Winter Winds (40 page)

Maureen slid cautiously along the back of the house past darkened floor-to-ceiling windows. She wanted to get close enough to the lighted room to see what was going on. The only problem was how to see them without them seeing her.

“Hey!”

She jerked to a stop, her hand going to her gun. She looked behind her.

“Hey! Over here!”

The words were hard to hear over the constant sound of breaking surf just yards away. Maureen scanned the perimeter of the yard, then farther back into the dunes, their sea grasses undulating in the wind. There she saw a hand waving, then a grinning face emerging. The hand beckoned even as the face disappeared behind the grasses.

She was going to kill him. When she got her hands on Phil, she was going to string him up by his thumbs. She was going to arrest him for interfering with police business. She was going to send him to jail for years and years.

First, however, she was going to join him for what had to be a great view of what was happening in that room. Then she would string him up.

She scooted back the way she’d come, got behind the neighbor’s fence once more and followed it until it ended at the dunes. She found both Phil and Ryan lying on their stomachs, watching
the lighted room. She fell down beside them.

“I thought I told you guys to stay in the car.”

“You did. And please put that away.” Phil pointed to the gun she held in the hand nearest him.

She snorted and stuffed it back in her waistband. Then she turned her attention to the house. The view was unbelievable. There was the opened suitcase on the coffee table. There was the slight man who had brought it, tossing the ratty clothes onto the floor. There was Neal Jankowski watching like a hawk, then reaching to slit the lining and get his treasure.

Maureen pulled out her camera and recorded the whole process. Her coup was the shot of Neal Jankowski pulling one of the paintings, a beguiling swirl of primary colors, from the suitcase and gazing at it lovingly.

Suddenly Chief Gordon rounded the side of the house, moving silently through the shadows. Maureen pushed to her knees, ready to join them.

“Stay put,” she hissed to Ryan. She glared at Phil. “You too.”

He grinned unrepentantly leaned up to give her a quick kiss and said, his voice completely serious, “Be careful, Irish. You mean the world to me.”

She hurried through the dunes and joined Chief Gordon in the backyard.

“I got it all,” she said in a low voice, holding out her camera.

His smile was blinding. “Good girl.”

“You alone?” She sincerely hoped not.

He shook his head. “Uniforms out front. Barnes and Fleishman on their way. ETA ten minutes. How many people in the house?”

“As far as I can tell, just the two in that room. At least I haven’t seen anyone else.”

The chief nodded. “Probably keeping knowledge of this picture deal limited to as few as possible.” And he stepped out into the light streaming from the window, gun in hand. “Police,” he yelled. “You’re under arrest for dealing in stolen goods.”

The two men looked up in surprise, then anger, at least on the part of Jankowski. He reached for the drawer of an end table. Without hesitation, Chief Gordon shot through the window.
Though he hadn’t aimed at either man, they both froze.

“Open the door, Vinnie,” he yelled to the slight man.

Vinnie looked at Jankowski, then at the chief. With a resigned expression, he moved toward the glass door.

“Who’s he?” Maureen asked. She too stood in the light now, her eyes fixed on Jankowski and her gun leveled at his midsection.

“Vinnie Testa, a small-time would-be wise guy. He works for Jankowski. Just an errand boy.”

Vinnie slid the glass door open and stepped aside. Chief Gordon stepped through, pulling his cuffs from his belt as he moved. Maureen followed him inside.

“Keep him covered,” the chief ordered as he holstered his gun and moved behind Jankowski. The cuffs clicked over Jankowski’s wrists.

“Go open the front door,” the chief told her as he stepped back and pulled his gun again. “Sit,” he barked at Jankowski who lowered himself onto the sofa. He looked with loathing at the chief, then with longing at the paintings.

Maureen hurried down the hall to the words of the Miranda warning being read in Chief Gordon’s voice: “You have the right to remain silent …” She unlocked the door and raced back, two uniforms rushing after her. All seemed as she’d left it, the chief putting his printed card with the full warning written on it back in his pocket.

Except Vinnie was gone.

“He just went out the door,” Chief Gordon said, pointing with his gun.

