Читать книгу Maverick Christmas - Joanna Wayne - Страница 11

The information sent a couple of shock waves to Josh’s brain. He’d heard of man killers who looked like innocent babes before, but he’d never expected to run into one at the local civic center. But if it turned out Chrysie and the missing doctor from Texas were one and the same, he’d not only run into her but had left Danny and Davy in her care.

The heat in his office kicked on, and Josh shrugged out of his jacket as he skimmed the sparse facts. Jonathan Hawthorne Harwell, a Houston attorney, had been found murdered in his bed. His wife and their two children had gone missing four days after the crime. Dr. Harwell had withdrawn one hundred and twenty thousand dollars, the full amount of her personal checking and savings accounts.

A low whistle escaped Josh’s lips. Dr. Cassandra Harwell was one tough shrew. He looked at her picture again. Not the typical face of a born killer, but she did look a little uptight—kind of the way Chrysie had looked the other night when she’d lit into him about the crooked Christmas tree.

But not the way she’d looked serving up plates of sloppy joes and washing dishes in her cozy little kitchen. Definitely not the way she’d looked when she’d stood at the back door to tell them goodbye. Her vulnerability then had really gotten to him. Of course, she could have been playing him.

He studied the picture again. Different color and hairstyle. That was easy enough to accomplish. Chrysie was shapely where the woman in the picture was too thin, but a few added pounds could explain that.

And there were some very definite similarities. The shape of the face was the same and the features were similar. Little turned-up nose, full lips. And something about the eyes. The similarities didn’t justify tearing out to the Millers’ ranch to make an arrest, but when you considered the two children were exactly the right ages, there was ample evidence to warrant further investigation.

If Chrysie was the missing psychologist, it would explain her Texas accent and the way she knew so much about handling the boys. It would also explain why she could be a stay-at-home mom. She could still be making it on the one-twenty if she’d lived as cheaply the past three years as she was now.

He should be feeling at least a hint of excitement at the possibility of arresting a fugitive practically in his backyard. Instead he felt more as if he’d taken a punch to the gut. His muscles tightened as he picked up the phone and dialed information for the phone number for the Houston Police Department. With any luck, he’d find the listing was a mistake and that Dr. Cassandra Harwell had been located months ago.

He had a very strong hunch that this was not his lucky day.

DETECTIVE JUAN HERNANDEZ hung up the phone and lumbered down the hall to his new partner’s office. Her door was open, so he walked in. Angela Martina was sitting at her desk, her breasts pushing ever so slightly against the soft cotton of her yellow blouse as she shuffled through the photos of last night’s shooting on the east side of town.

“Lousy photos,” she said. “I may have to start taking my own.”

He looked at the photo she’d just thrown to her desk. It looked fine to him. “I just got a call from a sheriff in Aohkii, Montana,” he said.

She didn’t bother to look up. “What’s his problem?”

“He was calling about Cassandra Harwell.” He knew that would get her attention. Jonathan Harwell and Angela’s older sister had been partners in a law firm before he was murdered.

Angela tossed the photo she was holding back to the desk and stared at Juan from beneath her mascara-coated lashes. “Has Cassandra been spotted in Montana?”

“Probably not. Said he had some strangers in town and he was checking them against known felons.”

“I don’t guess the strangers are a woman with two small children?”

“He said there were some children. He’d check and see if they matched the ages of the Harwell kids.”

“Did he give you a description of the woman?”

“No, only said she didn’t much favor the online photo of Cassandra Harwell.”

“So why did he call?”

“You know those Montana guys. What else they got to do up there besides cozy up to a sheep?” He laughed at his own joke. Angela didn’t.

“What did you tell him?” she asked.

“To check out the kids. If the woman had two girls that looked anywhere near the ages of the Harwell kids, he should get us a set of fingerprints from the woman and keep an eye on her until we checked them out.”

“Did he agree to cooperate?”

“Yeah. Said no problem. He seems on top of things, but I don’t look for anything to come of this. I can’t see Cassandra in Montana. More likely she’s down in Mexico somewhere. No reason to be freezing her ass off up there.”

Angela drummed her bright red nails on her desk. “If it’s Cassandra, someone from the department will need to go up there and fly her back. Frankly I would love to see some snow. It’s hard to get in the mood for Christmas shopping when I’m still running the air conditioner.”

“Well, don’t make any plane reservations just yet. This is a really long shot.”

“Just keep me posted.” Angela turned her gaze back to the photos.

Juan lingered. “You want to get some breakfast and then go question the usual suspects on the east side?”

“Not if we have to go to that greasy hole-in-the-wall where we went last time.”

“They make good breakfast tacos.”

“I want a bagel. And give me a few minutes. I have to make a phone call before we go.”

He started to drop into the straight-backed chair near her desk to wait.

