A Cold Christmas (21 page)

“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 piled 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.

Who killed the killer recently released from prison? Why? She'd take answers from anybody.

Porter Kane made a quick run to the river and dumped a box of ashes. Everything happened to him. It wasn't his fault the damn plane started giving him trouble. If he could of come up with the money to get it fixed, he'd of been okay. Then he got the ax from his job. Just a little time, that's all he needed. Fucking repair guy snooping around.

He went home, stripped off his clothes, and stumbled to bed. God, it must be near three o'clock. He bunched the pillow and tried to sleep.

*   *   *

“Roy, if you don't stop that tossing and turning, you can pick up your pillow and sleep on the couch.”

“Sorry. Lots on my mind.”

“Oh, Roy, she's your mother,” Lillian said. “Nobody's going to think you pushed your mother off the porch and left her to die.”

He grumbled something. If Lillian'd just shut up! Couldn't she see the whole thing bothered him? With everything on his mind, telling him he did the right thing wasn't helping. Couldn't she understand? Sometimes, on a night like this, he thought about snatching Jo and just taking off. Except then he'd never see Mandy again. He loved her just as much as Jo, but she was spending so much time with her friends that she wasn't all that interested in hanging out with dear old Dad.

He thought about Cindy and wondered if she was in bed alone or if Harley was with her. The son of a bitch. She'd told Roy she'd convinced Harley it was that furnace guy. Maybe the police would think Harley killed the guy and throw the bastard in jail. He wouldn't have to worry about Harley beating her up anymore.

Lillian had his mother's money all planned out. So much for this, so much for that.

He turned over and yanked on the covers, pulling a large share to his side. How could she go to sleep just like that? One minute telling him what to do and the next sound asleep. Didn't she have a conscience at all?

29

At six
A.M.
on Sunday morning, when Susan rolled groaning out of bed, she realized she'd gone to sleep far too late to greet the day with glorious song. After a hot shower, she pulled on black wool pants and a gray sweater, scooped cat food into a bowl while Perissa rubbed against her legs and left beige hair all over the black pants. Susan gave them a quick swipe with a clothes brush and headed out.

The cold grabbed her by the throat and squeezed the air from her lungs. Her little brown sports car sat on one side of the garage, covered with dust, probably shivering and longing for California. She knew just how it felt. Why not get rid of it? Did she think she was going to drive it back? Probably. Hope and dandelions spring eternal.

The pickup needed coaxing, not wanting any more to do with this day than she did. At the Coffee Cup Cafe she got a large black coffee and headed for work.

Hazel was already there. “I heard you sneaking in,” she said.

“This isn't sneaking. Bent over is the way I always look when I get up in the morning.”

At her desk, she read reports that had come in during the night. Joseph still missing from the crèche, another break-in. Whoever was responsible for this rash of burglaries they'd been plagued with was taking only cash or items that could be turned into cash quickly, like jewelry, credit cards, laptop computers. One woman complained because he'd taken her carton of cigarettes and the cookies she'd baked for her daughter's birthday party. Even the Lutheran church wasn't exempt. Reverend Mullett reported money missing from the donations dropped in a basket and used for refreshments at various functions like the after-services gatherings and Wednesday night Bible study.

It was after nine when she finally left for Robbin Pharmacy on Iowa Street. Elena Robbin, slightly overweight, black hair, wearing dark trousers and a striped shirt with a white collar, greeted Susan with a smile. Elena was a granddaughter of the Robbin on the sign. “I hope you don't have this flu everybody else has.”

“Don't even suggest it.”

“Everybody comes dragging in here wanting something to make them better.” She waved a hand at the shelves of cold remedies, cough drops, and decongestants. “Fluids is the only thing. And bed rest, then just wait for the end.”

Susan raised an eyebrow.

Elena laughed. “No, not the final end. The end of suffering from this particular virus.”

Susan opened the bottle of Advil she'd taken from Caley James and shook two pills into her hand. “Can you tell me what these are?”

Elena took half-glasses from her lab coat pocket and settled them on her nose. She peered at the pills, then at Susan. “What is it you want to know?”

“Are they Advil?”