Authors: Carlene Thompson
“Yes!” Christine giggled delightedly. “Can you believe that we actually met?”
“Fate or chance?”
“I have no idea.” Christine smiled. “Jeremy was so fond of Mr. Winter.”
“The feeling was mutual. Anyway, my grandmother died years before Grandpa. When he died, he left his house to me. I planned on selling it. It had been on the market for nearly a year when Stacy died. I left LA a month later and came here. I’d spent a lot of time with my grandparents in Winston when I was a kid. I liked it here. And I had to get away from Los Angeles. I needed a new start.”
“Has moving here helped?”
“A little. But I still haven’t shaken the memory, the sadness.”
“You never will, Michael,” Christine said gently. “Jeremy and I adored our parents and I can tell you that the pain will dull, but it will never completely go away. That doesn’t mean you can’t rebuild your life, though. Giving up would be a betrayal of Stacy.”
He looked at her and she saw a slight glimmer of tears in his eyes. “You think so?”
“I
know
it would. The people who loved us would want us to go on, even if they couldn’t go on with us.”
“I’d like to believe that.”
“I know it sounds kind of sappy, maybe too easy and just an excuse, but remember Stacy and how much she must have loved you. Then you’ll believe it. She wouldn’t want her daddy to give up and never be happy again.”
Michael closed his eyes. Then he brought Christine’s hand to his mouth and kissed it lightly on the palm. “Thank you for giving me that thought. It helps.”
Christine’s hand tingled from his kiss. When he looked at her, his mahogany eyes were soft, penetrating. She felt
as if he were gazing into her soul. She’d never had that feeling before. Not with anyone.
They heard Jeremy pounding up the stairs from the basement. He arrived in the dining room breathless, his face red. “Christy, someone’s outside hanging around, looking in.”
“You saw someone?” Michael asked.
“Yeah. Well, Rhi saw him first. She was sitting in the window and she growled like kitty cats do. Then I looked. He went behind some trees, but I don’t think he ran off.” He pointed at the sliding glass doors leading on to the deck. “He would’ve been looking right in that window.”
“Damn,” Christine muttered. “I should have shut the blinds, particularly after what happened the night Streak was here. Someone can stand out there and see everything going on in the kitchen and dining room.”
“You two stay here,” Michael said, rising. “I’m going out.”
“No, don’t!” Christine was surprised by the fear in her voice. “He could have a gun!”
“So do I. Jeremy, you keep your sister safe.”
“Yes, sir!”
“Michael, please . . .”
“Christine, I’ll be fine. Just don’t either one of you follow me. I’m going out the front door and around the house. Don’t stand in front of the window. Get back into the living room just in case he’s armed,” Michael said, then gave her a glancing kiss along the cheekbone before heading for the front door. Christine was too surprised to protest any further. She touched her cheek as Jeremy took her hand and pulled her toward the living room.
“I should go help him,” Jeremy said after a few minutes. “He shouldn’t be out in the dark all by himself.”
“If you go out, he won’t know it’s you. He might shoot you,” Christine said, grasping her brother’s arm. “You
stay in here out of the way. With me. I need you.”
Jeremy put his arm around her protectively. They sat on the floor, out of the range of windows. Christine was just beginning to feel silly with their crouching and hiding when she heard Michael yell, “Stop! Police!”
A shot rang out.
For the first time in her life, Christine knew what it felt like to have her heart literally skip a beat. A quick pain in the chest, cessation of breath, then a hard thud as the heart jerked to life again against the ribs. Jeremy gasped and squeezed her harder.
A minute later, someone banged on the sliding glass doors in the dining room. They both froze until Michael called, “It’s me! Open the doors!”
They scuttled into the dining room. Jeremy reached the doors first, unlocking one and sliding it back. Michael stumbled inside, breathing raggedly. “I didn’t get him,” he said weakly. “But he got me.”
That’s when Christine noticed the right side of his uniform shirt. It was drenched with blood.
“I’ll call nine-one-one,” Christine said in a high, thin voice.
“We can make it to the hospital faster by just driving,” Michael answered. “If I can have a towel or something to press against the wound, I’ll be fine. Damn. I’ve dripped on your carpet.”