“A private phone call.”

He grinned and left, though he’d love to hang around and listen. Angela was single and the hottest number on the force. He could imagine what a private phone call from her would sound like. Not that he’d ever get one. She’d made it clear she didn’t date police officers. He guessed that meant she wouldn’t sleep with him either.

He walked back to his office, once again thinking about the sheriff’s call. Be one great boon if it was Cassandra Harwell who’d shown up in Aohkii, Montana. He was as eager as ever to get his hands on the murdering bitch—for reasons that had nothing to do with her husband’s death.

JENNY GATHERED a handful of snow and hurled it in her mother’s direction. The snowball splattered against the leg of Chrysie’s jeans. “Okay, kid, you’re going to get it now.”

Jenny took off running, her boots sinking in the snow with each step. Chrysie caught her easily, grabbed her around the waist and swung her around while Jenny squealed excitedly.

Mandy came running over. “Swing me, too, Mommy.”

“As soon as I catch my breath.” She took a huge gulp of the cold air, marveling again at how gloriously beautiful the world looked covered in white. Last night’s snowfall had been the heaviest of the season and had left the entire mountainside glistening.

It was one more reason she’d love to stay in Aohkii. Actually, she’d love to stay almost anywhere. Constantly moving from one town to another was hard on her and even worse on the girls.

Every town they settled in seemed to have its drawbacks. At least it had seemed that way until she’d arrived in Aohkii one sunny afternoon two months ago. She’d only planned to stop for lunch, but when she’d heard some young mothers at a nearby table talking about the excellent preschool program at the Methodist church, her interest had been piqued.

And then when she’d followed up on the waitress’s suggestion that she contact the Millers about renting their cabin, she’d felt it was meant to be, had even dared to hope they could make a real life here.

But now she had Sheriff Josh McCain to deal with. If his questions and interest in her persisted, she’d have no choice but to run again. Her heart constricted at the thought of tearing her innocent daughters away from this place that seemed so perfect.

She picked up Mandy and spun her around until she grew so dizzy she had to lean against the trunk of a towering tree for support. Mandy needed no recuperation.

“Look, Mommy. I’m making snow angels,” she announced as she flopped around in the snow like an injured bird.

“That’s not how you do it.” Jenny fell to her back and started demonstrating the correct way—not that Mandy was looking at her. Mandy had already given up on snow angels and was standing and brushing the snow from her bright red parka. She wandered a few feet away, then came back and grabbed Chrysie’s hand. “Come see this, Mommy.”

“Yes. The spruce tree looks very pretty covered in snow.”

“It’s not a ’pruce tree. It’s a Christmas tree.”

“I guess it could be.”

“Can we have it for our tree? Can we, please? I love it.”

Jenny jumped up from the snow and came over to voice her protest. “It’s not tall enough to be a Christmas tree.”

“They don’t have to be tall, do they, Mommy?”

“I’m pretty sure there’s no height requirement.”

“What’s height?” Mandy asked.

“That’s how you measure how tall something is.”

“I want lots of height,” Jenny said, “for the decorations. And we can put a big star on top, just like the one on the tree in The Night Before Christmas.”

“I want this tree,” Mandy insisted.

“There’s no law against having two Christmas trees,” Chrysie said. “Maybe we can leave the small one outside so that it can keep growing. We can decorate it for the birds so that they won’t go hungry for Christmas.”

“Two Christmas trees.” Jenny was clearly impressed.

The hum of an engine grabbed Chrysie’s attention, and she turned to see a truck making its way up the center of the freshly plowed road that led from the highway. She expected it to be Buck Miller or one of his hands, but as the vehicle got closer, her heart plunged to her toes. It was Sheriff McCain.

She grew instantly tense, starting the all-too-familiar acid flow to her stomach and constricting her throat so that it was difficult to swallow.

No reason to panic, she told herself. He’s just here to see the Millers. Or else he wants me to watch the boys for him. If he asks, I’ll say yes. Pretend it’s no problem. Pretend he’s no problem.

She waved and managed a smile as he stopped a few feet from them and stepped out of his truck. It struck her how well he fit in this world of snowy isolation and rugged terrain.

“Good morning,” she said, striving to sound at ease. “Back so soon?”

“That’s what happens when you feed a stray. They just keep hanging around until you run them off with a well-placed broom handle.”

“Lucky me, I have a new broom.” She turned back to the girls as he joined them. “Time to go inside and warm up.”

“Don’t go in on my account,” Josh said. “I didn’t come to visit. I was heading up to the Millers’ house to talk to Buck about some cattle he’s selling, but I saw you and the girls outside and wondered if you were having battery trouble again.”

“No, I have a new one.”

“Good thinking. Guess you just decided to give the girls a holiday. I don’t blame you. I was tempted to let the boys stay home, but once they hit first grade, the teachers frown on that.”