Maureen raced for the door and burst onto the patio, gun at the ready. She saw Vinnie picking himself up, one of the large terra-cotta planters lying on its side in several pieces.

“Stop right there!” she yelled, legs spread, gun held before her.
Oh, Lord, please don’t make me have to shoot him!

Vinnie glanced back at her and ran, limping from his collision with the planter. She raced after him. She would catch him and tackle him and not have to shoot.

“Watch out!” she yelled, but it was too late. He was so busy looking back at her that he didn’t see the pool with its dark cover. He took two steps onto the cover, and the material gave way
under his weight, plunging his leg through to his hip. His forward momentum caused him to topple forward onto his face, his other leg sprawled out behind him. Slowly, slowly the material of the cover began to tear further.

One of the uniforms joined her at the pool’s edge as they watched Vinnie struggle to free himself without other extremities going through.

“Stay on your stomach,” Maureen called. “Keep the weight distributed.”

Even as she spoke, the top gave way some more, and Vinnie slid into the water to his waist. His hands scrabbled desperately at the taut cover, seeking purchase so his whole body didn’t fall into the frigid water.

“Help me! I’m going to fall in!” He looked beseechingly at Maureen and the uniform who stood steady, their guns aimed at him. “The water’s freezing. I’m gonna get hypothermia! And I can’t swim!”

Maureen looked at the uniform who shrugged. “You might as well tell him,” the uniform said.

“Vinnie,” Maureen said, trying not to smile, “you’re in the shallow end.”

Vinnie looked momentarily disconcerted. Then he lowered his legs, found the bottom just as Maureen had said, and stood. He was shuddering with cold.

“Well, don’t just stand there,” she ordered. “Turn around and climb out.” She shook her head. He was worse than a kid.

When he stood dripping on the patio, Maureen cuffed him and read him his rights. She turned her back while the uniform helped him out of his wet pants and wrapped him in a towel.

“Whee-oo! That was great!” Ryan clambered over the dune, all smiles. “Better than TV any day!”

Phil followed, a huge grin on his face.

Maureen made believe she’d never seen either of them in her life.

D
ORI STEPPED ON THE GAS
. The engine roared, but the car didn’t move. Not that she was surprised. She knew something strange had happened, and she was afraid she knew what. Ditch. Could life get worse?

Sure. Serials killers stalking snowy back roads came to mind.

Even as she told herself that possibility was highly unlikely—surely serial killers didn’t like getting cold and wet any more than regular people—she looked cautiously around, scanning what little she could see of the countryside through the falling snow.

It was all the suspense novels she read. They gave her too many ideas about the many things that could befall a woman alone and stuck in the middle of nowhere. A woman running.

She frowned as a thought crossed her mind. All those novels with the covers of fleeing women. Had she bought them because subconsciously she was that woman, a fugitive from her personal horror? Interesting possibility, but now certainly wasn’t the time to ponder it. Besides, she wasn’t a woman running anymore.

She’d forgotten how rural parts of New Jersey were. No help in sight, but no serial killers either. If one should happen to show up and do her in, would
the police think to tell Trev that the car was turned toward Seaside? So he’d know she was coming back? That she planned to fight for their marriage? That she loved him with her whole heart?

She climbed out of the car and slipped and slid around to the far side. She had on the dress flats and good slacks she’d put on to go to the church and face down Jonathan Warrington. They were no protection against the weather. Snow seeped over the edges of the shoes whose soles skated on the snow like a figure skater’s blades on ice, forcing her to hang on to the car for stability.

She groaned when in the glow of the headlights she saw the right front wheel dangling in the air. It was just as she’d thought. It made no difference that the bottom of the ditch was only a matter of inches from the tire, and the road was only a matter of fewer inches. It might as well have been miles. She assumed the front axle or whatever it was called these days was resting on the road. She tried to peer under the car to see if she was right, but it was too dark.

Flashlight! She hurried back to the car and began rooting in the glove compartment. She found an expired insurance card, a booklet about the car that she’d never read, a map of southern California, another of San Diego, a packet of never-opened Kleenex tissues, another insurance card that expired in a month, and no flashlight.

