Troy driving up after they went off a cliff had to be coincidence. He’d done nothing to thwart the investigation. It made sense not to put all their manpower into investigating what the coroner had signed off on as an accident. If Rush were sheriff, he would have done the same thing.
“Nora has been working on the past weather reports and it’s looking like it wasn’t wet, snowy or even icy that night. But you remembered it raining and snowing.”
“Are you accusing me of something, Rush?” His voice held a hint of anger but mostly surprise and a splash of hurt and offense.
“No. Just trying to get answers.”
“I do remember it raining and snowing that night, late, not during the party. But it was seventeen years ago. I barely remember what I ate for breakfast yesterday. I could be wrong. I’m not saying I can’t. But that doesn’t mean I’m lying on purpose. And to a woman I know is a forensic meteorologist and could prove me wrong or right? Why would I do that?”
Why indeed?
Nora’s paranoid suspicions were messing with his head. Troy wasn’t guilty of murder or attempted murder. “Do you think Ward McKay could be behind these attacks on Nora? Him or Harvey Langston?”
“I don’t like Harvey for it.”
“When Nora was attacked at the hotel, Ward was with me.”
“Doesn’t mean Ward didn’t have someone do him a favor. I wouldn’t put anything past him. He’s double-dealing in business. Why not in his personal life as well? But I stand by my call and the coroner’s. If he’s after Nora for digging into the past it’s not because he hurt Marilyn. Could be about that money, though.”
“Why would Marilyn take him that kind of money? And since she never gave it to him, it’s dead in the water, pardon the pun. Why come after Nora now? What could she dig up—with my help—that would expose him?”
Troy held his toothpick and used it to point at Rush. “That’s the million-dollar question, son. I’d do a little hunting around his business deals. But if that’s where the answers lie, then expect even more backlash. And be discreet.”
He could count on that. “I’m sorry, Troy, if it seemed like I was interrogating you—”
“Seemed?” His eyebrows twitched skyward. “Hey, it’s good work. You’ll make a mighty fine sheriff, Rush. I’ve always thought so. You don’t need my endorsement to beat out Jack Thomas, or anyone.” He hugged him, clapping him on the back.
“You heading back to the station?” Rush asked.
“I am. Whatcha need?”
Rush lifted his coat off the table and took the gallon freezer bag holding the serrated knife. Nora had cut the attacker and it had some blood on it. Possibly prints. “He came at Nora with this. She cut up his hands and there’s some blood. Can you enter it and get it to the lab? I don’t want to leave her.”
Troy accepted the bag, inspected the knife. “Hunting knife. Not uncommon. Good thing Nora’s quick. She may not have made it, and this would be an entirely different conversation.”
“Agreed.” He was beyond thankful for God’s protection of Nora.
Troy headed for the door, turned back. “Give her my best, though I doubt she wants it if she’s labeled me a criminal.”
“She’s confused.”
“I’ll keep you posted.” With that, he closed the door. The lights flickered. The power had been going on and off for days.
He walked to Nora’s door and knocked, giving her time to put that laptop away and pretend sleep, ultimately giving her and himself an out.
“Nora,” he called. Maybe she was asleep. He cracked the door and saw her lying on her side. He walked in and noticed the laptop on the floor. Touching it, he felt the warmth.
Faker. He grinned but went along with the facade. “Wake up, Nora Beth. We gotta talk.”
Now to make her believe that Troy wasn’t the enemy.
But someone was. He’d been brazen enough to get into the main house. He was desperate and reckless.
And that meant unstable.
Unstable meant unpredictable.
Unpredictable meant Rush was at a disadvantage, and that terrified him.
THIRTEEN
It was already Christmas Eve and Nora hadn’t even thought about a ball gown or masquerade mask. Seemed like a silly event to attend when someone was trying to kill her, but Rush had insisted on some normalcy—not to mention he had to be at the ball.
She stood inside Hailey’s room staring at the gowns lying across her bed.
“Pick any one you like. I should have put them in consignment, but I figured I’d recycle them. Glad I did.” Hailey sat on an empty space on the bed that wasn’t covered with sequins, silk and satin. “I’m behind on the event since Dalton’s been sick.”
“Hey, at least it wasn’t the flu.” Two days and his fever had broken. He was still a bit lethargic, but his appetite had returned with a vengeance and he would be well enough to stay with Nathan tonight.
“Yeah. It’s going to be weird not having him at all on Christmas Eve. We used to bake cookies and open one present that day, then come to the ball. I suppose he and Nate will go to his parents’. They never liked the ball anyway.” Hailey shrugged and held up a strapless red silky dress with a large red sash and a rhinestone pendant on the side. It was gorgeous. “I think you should wear this one.” She rummaged through the pile on the bed. “And this mask.”
A black-and-gold mask on a gold stick. Ornate. Touch of glitter for shine. Classy and elegant. “Okay. I like it.” Red and Christmassy. “Now that my costume is picked out, how can I help you catch up?”
“It’s mostly overseeing what’s going on in the ballroom. Ice sculptures, caterers, decorators. Sound guys are supposed to be here at two for a sound check.” She sighed. “I need the crew to come back through and shovel the snow from the chalet drives and roads leading up to the resort, and the parking lot.”
