The Off Season (13 page)

CHAPTER ELEVEN

With the dark sea churning at his back and wind-whipped snowflakes swirling all around him, Harris knocked at the blue door of the Victorian on Cape Street. No one answered, so he tried again, assuming from the dented red Kia parked out front that there was definitely someone at home. Someone in need of new tires and an up-to-date inspection sticker. But he wasn’t here to hassle Christina’s sister about the condition of her hatchback.

“Come on, Annie. Answer,” he muttered.

Moments later, he heard the dead bolt disengage, and she peeked through a narrow gap, with Max’s big, tan head poking out a couple of feet below hers. The moment he set eyes on Harris, the greyhound grinned up at him as if he were a long-lost friend, his shoulders pushing the door wider.

“That’s some watchdog you’ve got there.”

“Christina’s running a little late,” Annie told him, “but you can come in and wait if you’d like. Well, if you don’t mind hanging with one of Lilly’s kid flicks. I’ve just finished bathing her, and we’re winding down for—”

“Actually, I came to see you,” he said, hoping he could be in and out before her sister showed up.

“Me?” Annie visibly tensed. “Listen, if this is about those parking tickets, I’ll be in to settle up as soon as—”

“I’d rather you use the money making sure that car of yours doesn’t go skating off the road,” he said. “But that’s not why I’m here, either.”

“Um, sure.” She motioned for him to come inside. Fidgeting a little, she rolled down the sleeves of the form-fitting Henley shirt she wore over dark leggings.

Enveloped by the warmth and the rich, beefy aroma of roasting meat, he spotted Lilly sprawled on the sectional, wearing fuzzy pink pajamas and clutching a threadbare blanket as she stared at one of Jacob’s favorite movies. The one where cars spoke in funny voices that Harris sometimes imitated just to crack the kid up.

A wave of longing hit him, an ache to hang out with his own son, building pillow forts at his place while the storm did its thing outside.

Maybe it showed on his face, for Annie quickly asked, “How’s Jacob?”

“Bouncing back like—he’s great.” His throat tightened, and he couldn’t go on. Couldn’t describe the raw fear, the desperate prayers, the relief that had roared through him when his kid had started chattering away this afternoon as if nothing had happened. “You’ll tell Lilly for me later?”

“That’s fantastic news,” Annie said, “and sure I’ll tell her. Hey, do you mind?” She hooked a thumb in the direction of the kitchen. “I want to pop these rolls in the oven to go with dinner.”

Nodding, he followed her, the greyhound at his heels. “Whatever you’re making smells fantastic.” Since Renee had left the house they’d shared—a house purchased and renovated by enthusiastic volunteers when he’d first come home to recover—there’d been precious little in the way of cooking, unless you counted frozen pizzas.

“Just a pot roast. Seemed like the weather for it,” she said, hesitating a moment before adding, “There’s plenty, if you’d like to stay. Lilly had her dinner earlier.”

“Thanks, but I’m heading back to the hospital to give Renee and her mom a break for the evening.” Absently, he stroked Max’s sleek head. “Nurses are great up there, but we don’t like to leave the little guy alone.”

“You’re a good dad,” Annie assured him.

Not good enough, not soon enough,
he thought. But this was no confessional, and no damn shrink’s couch, either, so he claimed a stool by the counter and waited for Annie to slide a tray of doughy, pale globs into the lower unit of the double oven.

When she turned back toward him, he got down to business. “Since I was here a couple days ago, I’ve been wondering about this
Kaydee
business—what Lilly said the other day.”

Annie picked up a kitchen towel and wiped her hands repeatedly, though as far as Harris could see, they were neither damp nor dirty. “My sister—don’t you remember what she said about the movie?”

He nodded. “But listen,” he said. “Before I was a cop, I was an MP.”

“Yeah, sure.” She shook her head impatiently. Everyone in town had heard the story. Undoubtedly, it had been chewed over plenty in the bar where she worked each summer—how a guy from a dicey family like his had ended up the so-called hero who headed their police force.

