Buried Secrets Can Be Murder: Charlie Parker Mysteries, Book #14 (The Charlie Parker Mysteries) (6 page)

She seemed pensive but by the time we’d spent a few minutes breathing in the scents of lotions and soaps she gave over completely to the sensory fun.

“I just wish Ron hadn’t had to go to Dallas right now,” she finally said after we’d made our choices and checked out.

“I know. But he’s got a ticket that will get him home by tomorrow afternoon. So Christmas Eve is still safe.”

Almost as if the cosmos could hear our conversation, both of our cell phones began to chime about two seconds later. Hers was Ron, mine was Drake. We broke out in giggles as we stepped out of the mall-traffic flow to answer.

“So, are you about to head for home?” I asked by way of greeting to my husband.

“Well, I hate to say this . . .”

“What? No!”

“We’re grounded. Ten inches new snow overnight and it’s coming down like crazy.”

I felt my mouth flap. How could that be? A few yards from where I stood was a set of doors to the parking lot. I peered out. The sky was white with high clouds, but nary a sign of moisture from them.

“It’s still north of Albuquerque,” he said. “The storm may not even dip that far south, but up here it’s a mess.”

“So, what’s the forecast?”

He didn’t say anything for a minute. I couldn’t tell if he was checking data on some report or if he just didn’t want to answer.

“I’ll keep you posted,” he said. “We may not know until morning.”

Morning. Christmas Eve. We were supposed to light the candles and have dinner at Elsa’s. Cuddle under big warm blankets and have drinks in front of the fire. Hot sex, exchange gifts, make a special breakfast on Christmas Day. I tamped down my disappointment. There was still hope that the front would blow through and he could get back in time for it all. I clicked off the call and wandered back to where Victoria was still talking.

She hung up and turned toward me with a sigh. “Ron says to tell you he got there just fine and is sitting in a rental car outside the shop where Rosa works.”

I nodded.

“Does all investigative work feel kind of like stalking?”

“I guess it does. A little.” At least Ron was accomplishing something toward a goal. My only goal at this point was to buy pies for the big dinner and then sit around and hope my husband was there to eat them.

Chapter 6

I arrived home from the mall venture to find that my street had been invaded by youngsters in blue. The Cub Scouts had arrived. They moved like ants on a hill, toting paper sacks filled with sand. Each kid set a bag down, straightened the turned-down cuff and paced off two steps before setting another. Following shortly behind the setters came another one with a box of votive candles. Quite the production line.

I pulled into my driveway and greeted the Scoutmaster who, like a coach with his team, blew on a whistle occasionally. The troops responded and I could see that they’d already lined the sidewalks to the curve in the road a block away.

Tucked against my front doorjamb was a flyer with instructions to the residents: Don’t light the candles until tomorrow night, be sure to have all your candles lit by five p.m., don’t worry about blowing them out because they will burn down and go out in the sand. If you’d paid for pickup service the Scouts would be back the day after Christmas. If not, you were on your own to empty out your sand and dispose of the bags. I’d been doing this since I was five; I pretty well knew the drill.

I went inside, gave Freckles some happy-talk and surveyed the living room. The stockings were hung from the chimney with care—well, actually the mantle—and enticing packages waited under the tree. I’d set aside a few that I planned to deliver and, since the foreseeable hours looked pretty empty, I made a plan to see to the Santa chores.

Collecting tins of cookies from the kitchen, I noticed my answering machine light blinking.

“I’m trying to reach Ron Parker and I’ve already left two messages at his office,” said a semi-familiar male voice. “I hope I have the right number. Chester Flowers. Please give me a call.”

Darn you, Ron. What was the point in my handing him those previous messages if he wasn’t going to return the calls? Okay, granted, he’d been pretty tied up with this Rosa Flores thing. I lifted the kitchen phone from its hook.

“Mr. Flowers? Charlie Parker here. I’m sorry Ron hasn’t returned your other calls.” I went into a spiel about how busy we’d been.

“I wasn’t sure whether Ron would remember me,” Flowers said. “We worked a case together a few years ago. I’ve got a lead on something in your area and really need to talk to him about it.”

His voice sounded urgent enough that I gave him Ron’s cell number, explaining about the quick trip to Dallas and hoping this wasn’t someone Ron was purposely trying to avoid. I hung up the phone and turned back to my cookie tins.

After making my list and checking it twice, I headed out to see a few friends, first getting to the ones that Drake didn’t know quite as well. Hope held out that he would be back tomorrow and able to make a few visits along with me.

