Читать книгу Classified Christmas - B.J. Daniels - Страница 10

The Jackson Bait Shop was on the edge of town. The sign was weathered, the building small. As Andi got out of her car the next morning, she wondered how Cade Jackson made a living in such a remote place selling bait.

Or was he living off the three million dollars Starr had stolen?

Andi had gone into the newspaper early, gathering everything she could find on Cade Jackson. There hadn’t been much. A local cowboy, he’d grown up on a ranch south of here near what was called Old Town Whitehorse.

Since then he’d won some horse-roping events and caught a few big fish that had made the newspaper.

His only claim to fame just might turn out to be marrying Starr Calhoun, she thought as she saw that the Closed sign was still up in the bait shop window. There were no store hours posted. Did anyone even fish this time of year?

She knocked at the door and waited on the small landing out front, hugging herself, trying to keep warm. She guessed he was already up since the Great Falls Tribune newspaper box next to the door was empty. It had snowed again last night, coating the entire town with a couple of inches. The snow glittered so bright it was blinding. But it was the breeze that cut through her, chilling her to the bone. She’d had no idea it would be this cold up here.

As a gust of wind whirled snow around her, she instinctively reached for the doorknob. To her surprise, it turned easily in her hand, the door falling open.

She was hit with a blast of warm air. She leaned into it, stepping into the room and closing the door behind her as she tried to shake off her earlier chill.

Apparently Cade Jackson sold more than bait. The room was divided into four long aisles by three high shelves filled with lures and jigs, rods and reels, paddles and oars, nets and an array of boat parts and sporting equipment.

Cade Jackson was nowhere in sight but she thought she heard water running somewhere in the back.

She moved through the shop toward the sound. It was warm in here and she was in no hurry to go back outside into the cold.

But she reminded herself: for all she knew this man had known about the robbery, might even have gotten rid of his wife to keep all the money for himself.

But if he had the three million dollars or even some of it, he didn’t appear to be enjoying it much, she thought as she saw his living quarters.

The shop opened onto a small apartment. The lack of stuff made her wonder if anyone could live this simply. Certainly not Starr Calhoun.

For a moment Andi considered what she was doing. This felt all wrong. Not to mention she couldn’t guess what Cade Jackson’s reaction was going to be to not only her being here, but also what she had to show him.

What if she was wrong?

She wasn’t and she knew it.

But she still felt apprehensive. She had no idea what this man was like. The fact that Starr Calhoun had married him was a clue, though. Andi was wondering if she’d made a mistake coming here alone.

She was no fool, though. In her large shoulder bag, along with a copy of the cassette she’d made and the boom box, she had a can of pepper spray and her cell phone.

“Mr. Jackson?” she called from the doorway into the apartment. No answer.

She called his name again. The sound of running water stopped. “Hello!” she called out. “Hello?” She stopped to look at a bulletin board filled with photographs of fish being held by men, women and children. Some of the fish were as huge as the grins on the many faces.

When she looked up, she was startled to find the apartment doorway filled with a dark silhouette. She got the impression Cade Jackson had been standing in the doorway for some time studying her.

To make things even more awkward, his dark hair was wet and droplets of water beaded on his lashes as well as on the dark curls of his chest hair that formed a V to disappear into the towel wrapped around his slim hips.

“I’m sorry, the door was open,” she said quickly.

He smiled either at the fact that he had her flustered or because of her accent. “The shop isn’t open yet, but then again you don’t look like a fisherman,” he said eyeing her. “Nor do you sound local.”

“No, I’m neither,” she said, getting her composure back. He was even more handsome up close and personal.

He cocked a dark brow at her.

“I’m Miranda Blake. I left my business card and a note on your door last night? But I can wait while you dress.”

He’d looked friendly before. He didn’t now. “M. W. Blake, the new reporter over at the Examiner?” He was shaking his head and moving toward her, clearly planning to show her out. “I don’t talk to reporters.”

“You’ll want to talk to me,” she said standing her ground as she put her hand on her shoulder bag, easing the top open so she could get to her pepper spray.