“I assumed school would be called off due to the weather.”

“It’s just a little snow. Plows already have the main roads cleared. And looks like Buck took care of this one.”

“Yes. One of his hands was out just after daybreak.”

Jenny marched to the back door, sinking her boots as far as she could into the mounds of snow. Mandy ran over and shoved her small gloved hand in Josh’s much larger one. “I can make snow angels. You wanna watch me?”

“Of course I do.” He raved over her abilities as she fell to her back and did a repeat of her flapping-arms routine.

Chrysie worked on staying outwardly calm as she watched the sheriff bond with her young daughter. It seemed a natural thing to do, yet it filled her with dread.

“I didn’t come to visit,” he said again, “but since I’m here, I sure could use a cup of coffee.”

“Sure,” she said. “I can make a fresh pot.”

Josh swooped Mandy onto his shoulders and started toward the back door. Chrysie’s legs felt leaden as she followed them inside.

JOSH STUDIED CHRYSIE’S every move as she helped the girls out of their snow pants, parkas and boots. They were happy kids. She clearly adored them. Which didn’t mean a damn thing. Danny and Davy’s mother had probably loved them, too, but it hadn’t kept her from living in a world so depraved he didn’t even like to think about it.

Mandy pulled off her mittens and held her hands out in front of her. “They’re still cold.”

Chrysie held them in hers for a second. “How about some hot chocolate to warm you up?”

“With marshmallows?” Mandy asked.

“Marshmallows and a cookie, just as soon as I get the coffee started.”

Josh hung his jacket on one of the hooks near the back door. “Actually, the hot chocolate sounds good.”

“Then it’s hot chocolate all around.”

Josh had given little thought to how he’d handle this, mostly trusting his instincts to guide the conversation while he asked enough questions to give him a feel for whether or not Chrysie was on the run.

He watched as she measured cocoa, sugar and milk and dumped the ingredients into a small saucepan. “I didn’t know anyone still made hot chocolate the old-fashioned way.”

“I don’t always. I have instant on hand, as well.”

“So what’s the special occasion?”

“Snow.”

“I guess you didn’t get much of that back in—where was it you’re from? Texas?”

“No.” She kept her back to him. “Actually, I’m from Mississippi, but I haven’t lived there since graduating college. My husband and I moved around a lot.”

“Was that because of his job?”

“Right.”

“What kind of business was he in?”

“He was a helicopter pilot with the Army.”

“I had some friends who flew helicopters for the Army.”

He would.

“Where did your husband do his training?”

“In…in Alabama. Near Mobile.”

“Really? I didn’t know there was an Army base there.”

“No, you’re right. It wasn’t Alabama. It was somewhere in…in south Texas. I don’t know where. It was before we were married.”

The question had her flustered. He walked to the counter so that he could see her face while she worked. “How long has he been dead?”

“Almost three years. Mandy was just a baby. Jennifer was only two.” Finally she looked up and met his gaze. “I don’t like talking about this, Sheriff. My husband’s death was a very unhappy time in my life that I’m trying to put behind me.”

“I can understand that. I’m sorry I asked.” He was—and becoming more disturbed by the second. This wasn’t just about Chrysie. It was about Jenny and Mandy and what would happen to them if their mother wound up in jail. They’d be faced with the same kind of trauma Danny and Davy had dealt with, except there wouldn’t be a father to step in and love them.

“How many Christmas trees are you going to have?” Mandy asked.

“One.”

“We’re going to have two. One for the birds and one with a big star.”

“Boy, two trees. That’s pretty cool.” So Mandy was three, Jenny was five—exactly the same ages the Harwell girls would be. If Chrysie was on the run, she should have lied about that, but that would have meant having her girls confused about their ages and starting them in school at the wrong age. She was probably too good a mother for that.

Chrysie filled two cups when the chocolate was little more than lukewarm. She waited until it was steaming to fill the other two colorful pottery mugs. Each cup received two fluffy marshmallows. The girls got a sugar cookie with their drink. He got a piece of nuked pie. He forked a bite when they’d all sat down at the kitchen table, though he’d lost his appetite.

“Are you going to Mississippi to see your grandparents for Christmas, Jenny, or are you going to stay up here and have a white Christmas with us?”

“My grandma and grandpa are in heaven with my dad,” Jenny said, “so we can’t visit them.”

Josh wondered if the grandparents were really dead or if that was part of the altered reality of a woman on the run.

“You were great with the boys yesterday,” Josh said, deciding to take a different path with his questioning. “You would have made a great teacher.”

“I doubt I have the patience for that.”

“What was your major?”

“My major?”

“Yeah, in college. You said you didn’t leave Mississippi until after you got your degree.”