“My point is,” he added as the dog wandered toward the family room, “I’ve spent half my life being lied to. So I know bullshi—BS—when I hear it.”

He glanced toward Lilly to assure himself he hadn’t corrupted any more innocent ears, but she was clearly in the thrall of the characters rolling, roaring, and honking their way around the big screen.

When he looked back, Annie was glaring at him across the counter. “So somebody trashes my sister’s car and cuts the phone line, and the best you can do is make her out to be a liar? Or do you figure she’s a criminal, too?”

“People avoid the truth for a lot of reasons,” he said carefully, “not all of them against the law. What I’m trying to figure out is why somebody might want to harass her, maybe hurt her next time. Have you thought of that?”

Fussing with her sleeves again, Annie darted a glance toward Lilly. The greyhound stepped up onto the cushion beside the clearly sleepy toddler, settling his long body carefully against hers.

“Your niece could be at risk, too,” Harris continued, sensing that Annie was weakening. “And maybe you as well, since you’re here at the house, too.”

“I—I shouldn’t talk about it. Not without discussing it first with Christina.”

“Then maybe we ought to have a different conversation,” he said. “Down at the station, as soon as Christina gets home. About the bench warrant I found on you, for not showing up for your last court date—”

“For a couple of
parking
tickets?” Annie asked, her eyes shooting wide with disbelief. “You can’t—you wouldn’t—come on, Harris. This is stupid.”

“It sure is,” he agreed, knowing it would be more paperwork than it was worth and stir up a whole lot of hard feelings. Plus, he’d never been one of those cops who’d relished throwing his weight around, not with someone as inherently harmless as he judged Christina’s sister to be. “But you don’t have to be. C’mon, Annie. Work with me. Because you and I both know what happened here the other night was more than simple vandalism. It’s personal. I know it.”

It frustrated him no end, but he’d found no mention online or in any of the law-enforcement databases he had access to of any
Katie
in association with Christina Wallace Paxton. He’d tried various spellings, a dozen or more increasingly far-fetched permutations, and he couldn’t come up with one damn thing.

Before leaving Philadelphia, he’d asked Ashley Paxton about it, but the nineteen-year-old, who didn’t seem to have lying in her makeup, had said the name meant nothing to her. She’d also made it clear that despite her mother’s issues, she personally remembered Christina as a
supernice person, even if she did seem a little young for Dad.

Christina’s hospital coworkers, whom he’d discreetly questioned earlier, had been no more helpful. Though she’d been working in the ER only a little over a month, Christina appeared to be both well liked and respected by everyone he’d talked to. The head of the department had told him she was doing amazingly well, considering her circumstances.

Circumstances?
Harris had pressed, after which the man had murmured something about her recent loss and excused himself to get back to his patient.

“Tell me about this
Katie
, Annie,” he pressed, seeing how her eyes were filling, their red rims near to overflowing. She was ready to spill, he knew—unless Christina showed up and shut things down. “Who the hell’s this
Kaydee-Mommy
, and how did she
get dead
?”

“Okay, you win,” Annie said, her shoulders slumping. “Only you can’t tell my sister. She’d kill me if she knew.”

“You’ve hardly touched your dinner,” Annie said as she and Christina sat together at the kitchen table that evening.

Christina had claimed the spot from which she could see Lilly dozing on the sectional, both toddler and greyhound half-asleep in front of a video turned down to low volume. Not far beyond them, the gas fireplace was burning, its flickering glow a contrast with the light snow sifting past the window.

“Tell me the truth,” Annie said, her fork shaking a little as she laid it down. “Is the roast dry?”

“Are you cold?” Christina asked, her gazing settling on her sister’s hand.

“Cold? No. Just a little worried. I don’t have a lot of practice making dinners like this.”