He stopped in front of her and she caught a whiff of his soap. Yum. He stood a good head taller. She had to tilt her face up to look into his eyes. Eyes so dark they appeared black. Right now they were filled with impatience and irritation.

“I’m afraid you’re mistaken about that, Tex.”

“I have some information about your wife,” she said, determined not to let him intimidate her but it was difficult. The look in his eyes alone would frighten someone much larger than herself. She clutched the pepper spray can in her purse.

He was as big a man as she’d first thought, a few inches over six feet and broad at the shoulders. Solid looking, she thought. Not like a man who worked out. More like a man who worked. That surprised her given that selling bait and tackle couldn’t be all that strenuous.

He settled those dark eyes on her. Everything about him was dark. She tried to imagine someone like Starr Calhoun with this man. Starr with her wild, curly auburn hair and those pale blue eyes, as fair as this man was dark.

“You’re new here,” Cade Jackson said as if roping in his irritation. “You don’t know me. So I’m going to cut you some slack. I don’t want another story about my wife’s death. It’s Christmas and I don’t need any more reminders that she’s gone, all right?”

“I think you’d better look at this,” she said, slipping her hand from the pepper spray can to the copy of the photo taken from the bank’s surveillance camera. It had gone out to all news media six years ago, but she doubted it had made it as far as Whitehorse, Montana.

Cade didn’t take the photo she held out. He stood with his hands on his hips, dripping on the wood floor of the bait shop, the white towel barely wrapped around his hips showing way too much skin.

“Please. Just take a look and then I promise to leave,” she said.

With obvious reluctance he took the copy of the photograph. She watched his expressive dark eyes. Recognition then confusion flashed in them. “What the hell is this?”

“It’s your wife. Only her name wasn’t Grace Browning. It was Starr Calhoun. That photo was taken by a surveillance camera in the bank she robbed six years ago—not long before she showed up here in Whitehorse.”

“Get out,” he said. “I don’t know what your game is, Tex, but I’m not playing.”

“Neither am I,” she said as he reached for her arm. “Starr Calhoun was one of the infamous bank-robbing Calhouns from Texas,” she said, dodging his grasp, her hand again clutching the can of pepper spray in her purse. “The three million dollars she and her male accomplice stole was never recovered.”

“If you don’t get out of here right now, you’re going to be sorry,” he said through gritted teeth. “What the hell do you keep reaching in that purse for?” He grabbed her arm.

As he jerked her hand out of the shoulder bag, her finger hit the trigger on the pepper spray.

ON THE LAPTOP propped up in her kitchen, Arlene Evans studied the latest applicant on her Meet-A-Mate site with pride as she whipped up a batch of pancakes.

Since she’d started her rural online dating service she’d had a few good-looking men sign up but none who could match Jud Corbett, a former stuntman and actor, who liked long walks in the rain, horseback riding, dancing in the moonlight and was interested in finding a nice cowgirl to ride off into the sunset with.

Arlene had proven she was a great matchmaker when she’d gotten the Whitehorse deputy sheriff together with that Cavanaugh girl.

But that was nothing compared to who she had picked out for the handsome Jud Corbett.

Her very own daughter Charlotte. True, Charlotte wasn’t a cowgirl, so to speak, but she could ride a horse. And Jud Corbett was just what her daughter needed right now.

Charlotte had seemed a little down lately. But a man like Jud Corbett could bring her out of it quick!

The two would make beautiful children together, Arlene thought with longing as she broke a couple of eggs into the batter and stirred as she admired Jud Corbett’s good looks. If she were twenty years younger…

“Are the pancakes about ready?” her son Bo demanded. At twenty-one, Bo had gotten his looks and personality from his father, damn Floyd Evans to hell.

Floyd had up and left them a few months ago. The divorce papers were somewhere on the overflowing coffee table. The bastard had left her with their three children to finish raising.

Not that the three weren’t pretty much raised since the oldest, Violet, was in her thirties, unmarried and no longer under the roof, but that was another story. Bo was of legal age, although that didn’t seem to mean anything other than he drank beer in front of her now. Charlotte had just celebrated her eighteenth birthday, eating most of the cake all by herself before going out with her friends and getting high.