“Of all the silly things to worry about,” Christine snapped the way she always did when she was frightened. “I think we should call nine-one-one. They’re trained. You could bleed out before we even get you to the hospital—”
Jeremy had already gotten a towel, forced Michael to sit on a chair, and pressed the towel against his shoulder. “Christy, stop talking and let’s get going,” he said. He looked at Michael. “She always talks like crazy when she’s scared.”
Michael looked at her. “I’ll be okay, Christine. I just need to get to the hospital before I pass out.”
“Pass
out
?” Christine cried. “Oh, my God.”
“Christy, chill out,” Jeremy said, using a new phrase
he’d learned from Ginger. “I’ll carry Deputy Michael to the car.”
“I don’t need to be carried,” Michael protested as Jeremy began to lift him. “Just let me lean on you.”
Half an hour later, Christine and Jeremy sat in the hospital waiting room. Jeremy had been to the candy machine three times while Christine sipped a cup of bitter coffee. “They have crummy food here,” Jeremy said.
“Hospitals aren’t known for their fine cuisine.”
“What’s cuisine?” Jeremy asked. “Food?”
“Exactly.”
Two policemen showed up just as Jeremy was debating on whether or not to have another candy bar. “ ’Evening, Ms. Ireland,” the younger one said. “We heard you had some trouble at your place this evening.”
“That’s putting it mildly. How did you know?”
“A neighbor called.” Christine immediately knew that neighbor had been the ever-vigilant Mrs. Flint. The younger, good-looking one gave her a smile. “My name is Lasky. My partner is Anders. Mrs. Flint told us there was a policeman with you. One that has been at your house a lot lately.” Christine felt her color rise although the deputy’s voice was neutral, even kind. “Was it Winter?”
“Yes. Deputy Winter had come by to update me on his search for the person who sent me Polaroid photos of Dara and Patricia Prince.”
“We know about the pictures and the card,” Lasky said.
“Then you know he hadn’t been able to learn much, yet, but he knew how worried I was and he wanted me to know the police hadn’t dropped the matter.” That wasn’t exactly a lie, Christine told herself virtuously. They
had
talked about the cards, although that’s not really why Michael had stopped by.
“Anyway, my brother saw someone lurking outside on my lawn, looking in windows, sort of hiding behind trees. Deputy Winter felt it wasn’t just someone passing through the yard. He made Jeremy and me stay inside while he went out to check on things. We heard him say, ‘Stop! Police!’ Something like that. Then a gun fired. We thought Deputy Winter had shot someone. But when he got back to the house, we saw it was he who’d been shot.”
At last a doctor emerged from an examining room to speak to them. “Deputy Winter wanted me to apprise you of his condition. Luckily, the bullet didn’t hit any bones or major blood vessels. He’ll have limited use of the arm for a few days, but he should make a full recovery. We’ll keep him here tonight.”
When the doctor finally allowed visitors in to see the patient, Michael asked to see Christine and Jeremy first. Michael smiled, but Christine thought he looked extremely pale. “Are you sure you’re all right?” she asked. “You’re not just playing tough guy, are you?”
“He
is
a tough guy,” Jeremy corrected reprovingly. “The toughest guy I know.”
“Thanks for the vote of confidence, Jeremy, but to be honest, I’m not feeling all that tough tonight. I was lucky. They recovered the shell casing. It was a twenty-two.”
“A twenty-two?” Christine repeated. “Isn’t that considered a kind of wimpy caliber?”
Michael smiled. “You wouldn’t think that if it had hit
you
in the shoulder.”
“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to minimize your injury.”
“It’s okay,” Michael laughed. “You’re right. A twenty-two is usually used by a woman. Or the Mafia when they want to shoot someone in the head at close range. The bullet just bounces all over the place in the skull, tearing up the brain.”
“Oh. How interesting to know,” Christine said, trying
to smile to hide her distress over Michael’s condition.
“Sheriff Teague called and insisted on being put through even though they were still working on me. He’s not too happy about this, but he has a brilliant theory. He thinks I might have been shot by hunters.”
“Hunters?” Christine replied blankly. “In a residential neighborhood? What were they hunting? Cardinals?”
“Maybe skunks,” Jeremy said seriously. “I saw a skunk in the backyard once.”
“I don’t think skunks rate high on the hunters’ list of favorite prey,” Michael said, then yawned.
Christine spoke up. “We’d better get out of here. I think those two policemen outside want to talk to you.”
“Who is it?”