She was sure she had one somewhere. Maybe the trunk. But the trunk was as unhelpful as the glove compartment.

While she was checking the trunk, she checked the exhaust pipe. She was getting very cold, but the last thing she wanted to do was turn on the heater and asphyxiate herself if the pipe was damaged somehow or blocked by snow. People died from blocked exhaust pipes all the time as fumes backed up into the car. Good. There was no danger. The rear of the car was elevated as usual, though the right rear tire was very close to the ditch. If everything stayed stable, she could probably keep the heat on at least in spurts, until help came.

A soft plop made her jump and scan the copse of trees clustered just past where she was stopped. Shivering with cold and fear, she told herself it was just snow falling from the branches, hitting the ground with a thud. Still, she climbed back into the car
as fast as she could, pressed all the locks, and told herself she was safe.

Lord, I didn’t realize I was such a fraidy cat. Please keep me safe, and get me home to Trev. Please
.

She turned on the motor to get some heat. Why, oh why hadn’t she joined AAA? Then she could call for help. Some poor serviceman would come rushing out into the storm and free her, and she could rush back to Trev and fall at his feet in supplication.

Trev. She could call him. She hesitated. What if he wasn’t home yet? What if he never wanted to speak to her again? What if he didn’t care if she froze to death in a snowstorm?

What if she had lost her mind? Even if he didn’t want to be married to her anymore, he would certainly be willing to help her. At the very least, he’d send Phil.

Phil. Her brother. He felt so much safer, so much more a known quantity than Trev at the moment. She picked up her cell phone and called 411 for his number. She ignored the niggling thought that she was being a coward again. She felt her shoulders slump as she got his machine.

“Phil, call me! It’s an emergency.”

She tried Maureen’s number. Again a machine. “Maureen, call me! It’s an emergency.”

In spite of the thin stream of heat flowing over her legs, she was getting colder by the moment. It was amazing how much less heat the car produced when you were stationary. And outside her windows the snow was getting deeper by the moment.

She sighed and knew that she had no choice unless she wanted to hike back the way she had come. She looked out at the black night. She looked down at her already-wet shoes and slacks. Trev it was. She took a deep breath, preparing herself for his anger, and dialed his home. Her home.

The phone was picked up on the second ring.

“Dori? Sweetheart? Is that you?”

Dori blinked. Trev sounded desperate, worried, not angry. “Yeah, it’s me.”

“Oh, thank God! I’ve been so worried! Are you all right?”

“I’m fine.” She started to cry. “But my car’s not. I’m stuck. I want to come home!”

There was a moment of silence.

“Trev, are you still there?”

“Home where, Dori? San Diego?”

She could hear the uncertainty in his voice, the pain, and her heart broke. “I’m sorry,” she blubbered. “I’m sorry! You were right. I was wrong.” By the end of her confession, she was crying so hard the words were barely understandable.

“Take a deep breath, Dor. Deep breath. Where are you?”

“I don’t know!” She sniffed and hit the button on the glove compartment. She tossed everything out until she found the tissues. She blew her nose. “I was going to go back to San Diego. I thought you hated me.”

“Never, love. Never in a million years.”

“But I got lost. I missed the Garden State Parkway entrance. I guess I’m on that road farther along. I turned around to come back home, back to Heron Lane, and I ran off the road. I’m stuck!”

“You were coming back to Heron Lane?” She heard the hope in his voice.

“If you want me back,” she managed to whisper. She was terrified of his answer.

“Oh, I want you back all right. And when you get here, I’m never letting you go!”

“Then come get me. I’m freezing, and I want to come home!”

“I’m on my way.”

Dori settled back to wait, warmed by the knowledge that Trev was on his way, that he was coming to get her and take her home. If only it wasn’t so dark and silent, so spooky out there, the wait wouldn’t seem so long. She hit the lock lever again, just to be certain. The snow fell harder, and she suddenly had a new fear. What if someone came up behind her and because of the weather didn’t see her rear end sticking out in the road? What if they hit her? She had her lights on, but they might not be visible in the weather.