The phone rang before Arlene could come up with a proper retort for her son. It rang another time but neither of her offspring seemed to hear it.

“Let me get that, why don’t you?” Arlene said doubting they got her sarcasm, either, since neither seemed to hear anything over the blaring television.

“Mrs. Evans?” a woman said on the other end of the line.

Arlene didn’t correct her. “I’m not buying anything,” she snapped and started to hang up the phone.

“I’m calling about your daughter Violet.”

Arlene put the receiver back to her ear. “Yes?” she asked suspiciously. Calls about Violet were never good.

“My name is Myrna Lynch, I’m the media coordinator here at the state hospital. Your daughter Violet would like you all to come up for Family Day.”

“Family Day?” Arlene Evans echoed into the phone. “You can’t be talking about my daughter. Violet is completely out of it and the last time I came up there to see her you guys wouldn’t even let me in.”

Arlene was still mad about that. As if she enjoyed driving clear up to the state mental hospital to be turned away.

“No one told you?” asked the woman whose name Arlene couldn’t remember. “Your daughter Violet has made remarkable progress. She’s no longer in a catatonic state.”

“What are you saying? She’s not nuts anymore?” How was that possible? “Did she tell you what she did to end up there?”

“Mental illness is a medical disorder that is treatable, Mrs. Evans. Your daughter is getting care that will let her be a responsible member of society again,” the woman said, clearly upset at Arlene’s use of the word “nuts.” “In order to do that, she needs to work through any issues she has with her family. So can I tell the doctor you and your family will be here Saturday?”

“Wait a minute. Issues? She tried to kill me!” Arlene bellowed.

“Your daughter doesn’t recall any of that, Mrs. Evans.”

Arlene just bet she didn’t.

“Violet needs the support of her family. I’m sure you want to do what is best for her.”

Arlene bristled at the woman’s tone. “I’ve always supported Violet. You have no idea what I have done for that girl and what did I get for it? Why she—”

“Mrs. Evans, if you can’t attend family day Saturday then—”

“I’ll be there,” she said with a sigh.

“Violet has asked that her brother and sister also attend,” the woman said.

Arlene glanced over at her daughter Charlotte curled up on the couch chewing on the end of her long blond hair. Bo was slouched in the recliner, a jumbo bag of corn chips open on his lap and an open can of beer at his elbow, in his own catatonic state as he stared at some reality show on the television where a woman was shrieking at one of the other contestants.

“Turn down the damned TV,” Arlene yelled, covering the mouthpiece. “Can’t you see I’m on the phone?”

Neither of her grown children responded.

“I have to bring Charlotte and Bo?” Arlene asked the woman, turning her back to the two. “I’m not sure it’s a good idea for them to be around Violet.”

“It’s important for Violet’s healing process.”

“Well, whatever is important for Violet,” Arlene snapped. “Never mind the rest of us. She really is better?”

“I think you will be surprised when you see her. We’ll plan on your family Saturday.”

Arlene hung up, wondering how Violet could surprise her more than she had. Her old-maid daughter had plotted to kill her and even gotten her brother and sister involved.

Arlene could never forgive Violet for that. She’d been so sure her daughter would never get out of the mental hospital and now this. Family Day.

Surely those fools at that hospital weren’t really considering letting Violet out?

As she spooned the pancake batter into the smoking skillet, the scent of oil and sizzling pancake batter filled the kitchen and adjoining living room.

Behind her, Charlotte made an odd sound, then sprung up from the couch to run down the hall, her hand over her mouth. It was the fastest Arlene had seen the girl move in years. A moment later she heard Charlotte retching in the bathroom.

“What on earth is wrong with her?” Arlene demanded of her son.

He glanced away from the TV to scowl at his mother. “What do you think? She’s pregnant. Haven’t you noticed how big she’s been getting? Where have you been?” He looked past her and swore. “Damn it, Mother, you’re burning the pancakes!”

CADE JACKSON swore as he wrenched the can of pepper spray from Andi.