“Lasky and Anders.”
“They’re good guys.”
“Is there anything I can do for you?” Christine asked.
“Well, one thing. You know where my grandfather used to live—where I live now. Get my house key out of my pants pocket, drop by there, and get some clothes for me to wear in the morning. My uniform is pretty well drenched in blood. Just jeans and a T-shirt will be fine. You can drop them off in the morning.”
“Has he got you running errands already?”
Christine looked up to see a tall, slender young woman with masses of long auburn hair and the most mesmerizing green eyes she’d ever seen. The young woman wore skintight black leather pants, a black leather jacket over a gold mesh T-shirt, and huge gold hoop earrings. Christine thought she was one of the most beautiful, amazing-looking creatures she’d ever seen.
“Hi,” the woman said, smiling to reveal perfect teeth. Her smile was particularly wide when she reached for Jeremy’s hand. He looked dazzled to the point of incapacitation. “I’m afraid I didn’t catch your names.”
“Ch-Christine Ireland,” she said, hating that she’d stumbled over her own name. “And this is—”
“Jeremy Bartholomew Ireland.” Christine slanted a glance at him. “I’m Christy’s brother.”
“How lovely to meet you, Christine and Jeremy Bartholomew.” Her voice seemed to tinkle around the room, young and carefree like a child’s without being silly.
She turned to Michael. “I stopped by your house and found a policeman outside. Imagine my horror when he said you’d been shot!”
Michael had not said a word since the woman entered the room. He simply stared at her with his mouth slightly open, his expression dumbfounded.
She walked over to him and slowly brushed his dark hair back from his forehead before running her fingers across his cheekbone and down to his lips. The motion was so proprietary and intimate that Christine felt herself blush.
The woman smiled at him lingeringly, then turned back to Christine. “Well, since Michael seems to have forgotten his manners, I’ll introduce myself. Christine, Jeremy, I’m Lisa Winter. Michael’s
wife
.”
“I thought Deputy Winter wasn’t married anymore,” Jeremy said out in the car.
“He isn’t. He’s divorced.”
“Then what’s
she
doing here?” Jeremy demanded truculently.
“I guess she came for a visit. You’re allowed to visit when you’re divorced.”
“You’re not supposed to. Not that I ever heard of,” Jeremy spluttered as if he knew all the rules of etiquette
for divorced people. “She shouldn’t be here! She’s just gonna mess up everything!”
“What do you think she’s going to mess up?”
“You and Deputy Michael getting together.”
“What makes you think we were going to get together?”
Jeremy rolled his eyes at her. “Oh, Christy, come
on
! You two have a crush on each other. Anybody can see it. And I think you’re just right for each other. And I’d like to have a policeman for a brother-in-law. Darn her! She’s just messing up everything!”
Jeremy continued to fume as they drove home, but Christine barely heard him. The degree of misery she felt surprised her. That woman! She was gorgeous, Christine thought. She was nearly as tall as Christine, but the height looked right on her. And she’d never seen auburn hair quite that color. Maybe it wasn’t real, but it was beautiful, long, and lush. Christine unconsciously touched her own short blond hair. Even if she let it grow long, it would never be as thick and wavy as Lisa’s. And her eyes! They looked like emeralds.
“I didn’t think she was one bit pretty,” Jeremy announced as if reading her thoughts.
“Yes, you did.”
“No, Christy. She looked like pictures of movie stars in
People
. Not like you.”
“Oh, good. I’d hate to look like a movie star.”
“You’re prettier than any movie star. You’ve got a sweet look on your face and in your eyes, like you’d be nice to little lost kids and hurt animals.”
“Jeremy, could you please quit extolling my looks? You’re making me feel worse.”
“What’s extolling?”
“Praising. Complimenting.”
“What’s wrong with getting compliments?”
“Nothing. It’s just the kind of compliments—” She broke off and sighed. “Let’s change the subject.”
When they got home, darkness had completely fallen. Christine could see no stars, and the moon was a thin crescent. The dusk-to-dawn light had completely failed. She would have to call the electric company tomorrow and get it repaired.
Christine knew police had been all over the grounds and that at least one cop was on surveillance. Whoever had shot Michael probably wouldn’t have the nerve to return. Still, she felt uneasy, as if she were being stalked. She pulled all the draperies in the house and sat down to watch a television show with Jeremy.