Nora peered out the window. It had been coming down hard all morning. “I don’t think it’ll do any good, sis. The overnight temps were low with high relative humidity and low winds...high pressure system. Black ice is coming. People need to stay indoors and off the roads.”
“Nothing is going to keep people from this masquerade ball.”
The power flickered.
Died.
“Great,” Nora mumbled.
“Generator will kick on in a minute.” Hailey checked her cell phone. “I have to get to the resort. And you can’t be left alone.”
Nora felt like a helpless child.
“I’ve got the snowmobile. It’s easier than trying to deal with a vehicle. Grab your things. I’m gonna call and check on Dalton right quick.”
Nora nodded and headed for the kitchen to collect her purse, coat and gloves. Black gloves. Reminded her of the attacker from a few days ago and the knife he’d come at her with. Rush had given that piece of evidence to Troy. Nora hadn’t been thrilled to hear about Rush’s conversation with Troy, but it did make sense. Why lie about the weather knowing she had the skills to prove him wrong? And she had.
She’d scoured the National Climatic Data Center, co-op sites, which were a notch above Weather Underground but she’d checked there too, collecting what data she could. She’d studied the weather information for that Christmas Eve as well as five days prior and after. In all likelihood, there had been no ice, no black ice. Not even wet roads. Weather was probably not a factor in Mom’s accident. Troy may have made a mistake. And Nora was hunting for a culprit to pin this on.
She caught a shadow at the living room window; her heart lurched and she clutched her chest, then exhaled and relaxed. Rush. She opened the door and shivered. The temperature was in single digits. “Hey,” she said.
“Hey,” he said as breath plumed in front of his face. His nose and cheeks were pink. “It’s crazy out there. Northern half of town is shut down. No power. Pipes are frozen
in many homes and businesses, meaning no water. It’s going to get even worse tonight. I don’t think anyone local should be driving.”
“Locals won’t drive. They’ll bring snowmobiles.” She laughed. “And freeze in ball gowns and faux fur coats.”
The blustery winds rattled the window and whistled. “It’s gorgeous, though,” she said. Trees looked made of glass. Hints of evergreen peeked through. Nothing but a white winter wonderland.
“I told Mom I’d come by and eat a bite. She can’t stand me not being there for festivities, and they’re hurrying it up in case they lose power. You mind riding along?” he asked.
“No. I’d like to see Greer again. When is she going back to Alabama?”
“Supposed to be the day after Christmas, but I don’t see that happening. Not if we get two inches of ice tonight and another one tomorrow. Weather is calling for it and another two feet of snow.”
Nora smirked. “I’m well aware of what the weather is supposed to be doing.”
“I suppose you are.”
“Hey,” Hailey said as she came into the living room, snug as a bug in her winter gear. “I’m leaving. You with me or going with Rush?”
“Rush.”
Nora spotted the knowing look. Rush was protecting her. That’s all.
“See you tonight?”
“Yeah. But I may have on boots with my gown and not heels.”
Hailey snickered. “You’d think bad weather would keep folks away. But Christmas brings people together no matter what storm is raging.” Sadness flickered on her face. “Well, most people are brought together.”
She hurried out and Rush turned to Nora. “Nathan’s a real jerk.”
Nora nodded. “Ready?”
Rush guided her outside and into the vehicle.
“We probably shouldn’t be out in this either.”
Rush started the motor. “Well, I have chains and, hey...we’ve made it over the mountainside once. We can do it again.”
Nora frowned.
“Too soon?”
She laughed. “Little bit.”
Inching along the roads, it took almost thirty minutes to arrive at Rush’s childhood home. Festive lights wrapped around the porch rails. “Lights are new.”
“Hollister was bored I think.”
Inside, the fire blazed and Nora welcomed the warmth. The dining room table was still covered in sweets galore and the smell of cinnamon and Christmas ham set her stomach rumbling. Nora loved the Buchanan ham. Cured and cooked for nine hours. She would be up all night gulping water from so much salt intake, but it was worth it. The tree twinkled with colored lights and tinsel. Bing Crosby’s “White Christmas” played in the background. Kids ripped and tore through the house and adult laughter helped drown it out.
“Merry Christmas, Nora.” Mrs. Buchanan took her coat. “Come in, out of that terrible weather.” She pointed at Rush. “You don’t need to be driving in this.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He kissed her cheek. “I can’t stay long, Mama.”
“You work too hard, and it’s Christmas Eve. Eat. Make merry,” she teased, and patted his cheek.
Rush was nothing if not a mama’s boy at heart.
“Yes, ma’am,” he said again, and Mrs. Buchanan bustled away.
“You hungry?” he asked.
“Starving, and I smell Christmas ham.”
He chuckled and led her to the kitchen. Hollister leaned against the refrigerator, mischief in his eyes, as they came in. He pointed upward.
Mistletoe.
“Kiss her or I’ll come under and do it,” he teased.
Rush frowned and glanced up again. “Well, it is tradition.”
“It is that,” she murmured. And Hollister would make good on his word—the insatiable flirt. The last thing she needed was Rush punching him like he had when they were sixteen.