“Well, it’s all delicious,” Christina rushed to assure her. “The veggies came out great, too, just the way Mom makes them.” Who would have guessed her sister would be the one, of the two of them, to learn to cook?

“And you know this, how?” Annie asked, folding her arms. “Because I swear I haven’t seen more than two bites actually make it to your mouth.”

Christina grimaced and set down the glass of red wine her sister had poured for her as she’d recounted what had happened in the parking lot after work. Christina had barely touched it, either, her stomach as unsettled as her nerves. “It’s not the food. It’s just—Renee and I have been friends since junior high school, and now—”

“You’ve been gone a long time.” Annie’s blue eyes were sympathetic. “People change. In this case, you.”

“What do you mean, me?” Christina felt the sting of indignation. “I’ve never for one second snubbed her. You know I’m not like that.”

“I didn’t mean it that way. I mean . . . well, to tell you the truth, Renee’s always been kind of a—you know, a
bitch
.” With a cautious glance in Lilly’s direction, Annie whispered the last word before offering an apologetic grimace. “I’m sorry, but your so-called friend is only happy when she’s ordering everyone around and passing off her opinions like they’re some kind of hot gospel.”

Christina remembered how desperately Annie, three years younger and a little clingy at the time, had wanted to hang out with them. But Renee had been ruthlessly adamant: junior high girls couldn’t be seen with elementary school
babies
.

“You’re right,” Christina admitted. “She could be like that, but she was fun, too. And when I hung out with her, I felt . . . she always knew which activities we should be in, what I should wear, how not to be a giant geek.”

Annie waved a hand. “News flash, Christina. Anybody who spends as much time as you do blabbing about arterial bleeds and tropically acquired parasites is still a giant geek.”

Christina snatched a roll from the basket and lobbed it at her sister’s head. When Annie neatly ducked it, Max was off the sofa in a flash, gobbling the missile in a burst of speed that did credit to his racing heritage.

Christina only hoped she wouldn’t end up mopping up more dog puke later.

“Anyway,” Annie continued, “back then, you were, like, under Renee’s
spell
or something. She had to go
everywhere
with us, even on that one trip to the lighthouse.” Judging from her sour expression, Annie still resented having been forced to share that special occasion with the girl who’d driven herself like a wedge between them.

“I only wanted to fit in for once, and Renee seemed to know how.”

“And look how well that’s worked out for her,” Annie said with a shake of her golden head and a snort that reminded Christina how, in tiny Seaside Creek, all the year-round locals knew one another’s business. “Honestly, it’s a wonder she and Harris lasted as long as they did before he finally—”

“There’s never an excuse for cheating.” Christina heard the sharpness in her own voice, despite the sympathy she felt whenever she remembered how affected he had clearly been by his son’s injury. Or maybe she was compensating for the guilt chewing its way through her whenever she remembered how she’d held on to Harris’s hand after he’d helped her step up onto the jetty . . . and the flush of pleasure that had whispered over her skin like a ghost of that lost summer.

She swallowed hard, reminded that it was Doug’s touch she should be missing, not the man who’d betrayed her. To say nothing of how Harris had hurt her friend. Or ex-friend. But with her brain spinning, the distinction hardly mattered.

“You’re right,” said Annie. “There’s not, but that’s not—wait a minute. I thought you had a thing for Harris.”

“What? How could you—”

“A long time ago, I saw you two together. It was on the boardwalk.”

Christina stared. “You were—you were
spying
on us?”

“Please.”
Annie waved off the accusation. “I was hanging out with my own friends, that’s all. But it’s not exactly like you were subtle about it, sucking face outside the Kohr Brothers stand like you meant to melt the frozen custard.”

Cheeks burning, Christina wished she could slide beneath the table. Because if Annie knew, who else might? “So why didn’t you
say
something? Warn me that he’d only end up—”

Annie laughed. “Are you kidding? I figured he was just what you needed, a hot fling you could forget when you set off for college. My gosh, I don’t think you ever even went out on a date all the way through high school.”