Unfortunately the spray nozzle had been pointed in the wrong direction—her direction. Fortunately only a little had shot out. Enough that her eyes instantly watered and she began to cough uncontrollably.

He grabbed her, cursing with each step as he tried to drag her to the back of his apartment. She fought him, although it was clearly a losing battle, unaware of what he was trying to do until he shoved her out the back door and into the fresh air.

She took huge gulps, tears running down her face as she coughed and tried to get the fresh air into her lungs.

He stood for a moment shaking his head, his arms crossed over his bare chest, his dark eyes boring into her.

“I think you’re going to live,” he said, giving her can of pepper spray a heave. It landed in the deep snow out by the trees along the Milk River and disappeared. “Now get the hell off my porch.”

He stepped back inside, not even looking chilled though still only wearing a towel, and slammed the door behind him. She heard the lock turn.

ON THE OTHER SIDE of the door, Cade Jackson took a ragged breath and looked down at the grainy photograph still clutched in his hand.

It wasn’t Grace. True it looked enough like her to be her twin. Enough like her to rattle the hell out of him.

The woman in the photograph, Starr Calhoun, had robbed a bunch of banks and gotten away with three million dollars?

He wanted to laugh. Not for a minute would anyone believe that this Starr Calhoun was Grace except some wet-behind-the-ears reporter. It was beyond crazy.

He realized he was shaking. From anger. From shock. From the scare she’d given him. Earlier, for just a fleeting panicked instant, he’d thought the woman in the photo was Grace.

It was clear why the reporter had thought so as well as he took one last look at the photo. Even the poor quality print revealed a little of Grace in this woman and it shook him to his core. It was the eyes. She had Grace’s eyes.

The reporter had made an honest mistake, he told himself as he balled up the photo of Starr Calhoun and tossed it in the trash can. The rumpled-up photograph landed on the note and business card the reporter had left the night before. M. W. Blake. He still wanted to break her pretty little neck for giving him such a scare. And that stunt with the pepper spray…

He shook his head as he returned to his apartment at the back of shop to get dressed. Someday he would look back on this and laugh. Let Tex wait by the phone. He wouldn’t be calling her.

Still he felt shaken by the encounter. Anyone would have been rattled, though, he told himself, after being caught coming out of his shower first thing in the morning by someone like Ms. Blake. He’d foolishly left the shop’s front door open after getting his newspaper this morning. Maybe he’d better start locking his apartment, as well.

When he’d first seen her standing there, he’d been a little surprised but he sure hadn’t expected what was coming. Not from someone who looked like her, small, demure, sweet looking and sounding with that Texas accent of hers. And a determination that rivaled his own.

Too bad he couldn’t shake off the worry that pressed on his chest like a two-ton truck. The woman wasn’t foolish enough to run the story, was she?

As he started to leave, he went back into the shop to retrieve the photo, note and business card from the trash. Smoothing the photo, he felt his original jolt of surprise. He quickly folded the paper and stuck all three items in his coat pocket as he headed for the door again.

Cade would just show the photo to Carter, have him find out who this Starr Calhoun was and put an end to this foolishness before the reporter made a fool of herself and tarnished Grace’s memory. That, after all, was the benefit of having a brother who was sheriff.

Cade glanced at his watch, knowing where to find his brother this time of the morning. At the same place he was seven days a week, the Hi-Line Café.

Leaving his Closed sign in the window, Cade headed for the café just a few blocks to the west. It was one of those beautiful December days, cold and crisp, the sky a crystalline-blue, the clouds mere wisps high above him and the new snow brilliant and blinding.

It was supposed to snow again by evening, he’d heard on the radio this morning before his shower. The shower brought back the image of M. W. Blake standing in his bait shop. He remembered now that his first impression had been one of male interest—before he’d found out who she was and what she wanted.

He recalled being a little taken aback by the sharp pang of desire he’d felt. But given how long it had been, he supposed he shouldn’t have been surprised. The feeling had been more than lust, though. He’d actually been interested.

