child all right?”
“Mostly. He was trying to get himself and his bicycle home with maybe a broken ankle when he figured he better leave the bike and just get himself home. Marshall found the bike. I spotted the kid just around the corner. Paramedics took him to ER.”
“What happened?”
“He says he was just riding when he hit a grate in the road. The bike did a somersault and he came down hard on his right ankle.”
“Thanks, Crenshaw.” Susan got Caley on the phone and told her Zach had apparently hurt his ankle in a bicycle accident and was at the hospital emergency room.
* * *
Trying not to wince, Zach lay back on the table. The technician jerked the bulky X-ray machine around and maneuvered it out of the cubicle. “The doctor will be back soon,” she said.
He was really in trouble, Zach thought. Mom was going to go into liftoff and Baines was going to kill him. Why would the creepy hulk think Zach had the money? Because it was gone, obviously. Even a dumbass like Zach should be able to figure that out. Since he hadn’t taken it and it was gone, somebody else blew away with it. Okay, who? How was he going to convince Baines he didn’t have it?
Mom was going to explode in here like a tornado any minute, so he better get his story ready.
Sure enough, not twenty seconds later, she swooped in, his dad right behind her, and grabbed him in a hug. “Zach, I’ve been so worried.”
As soon as she let go, his dad hugged him. “Hey, buddy.”
“I’m okay,” he said.
“Where were you?” his mom demanded. “You’re hurt. The cop said something about your leg. What hap—”
The tired-looking doctor with black curly hair came in carrying X-rays. He whacked one on the view box and clicked on a light. A foot showed up. With about a zillion bones. Cool.
“What’s wrong?” Caley snatched Zach’s hand and kissed it, then held it against her face. He didn’t yank away; she’d probably cry. She was almost there anyway.
The doctor saw him squirm and winked. “You’re lucky, young man. There aren’t any broken bones in the ankle. It’s a severe sprain. But—” Taking a pen from his lab coat pocket, he traced a line on a bone in the foot. “See that? You fractured the shaft of the first metatarsus.”
“He has a broken foot?”
“Toe, actually, but he’s otherwise healthy, and the bone will mend in no time. Does it hurt?” he asked Zach.
Zach shrugged. “Some.”
The doctor nodded. “We’ll take care of that.”
Zach swallowed some pills. He was told to put ice on the ankle at intervals tonight, keep it elevated, and: “Most important, keep off it.” He was fitted with crutches and given an Ace bandage, his mom was handed more pills for him to take later, and his dad pushed him out in a wheelchair.
The pills were great. At first he pretended they made him dopey. Pretty soon he didn’t have to pretend.
28
“Don’t be mad at Zach, Mommy,” Bonnie murmured sleepily when Caley went in to check on her.
“Okay.” Caley leaned down to kiss her.
Bonnie put an arm around her pillow and bunched it under her cheek. “He had something to do.”
“What?” Tugging gently, Caley tucked the blankets around her daughter’s shoulder. Very petite, Bonnie was. Tiny little bones that seemed so fragile, like a little bird’s.
Bonnie yawned. “Help Daddy.”
“Do what?”
Bonnie twitched her shoulder. “Dunno.”
If Mat had involved Zach in any of his problems, Caley was going to yank out his heart and feed it to Mrs. Frankens’s cat. She went into Adam’s bedroom.
“Zach okay?” Adam asked.
“Yeah. He fell off his bike and broke his toe, but he’ll be fine.”
“He’s neat, isn’t he?”
“Zach?” She couldn’t believe he was talking about his brother and thought he meant Mat. She could hardly trust herself not to blurt out what an idiot jerk his father was.
“That cop.” Adam lowered his voice. “A Marine keeps everything neat.”
“Yeah, he’s neat.” Sitting on the edge of the bed, she bent over and kissed Adam’s cheek.
She snapped out the light and started to leave.
“Mom?”
“What, sweetie?”
“Are you mad at Zach?”
“I was,” she said as mildly as she could. “Because I was worried and didn’t know where he was.”
“Are you going to ground him?”
Until he’s thirty-five.
She looked in on Zach, sound asleep. Mat was in the kitchen sipping the last of the instant coffee. “You want this?” He offered it to her.
“What are you up to?”
“What?” He looked at her, and when she didn’t respond said, “What?”