She hesitated way too long, and her hands tightened on her cup as if she thought it might jump off the table if she didn’t hold it down. She was saved by Mandy when she accidentally knocked over her drink, sending a river of chocolate across the table.

“It’s okay,” Chrysie said as she jumped up to get a handful of paper towels. “Accidents happen.”

“Some gotted on my pants,” Mandy said.

“And all over my hands,” Jenny said.

“Okay, everybody to the bathroom. Will you excuse us, Sheriff?”

“Absolutely.” Josh waited until they were out of sight before walking to the counter and using two fingers to pick up the measuring cup Chrysie had used for the milk. He’d watched and knew it would have a good set of fingerprints and figured she’d be less likely to miss it than one of her pretty cups. Careful not to smudge the prints, he slipped it into the plastic zip bag he’d brought with him.

He stashed it in the pocket of his jacket and went back to his pie and chocolate. When Chrysie returned, it was just to stick her head in the doorway.

“I hate to be a terrible hostess, but I need to get these clothes off to soak before the stains become permanent.”

She smiled, but it didn’t reach her deep blue eyes. When he stared into their smoky depths, he saw the same vulnerability that had gotten to him last night.

“That’s okay. I need to get a move on myself. Thanks for the pie and chocolate.”

“You’re welcome.”

He couldn’t actually feel the weight of the cup in his pocket as he left, but he was intensely aware of it as he climbed behind the wheel of his truck. He hoped to hell the prints were not those of Cassandra Harwell.

Yet he was almost certain that they were. And just as certain that arresting her might top his list of the hardest things he’d ever had to do.

CHRYSIE’S HEART WAS pounding like mad as she watched the truck disappear down the road, not toward the Millers but back to the highway.

He knew. She was sure of it.

The references to Texas. The questions about her husband’s helicopter training, her parents and her education. And the missing measuring cup. He’d probably though she wouldn’t notice. He was wrong. She hadn’t avoided capture for three years by letting anything go unnoticed.

He had her fingerprints, and as soon as he had them tested, he’d be back to arrest her. She had to move quickly, had only hours, maybe minutes, to throw what she could into the car. Only moments to tear the girls away from the place they already thought of as home.

Tears burned at the back of her eyelids as she hurried to her bedroom and pulled the battered suitcases from the top shelf of the closet. She carried two to the girls’ room. Her hands flew as she packed their socks, undies and pajamas, hoping to finish before they wandered in and saw what she was doing.

Better to get them in the car and on the road without their knowing what was going on. That way they couldn’t say anything to anyone when they stopped at a service station for fuel or at a fast-food restaurant for a bite to eat.

She had no idea where they’d go now. Before, she’d always known, but this time she hadn’t been able to make herself think of that next move. Aohkii had seemed so perfect.

She took the suitcases to the back door, then went to the living room, where the girls were watching cartoons and coloring pictures in their new drawing pads. “I have a surprise for you,” she said, trying to keep her tone light. “We’re going on a little trip.”

Mandy jumped off the couch. “Are we going to get a heighted Christmas tree?”

“Not heighted, tall,” Jenny corrected. “Are we, Mommy?”

“Not yet, but we’ll have fun. We’ll be riding in the car for a while, so I want you to go to your room and pick out five toys you want to take with you.”

The crayon Jenny was using slipped from her fingers and rolled along the table before falling to the floor. She stared at Chrysie questioningly. “What about the Christmas play? We have to go to practice.”

“The next practice isn’t until Monday. We’ll be back by then.” She hated lying to Jenny. Hated that she had to let her believe they’d be coming back when they never would. But she simply couldn’t take a chance on Jenny saying anything until they were far away from Aohkii.

“I don’t want to go.”

Chrysie settled on the couch beside Jenny and put her arm around her thin shoulders. “It will be okay, sweetheart. I promise you we’ll have fun.” She touched her lips to the top of Jenny’s head and felt the wispy strands of hair against her face.

“I don’t want to move again, Mommy. I like it in Aohkii.”

Chrysie pulled her close. “We don’t have a lot of time, Jenny. Just go to your room and pick out five toys. I’ll explain everything later.”

Chrysie wanted to hate Josh McCain, wanted to blame him for all this unhappiness and pain, but she couldn’t. Her own mistakes had caused this. Mistakes that she could never undo.

All she could do now was hope to outrun the killers and the law.

CHRYSIE WAS TWENTY miles east of Aohkii when she heard the approaching police siren. Impulsively she pressed her foot onto the accelerator.

Seconds later, the car hit an icy spot and started to skid. The back end of the car fishtailed to the right. Chrysie fought the wheel to straighten the car, but they were going sideways now, skidding toward the ditch and a cluster of pine trees just off the road.

The girls started to scream. She started to pray. But the horrifying siren just kept wailing right through the deafening crash.