Even before she’d opened her mouth, it had been clear she wasn’t local. She was wearing some fancy black boots with a gray pin-striped three-piece suit and a lightweight leather coat, her long dark hair pulled up to give him a good view of her long, graceful neck.

When she’d turned, he’d been thrown off guard by how young she was. It was the freckles she’d failed to completely hide with makeup and those wide green eyes. Wisps of dark hair curled on each side of the high cheekbones. She was a stunner. The soft Southern drawl was just icing on the cake.

He swore under his breath. She wasn’t even half as appealing when it turned out she was a damned reporter, though. And it had only gotten worse when he realized she was a reporter who didn’t have her facts straight. What could he expect of someone who was obviously too young to be anything but a rookie?

As he passed the big bare-limbed cottonwoods along the Milk River etching dark against the bright day, he thought of the fall day he’d met Grace and felt a sharp jab of longing.

The woman in the photo hadn’t been Grace, but even the resemblance to her made him hurt all over again. He cursed the damned reporter all the way to the café.

Sheriff Carter Jackson was sitting at the counter. Cade dropped onto the stool next to him and motioned to the waitress that he would have the same thing he always did. Coffee.

“Good mornin’,” he said to his brother as the waitress slid a cup in front of him.

“Is it?” the sheriff said.

The waitress brought Cade extra sugar packets. He tore open a half dozen and poured them into his cup.

“If you don’t like coffee, why drink it?” Carter asked irritably.

“Who says I don’t like coffee?” He poured in most of the small pitcher of milk the waitress brought and glanced at his brother, wondering what had put Carter in such a foul mood. He suspected he knew. Eve Bailey.

Carter had been trying to get Eve back for months now. They’d dated in high school but Carter had married someone else. Now divorced, he wasn’t finding Eve Bailey very forgiving. Not that Cade could blame her, although it was clear his brother had always loved her.

“You’re up early,” Carter said, eyeing him. “What’s goin’ on with you?”

Cade had planned to show his brother the photo of Starr Calhoun and tell him about the ridiculous claim made by the new reporter in town. But something stopped him.

“Nothin’,” Cade said. “Just thought I’d join you for a cup of coffee this morning.”

His brother turned now to stare at him. “You sure you’re all right?”

“Don’t I look all right?” Cade shot back.

“You look a little peaked.”

Cade concentrated on his coffee, telling himself he was a fool not to show his brother the Wanted poster and put an end to this. So what was holding him back?

“You’re usually out in your ice-fishing house by now,” Carter said, sounding suspicious. That also went with having a sheriff for a brother.

“I haven’t got my house out yet,” he said, although that had been his plan just this morning. Before his early visit from Tex. Normally as soon as Nelson Reservoir froze over he would be on the ice.

“I heard Harvey Alderson speared a nice Northern the other day,” Carter said.

Cade nodded. “The photo’s already on the wall at the shop.” Harvey had come straight there to have his photograph taken. It was a Whitehorse tradition.

“Maybe you’re starting to realize there is more to life than fishing,” his brother said, sounding as if he thought that was progress.

On any other day Cade might have argued the point. “So how is Eve?”

“She’s impossible as ever,” Carter groused. “And I don’t want to talk about her.”

Cade laughed as he watched his brother wolf down his breakfast and between bites, go on and on about Eve. Some things didn’t change and today Cade was damned glad of it.

ANDI FINISHED her story on the Parade of Lights and laid out the page for the next day’s edition, trying to keep busy.

She’d expected Cade to call. He hadn’t.

Wouldn’t a man who’d been given evidence that his wife was a known criminal call? Unless he’d already known and was sitting over in his bait shop planning how to keep her from telling another living soul.

She slammed the drawer on the filing cabinet and cursed mildly under her breath. It was time to use her ace in the hole: the cassette tape.

It was dangerous, but once he heard the voice on the tape, he would confirm that the voice was Starr Calhoun’s and she would have the proof she needed. She hoped that faced with even more evidence and his own innocence in all this, he would break down and tell her everything about his relationship with Starr.

Unless of course he wasn’t innocent.

Andi couldn’t help the rush of excitement she felt at just the thought of playing the copy of the tape she’d made for him. Maybe she should have told him about the tape when she’d shown him the photo.