“What’s Zach helping you with?”
He shook his head, letting her know she was way nuts. “What are you talking about?”
“Have you borrowed money again? Mixed Zach up in it?”
Mat smiled, that charming, sexy smile. “You’re tired. Go to bed. I’ll stick around a while so you can get some sleep.”
“Go home.”
“What?”
“Which one of those two words didn’t you understand?” She snatched the mug from his hand, dumped the coffee in the sink, and banged the mug on the countertop, hitting it so hard the handle broke off in her hand and the rest of the mug bounced to the floor and shattered.
He put his arms around her and pulled her close. “Come on, Caley. You heard what the doctor said. He’ll be fine. He just had a little accident. Kids do.”
She pulled away and gave him a shove. “If you had something to do with his getting hurt— If he’s doing some stupid thing you asked him to do, I’ll kill you.” She got a broom and dustpan to sweep up the mess, thinking there must be something symbolic here. Tears obscured her vision. She swiped at them with her wrist.
“Here,” Mat said. “Let me do that.”
“Go home,” she said.
“I want to help.”
“Go. Home.” She held the broom horizontally, like a spear …
“Caley—”
… and ran at him.
“Hey!” He jumped aside
“Go!”
“I’m leaving. I’m leaving. Let me know if you need anything.”
“GO!” she screamed, and got caught in a coughing fit. You’ll wake up the Littles, she warned herself. Bonnie’ll have hysterics and Adam’ll be on the ceiling.
“I’ll call you.”
“Of course,” she said tiredly.
It was a good thing he went or she’d be flinging herself into his arms. He might be a rat, but now she was alone and she was tired and she had to sweep up this mess.
She didn’t know how long she simply stood there, unable to get herself to move. Finally, she swept up the shards, dumped them in the trash under the sink, and shuffled down the hallway. Without undressing, she fell across her bed. Sleep circled around out there just past her fingertips.
* * *
At one A.M., Susan was still trying to take care of all the pearls and garbage pile
d on her desk. December 17, 18 really, since it was past midnight. On the 24th, she had a flight scheduled to go home. The 26th she had to tell her old boss whether she’d take the job he’d offered. Were it permanent, she wouldn’t hesitate—she didn’t think she would—but it was for two years. And she was no closer to finding Holiday/Noel’s killer than she’d been two days ago.
Her cop instincts told her Mat James was guilty—of something—loud and clear. Demarco’s had told him the same thing. Of what? Murder? Maybe. Mat James had an affair with Holiday/ Noel’s wife. Maybe Deirdre Noel had wanted him to divorce his wife and marry her. He’d refused. She’d threatened to tell her husband and/or Mat’s wife. Mat had killed her to prevent it. Would he have picked up a knife and stabbed her thirty times? Would he have killed Branner Noel? Why? If Noel knew anything, surely he’d have brought it up at the trial. Maybe twelve years of brooding in a cell had brought something to mind.
If she could accept the reports of the Jackson County sheriff, there’d been no evidence of a break-in. No burglar or madman known in the vicinity. She wasn’t sure she could accept the county investigators’ work. They seemed to have picked up Noel and felt their job was done, dusted off their hands and gone home. They hadn’t looked for anyone else, hadn’t even seemed to look very hard for evidence of any kind.
Enough! Throwing down her pen, she grabbed her coat and went home, where she took a hot shower to thaw her feet. She pulled on one of Daniel’s old sweatshirts, two sizes too large, and slid a stack of CDs into the CD player. It was a new purchase. When she brought it home, she’d relegated the cassette player to the closet shelf, sallied out and bought an armful of CDs. She got into bed before the cold claimed her again, and pushed the proper button. Bach filled the room. Perissa, the cat, came snuggling up, more for warmth than love, Susan suspected.
Tired as she was, sleep escaped her. Her mind wouldn’t let go of the merry-go-round. Where had Zach gone and what had he been up to? He was one worried little boy. His mother had said he had something on his mind. She’d also said he was very bad at lying: “His daddy now, Mat, is a world-class expert. He could hand you a bowl of shit and a package of chips, claim it was the best dip ever made, and have you believing it.”
Susan turned over and punched the pillow beneath her head. Perissa opened her eyes and glared at Susan for disturbing her.
A Cold Christmas Page 16