Heavy clouds obscured the late afternoon sun and I realized the entire western sky was getting pretty gray. Streaks of white were headed east toward the Sandia mountains too. I set the packages in the back seat of my Jeep and buttoned my jacket up to my neck. A phone call to Sally’s house was answered by her five-year-old daughter, Chrissie, who went all shy when she heard my voice and turned the receiver over to her dad.

“Hey Ross,” I said. “Just checking to see if you guys were home. How’s Sally feeling?”

“Like a blimp, she says. But yeah, we’re here.”

I told him I would be there in fifteen minutes. Although I’d given her the quilt for the new baby, I knew Chrissie better get something of her own, so I’d chosen a cute little dress that Victoria assured me would be just right. And I’d made up little stockings for each of them with a few goodies.

Ross was right; Sally had a decidedly dirigible-like look about her. She was reclining on the couch with a knitted throw over her lap.

“My poor back could only handle so much this morning,” she said, apologizing for not getting up.

“I won’t stay long. Just wanted to play Santa real quick.” I caught Chrissie staring at me. “Uh, I mean, I brought some things that Santa left at our house. He, um, left a note that they were for you.”

I covered by holding out the fuzzy red stocking to her.

“Santa brought them for Mommy and Daddy too.” I handed out stockings for Sally and Ross. “This,” I said, showing the wrapped dress box, “is from me and Uncle Drake and it goes under the tree for Christmas morning.”

Chrissie was busily delving into the stocking and already had a piece of candy stuffed into her mouth. Ross extracted the toys and tactfully set the rest of the candy aside for later.

“So, how’s little mama doing?” I asked, perching myself on the edge of a chair near Sally.

“I went to the doctor this morning,” she said. “It could be anytime now.” She went into some of that pregnancy lingo with words such as effaced and dropped, which I halfway tuned out. The whole process sounds really messy to someone who’s never done it. At least I had guessed correctly about the stocking stuffers. Sally oohed over the massage cream and fuzzy socks I’d put in hers.

When I saw her eyelids begin to droop a little I said a quick goodbye and headed toward my next stop—Linda Casper’s place. Her house in the northeast heights seemed the lone holdout on lawn decorations. On either side of hers, neighbors had gone a little crazy with puffy inflatable snowmen, Santas and packages that looked good enough to open. Linda’s house, with its red-brick façade, sported an evergreen wreath on the front door, nothing more. It was refreshingly low-key by comparison.

When she opened the door the scent of spices just about made my mouth water.

“I’m making mulled wine,” she said. “I promised Alex’s mother I would bring it for Christmas dinner at their place and I’ve never made it before. Thought I better do a trial run. You’re just in time to be my guinea pig.”

Well, I wasn’t going to argue with that. And if it was a success I could ask for her recipe.

I handed her the little gift I’d brought—a scented candle which, at the moment, would greatly conflict with the spices from the wine. She set it beside her small tree and led the way to the kitchen. A pot simmering on the stove sent up tendrils of that heavenly clove and cinnamon smell. Linda pulled two cups from a shelf and ladled the mulled wine into them.

“I think I could OD just breathing this stuff,” I said before taking my first sip. “This is wonderful.”

“Taste. Then tell me that.”

We raised our cups. I had to admit that the result was every bit as good as the promise. The only problem was that the cups were too small. Before I knew it she’d ladled out some more.

We retired to the living room where we nestled into opposite ends of her plushy couch with a bowl of popcorn.

“I just came from Sally’s,” I told her. “She looks really ready to have that baby.”

“All pregnant women get impatient at the end. Constant heartburn, no sleep, and getting your guts kicked around day and night. They’re always relieved to deliver, but then nothing much changes. You don’t have as much heartburn but the sleep issues only multiply.”

I nodded. “And then parents have to worry about all the mishaps that can possibly happen to a kid, like poor little Adam Brewster. Felina said you treated his arm.”

“I did. It wasn’t a bad break and seemed to fit how they said it happened. But we’re under such rules these days. If there’s even a suspicion we have to file a report.”

“So it might not have been an accident?” The popcorn kept going down as if I’d not eaten a thing all day.

“I don’t know. Sometimes things are obvious, sometimes not. You get a feeling, based on the injury and on how the parents act. I didn’t get that feeling around the Brewsters. I might not have reported it but as I said, rules are rules.”

I took another sip from my wine.

She gave me the eye. “I’ve already said too much. And none of it leaves this room.”

“Absolutely.” I did a little cross-my-heart move.