No, she thought, given how angry he’d been she doubted he would have listened to the tape. He had needed time to calm down, to let it sink in, to realize he couldn’t hide from the truth.

Right. But how was she going to get him to listen to the tape if he refused to talk to her again? The man was obviously more stubborn than she had anticipated. She’d been convinced, guilty or innocent, he wouldn’t be able to rest until he heard her out. So much for that thought.

She sighed as she sat down and checked her schedule. She didn’t have another story to cover for several days. The newspaper would hit the stands in the morning and she would have a whole week before the next edition. She couldn’t believe how laid-back weekly newspaper work was compared to broadcast news in a metropolitan city.

But it would work out well for her. She’d need time to mine this story. Time to convince Cade Jackson to talk to her.

That was the problem. To get the story she wanted, she needed Cade’s side of it. She needed to know how he and Starr had met, how she’d deceived him into marrying her.

Andi felt a twinge of guilt. Cade hadn’t just been furious this morning. He’d seemed stunned. Even though he denied the photo was of his wife, she’d seen his shock. He’d recognized Starr.

What would his reaction be when he heard his wife’s voice on the tape, callously planning the bank robberies with her accomplice? Unless, of course, Cade was her accomplice.

No, the man caught on the bank surveillance cameras had pale blue eyes. Cade Jackson had dark, expressive eyes. Nor was he built like Starr’s accomplice.

If Cade Jackson was involved, then it was from the sidelines. Which didn’t mean he hadn’t known who his wife really was—or that he didn’t know what had happened to the robbery money.

A thought struck her like a bolt out of the blue. How badly had Starr deceived him? Hadn’t the article in the newspaper about her death said that the car had rolled numerous times before catching fire? Her body had apparently burned beyond recognition.

What if Starr had faked her death just as Andi had first suspected? What if she was somewhere living off that three mil with her accomplice? Then who had been killed in the car wreck?

Mind racing, Andi realized the pieces still didn’t fit. Lubbock was out of prison and missing. But whoever had sent her the job information about Whitehorse knew she had information about Lubbock’s arrest in Montana. That meant the person knew about her interest in the Calhoun family. Might even know about her connection to the Calhouns.

She groaned, realizing how that was possible. A few years back, she’d driven over to the prison where Amarillo Calhoun had been sentenced. The eldest of the Calhoun children, Amarillo had followed in his parents’ footsteps, his life of crime going from bank robbing to murder.

She’d seen him sitting in the glassed-in cubicle. Their eyes had met. He must have recognized her because he told the guard he didn’t want to speak with her—backing out on their interview. Her face had been all over the TV news. She’d just broken a big news story. That was right before she’d gotten her newscaster job in Fort Worth.

So it was possible Lubbock knew who she was and why she would jump at digging into this story.

If her friend Bradley was right, then Lubbock was after the missing money. Or Starr and the money, if she’d faked her death. Or there was Houston Calhoun, who’d disappeared the same time as Starr.

Clearly if Lubbock had left her the tape and newspaper clipping, he wasn’t interested in the truth coming out. And he wasn’t the only one, Andi thought. Cade Jackson wouldn’t want a story about his wife being Starr Calhoun, the bank robber, hitting the news, either, she thought, remembering the look on his face when he’d recognized the woman on the Wanted poster. If he’d loved his wife as much as he appeared to, what would the truth do to him?

She pushed the thought away. She’d never backed down from a story and wasn’t going to now. The best stories rose out of someone’s pain. This was one of those stories.

A niggling concern wormed its way into her thoughts, though. Whoever was sending her the information was playing her like a marionette until he got what he wanted. Then what?

Her phone rang, making her jump.

“Hello?”

Silence.

“Hello?” she said again, feeling suddenly spooked. Lubbock?

Then to her relief, Cade said, “It’s me.” He didn’t sound happy about it, though.

She waited, suspecting he was sorry he’d called and might even hang up.

“I need to see you,” he said gruffly.

“All right. Do you want me to—”

“I’m right outside.”