Her stomach fluttered, and her heart sped up as Rush descended on her lips. Soft. Chaste, but lingering long enough to send a serious zing through her middle.
Hollister opened the fridge and pulled out a soda. “Pitiful, Rush. Pitiful.” He cracked open the can, wiggled his eyebrows and strode out of the kitchen.
“I didn’t think it was pitiful, Nora Beth. Did you?” His eyes held mischief of their own. “I can try again if you did.”
“I—”
“Nora, good to see you again.” Pastor Buchanan entered the kitchen, eyed the mistletoe. “Am I interrupting?”
“Not at all, Dad,” Rush said, and backed a foot away from Nora.
“Rush, can you bring the card table in from the craft room?” Mrs. Buchanan called.
“Yes, ma’am.” He tossed one last glance at the mistletoe and winked at Nora. That was not fair. Not holding up to his words. Words like they could never be together. Rush wasn’t one to lead her on. He must be as confused as she was. Her head told her it was futile. Her heart said something else.
“Will you be staying long?” Pastor Buchanan asked.
“No. I took a job in Florida. I leave at the New Year.”
“I thought maybe you and Rush might be...” He shrugged, but a hint of amusement danced in his eyes. He seemed more like the man he used to be.
“It’s complicated.”
He pursed his lips, started to leave, then stopped. “Love usually is.”
No one said anything about love. Oh, who was she kidding? “I don’t know if we could ever get past our heartbreaks, Pastor Buchanan.”
His eyes widened. “It’s been a long time since I’ve been called that.”
Nora used to call him that all the time. He had been her pastor. A mentor. A role model. “I don’t think one mistake should cost you the honor of being one.”
“And one or two mistakes ought not cost you a chance at being with someone you love.”
Nora’s chest cracked a little. If that were only true. “To be honest, he’s made it clear that we’re nothing but friends. We have too much bad history. I’m sure you know that.”
A flicker of light came into his eyes. “Love covers a multitude of sins, Nora.”
“Not sure it covers fast enough to Mach speed racers like me.” She swallowed the emotion clogging her throat as it dawned on her. “I suppose you and I are similar.”
“How’s that?” he asked quietly.
“Hiding away, keeping things inside and not letting anyone in. Rush calls it running—physically and metaphorically. And he’s not wrong.”
When he looked at her, moisture filled his eyes. “This is why he...why he wants to keep things platonic?”
“It’s why he should,” she whispered. “I can’t promise not to do it again.”
Pastor Buchanan looked longingly into the living room; more moisture sheened his eyes and he wiped them. Slowly, he turned. “Love does cover a multitude of sins. It reaches far and wide. And fast, Nora. Love moves fast when it needs to.” He glanced back at his wife and sucked his trembling bottom lip into his mouth. “The question is, do we let it blanket us or do we stand out in the cold and keep shivering unnecessarily?”
Was that rhetorical or was he asking himself?
Suddenly, he inhaled and squeezed her shoulder. “Thank you.”
For what? She didn’t get a chance to ask. Rush came into the kitchen with a card table in his arms. “Where am I supposed to put this?”
“By the laundry room,” his mother said. “I know it’s early but you’re leaving, so will you come and read the Nativity story before you go?”
Pastor Buchanan had always done that in years past. Guess Rush took up the mantle after all that happened. Pastor Buchanan caught Nora’s glance. The flicker in his eyes had turned into a bright and shining flame, as if life had suddenly come back into them. He grasped his wife’s hand. “I think I’d like to do it.”
Tears filled Rush�
��s mom’s eyes. “I’d like that, darling.”
“Let me get my Bible.” He paused next to Nora, kissed her cheek. “Thank you, dear one.” Then he disappeared into the living room.
Rush gaped. “What just happened?”
Nora wasn’t sure. “I don’t know.”
* * *
Dad hadn’t read the Nativity story since he lost the church. Now Nora waltzed into the house and, all of a sudden, he was offering to go and get his Bible and read it aloud? Rush hadn’t seen his dad with the worn, black leather-bound Good Book in ages. She had to have done something. His father had thanked her!
“Well,” his mother said, “I don’t know either, but I’m thanking you also.” She patted Nora’s cheek and left Rush alone with her.
“What did you talk about?”
“Complications. And love.”
Rush cupped her face. “What about love?”
“That it covers a multitude of sins.”
Nora had been believing for something wonderful at Christmas. Was this it? A turning point for Dad?
“Everyone, gather round,” his father called.
“Well, whatever you did or didn’t do...it shifted something loose in my dad. Come on. Let’s hear the story of our Lord’s birth.”
“I’d like that.”
Rush laced his hand in hers and led her to the living room. The reading of the birth of Christ the Lord never failed to move Rush to tears. It reminded him of how frail and flawed he was and how gracious and merciful and loving God was.
Dad finished his reading and paused, then he prayed.
Rush could hardly stand upright. His father. Was praying. For peace. For joy. For hope.
Mom leaned against Dad and cried.
They were witnessing answers to prayers that had been going up for a decade. On this holy eve, God was giving them the greatest gift.
Cold Case Christmas Page 15