We caught up on a few of our holiday plans while I drained my cup and stared at the empty snack bowl. Linda offered to make some dinner for both of us, but when I glanced out and saw that the late afternoon sky had turned completely white I decided I should get on home. I hugged Linda and walked out to my Jeep. I had gifts for Ron’s boys in the car but the idea of facing his ex put a damper on my desire to deliver them. I would send the packages home with Ron when he got back from Dallas tomorrow morning.

I headed west on Lomas. The sun had set, fading into oblivion in the clouds rather than showing off its usual array of red and gold. I cranked up my heater another notch and threaded my way through the streets toward Old Town where I pulled into the tiny parking area at Pedro’s Mexican Restaurant.

A twinge of guilt nudged at me. Drake and I talked about coming here for our favorite green chile chicken enchiladas as soon as he got home. But he was stuck up north and I was stuck here—hungry—and I selfishly went ahead without him.

“Where’s that new baby?” Concha greeted as I walked into the place.

For a second I thought of Sally, but then realized that she was referring to Freckles. Pedro and Concha had, for years, relaxed the rules on letting our big Lab come in and sit beside our table. Freckles had happily taken up the tradition. I explained that I’d left her at home while I did my errands. But realizing that the puppy had been home alone for awhile now I ordered my enchiladas to go. Concha added a jar of their fabulous salsa to take home and wished me a merry Christmas.

The sky had darkened by the time I reached my neighborhood and everyone’s lights were on except mine. I plugged in the outdoor lights and carried my dinner inside. Freckles whimpered until I let her out of her crate, but her interest was in the enchiladas more than going outside or eating the yummy nuggets I scooped into her bowl for her.

Eating my favorite dinner from a Styrofoam container, without the freshly blended margarita that goes so well with it and without my hubby beside me, just wasn’t the same. I know they tasted every bit as good but something was missing. Face it, everything was missing without Drake here. I ate half the meal and shoved the box into the fridge.

Freckles stared up at me as if I were crazy. Obviously, she’d never seen this behavior before.

“C’mon baby, let’s take a little walk.” I checked the readout on my phone for the tenth time and then jammed it into my pocket. I found my scarf, some gloves and my heavier coat, then clipped the leash on her collar. The change in routine didn’t faze her a bit; she began pulling at the lead before we’d stepped off the porch.

We passed rows of unlit luminarias—amazing how dreary a line of plain paper sacks looks without the candles glowing inside. Freckles sniffed at the first few but came to realize they didn’t contain food. We did a brisk walk to the corner. The temperature had dropped by ten degrees and a breeze bit at my face. She tugged, wanting to head for the park but I convinced her that one circle around the block would be plenty.

 
Bits of sleet began pelting me as we came to the final corner, a block from the house. Under a street light I saw a familiar figure walking toward us. She wore a flowing sweater coat and black tights with dainty flat shoes. She appeared to be hugging herself to ward off the cold.

“Katie? What are you doing out here?” Only when I came within a few feet of her did I realize that there were tears on her face.

“Hey, girl. You look like you’re freezing.”

She ducked her head, the wings of bright pink hair falling to hide her expression.

She was five blocks from home. “Look, it’s getting colder by the minute. Come to my place. You can warm up there and I can drive you home.”

A loud sniff escaped her as Freckles rubbed against her barely-clad legs.

“Katie, really. It’s way too cold to be out here without a coat. At least let me loan you one if you want to keep walking.” I stretched out my free arm and circled her shoulders. I couldn’t tell if the trembling came mostly from the cold or from whatever had upset her.

“Come on, it’s just a few more houses. We can call your folks from there if you’d rather ride home with them.”

She jerked away from me. “No!”

“Katie . . .”

“I mean, I don’t mind riding with you.” She sniffed again.

I urged her to walk along with me but I didn’t touch her again. “I’ve got some truly excellent hot chocolate,” I said, hoping I didn’t sound too much like a stranger offering candy. The girl was spooked about something. I didn’t say anything more until I’d unlocked my front door and let her inside.

She rubbed briskly at her arms and looked around the living room.

“Not nearly as fancy as your place,” I said, taking off my jacket. “But have a seat if you want. I’ll just get the cocoa going.”

Her fingers trailed over the back of the sofa and she stood in front of the Christmas tree. Aside from the bright pink and platinum in her hair she reminded me of some sort of apparition—an adolescent ghost of Christmas future. She wiped the sleeve of her sweater across her eyes and stared blankly at the tree.

“I’ll just—” I realized I’d already made that announcement so I left her alone while I went into the kitchen. What had happened to upset her so much?

When I walked back into the living room with two mugs that bristled marshmallows from the tops Freckles sat beside Katie, staring up at her. The girl’s arms hung down at her sides and her expression remained empty.