He didn't argue with her, but he didn't look convinced, either.
"l promise to let you know as soon as I know something. I'll make an appointment to see my doctor right after the holidays. Why stress about what might happen if this is just a false alarm?"
Mark reached out and took her hand. “That fatalistic tone doesn’t sound like the Alexa I know and love, but you’re right about one thing--this development is a lot to absorb. And until I know for certain that I have a job— and I’m not going to prison for a crime I didn't commit—I’m not in any position to make promises I can't keep.”
“I know that. It’s the main reason I didn’t tell you about my plans to have a child.” She pulled her hand away. “Speaking of children, you have one waiting for you.”
“I do. But after acting like the world’s biggest jackass a few minutes ago, there’s no way I’m going to walk away and leave you here to spend the rest of the night worrying and pacing and fretting.” He jumped to his feet. “Grab your coat and gloves. I'm taking Braden to buy a Christmas tree and you’re coming with us.”
She shook her head. "No. I can't. Oh, heavens, I'm a mess. And I have a million things to do. Christmas is only five days away."
"And knowing you, you have every last detail taken care of. I've put off getting a tree because. . . well, frankly, I just can't get in the holiday spirit."
"Not surprising," she said wryly. "I'd probably be pretty grinchy myself if not for the thirty-plus kids in my care."
“Then maybe the two of us together could produce enough Christmas spirit to fool a little kid whose previous holiday experiences have been pretty shaky."
She was half-afraid to ask. "What do you mean? Tracey didn't celebrate Christmas?”
"She did. I'm sure she tried to make special memories for him, but with her mother involved... "
"Say no more. I'll get my coat. Do you have decorations?"
"A few."
"Well, you've come to the right place, my friend— Christmas Central. If I don't have what you need, my mother does."
About forty minutes later they left Alexa's with two giant boxes of Christmas decorations in the back of the truck.
Braden was so excited he could barely sit still.
"T-tr-tree? A b-b-big one?"
The more excited he got, the more pronounced his stutter became, but Mark had learned not to correct him. For the most part, he understood what Braden was trying to say, so why draw attention to his problem—especially on a special night like this?
"Mom and I always get our trees from the Boy Scouts. The lot is a couple of miles down on Charleston Boulevard. Shall we try there first?"
"Sure. Why not?"
"J-jingle b-bells," Braden called out from the backseat. Mark glanced at Alexa, who leaned forward and turned up the volume on the radio. The kid certainly had acute hearing. Mark hadn't even realized there was music playing.
He found himself tapping his toe as Braden and Alexa harmonized to a country-western version of "Jingle Bell Rock." His smile grew as he realized that this was exactly the kind of holiday memory he'd hoped to create for his son, but it wouldn't have been the same without Alexa.
Just at that moment, she looked at him and touched his arm. With a quick look toward the backseat, she put one finger to her lips and pointed toward Braden. Mark cocked his head and listened.
To his utter shock, the little boy sang the entire refrain...without stuttering.
"What the—" he exclaimed.
The singing stopped.
Alexa shifted in her seat and said, "You sing really nicely, Braden. Good job." Then she quickly turned and pointed toward a cheerfully lit tree lot. "There it is. I hope they still have some good ones."
Mark wanted to ask her about his son's temporary cure, but he didn't get the chance. Moments later, Alexa and Braden, hand in hand, disappeared into a forest of dark green spruce and pines. To Mark's surprise, the place was packed with shoppers. He'd figured he was the last person in town to buy his tree. Not so, apparently, but the stock was going fast. There was a long line at the checkout counter.
"Alexa? Braden?"
"We're over here," a familiar voice answered.
He found them examining a shoulder-high, candle-shaped tree that looked healthy and smelled great. ''This variety is my personal favorite, but I can never remember what it's called. White spruce?"
Mark found a tag, but the black scrawl only gave the price, not the kind. "Doesn't matter what it is. I like it. How 'bout you, Bray? Is this the tree for us?"
Braden nodded exuberantly.
"Okay, then." He rubbed his hands together and picked it up. The night was brisk, but the trees and the crowd of people made him feel as if he'd been transported to a forest with a festive group of revelers. Tinny carols from a boom box filled the air. The line moved with surprising speed, and soon they were headed home with their eighty-dollar tree. One quick stop for take-out tacos and they were set.
"I appreciate your cousin giving me his old tree stand, but I can see why he got rid of it," Mark complained an hour later—from beneath the branches of his new tree. "It's a pain in the butt to adjust."
His house smelled of pine and burritos. He could see Alexa's ankles and stocking feet since she was holding the tree upright. Giving his arm a rest from the awkward position required to tighten the oversize screws that braced the trunk, he laid his head on the carpet and tickled her toes.
"Stop. Braden. Come help your dad before I kick him," she said with a squeal. She hopped back slightly and leaned down enough to give him stern look. A preschool-teacher look that probably worked on a four-year-old but only made him want to kiss her.
Braden left his job of sorting ornaments and raced to Mark's side, dropping to his knees. "You hold this one, bud, while I crawl around to the other side. Without the right leverage," he said with a grunt of effort, "the darn thing doesn't want to turn."
Braden copied Mark's pose and used both hands to grip the silver screw. His top teeth were clamped down on his bottom lip in a study of concentration. Mark's heart did a crazy lift and fall. Braden was the spitting image of one of the few pictures Mark had from his own childhood. Tears clouded his eyes. He blinked furiously and focused on finishing the job.
"There," he said, crawling backward. "We did it."
Alexa applauded. “Good job, both of you. Now, for the lights."
They followed Braden's lead—the more the better. Alexa wisely plugged in every set before they looped them around the branches. Three of the hand-me-down strands didn't work. She tossed them into the garbage.
Next came the ornaments. Mark hadn't planned to bother with the box of Christmas stuff that had been Tracey's and was now stored in his closet. But then Alexa asked, "Does Braden have any personalized ornaments? Like 'Baby's First Christmas' or anything?"
The cardboard box wasn't in great condition. The silver duct tape across the top was peeling in places. Mark ripped it off and pushed aside the flaps. Memories assaulted him. The entire top layer was made up of strands of tiny gold beads. Tracey had bought them their first year together. Braden had been too young to understand, but they'd still dressed him in red and white and propped him up near their small but festive tree. He'd accidentally grabbed the beads in his tiny fist, and Tracey had panicked, thinking he was going to choke on one. There'd never been any question in Mark's mind that Tracey had loved their son. Unfortunately, some of her choices had put Braden at risk. Not intentionally, he knew. When she wasn't drinking or using drugs, Tracey had been a good mom.
"Ooh," Braden said. "P-pretty."
"Very classy," Alexa said. "I like these."
While Braden and Alexa made a game of draping the golden necklaces around the tree, Mark dug deeper. Most of the decorations he didn't recognize. He and Tracey had spent more holidays apart than they had together, but one item caught his interest. A small photo album.
"Hey, Bray, come take a look at this. Your mom kept pictures of you from every Ch
ristmas. Here you are as a little tiny baby. You loved lying on the floor looking at the lights on the tree. I remember how we used to put you in your car seat and drive around to see all the lights."
He looked at Alexa and admitted, "I think the motion of the car put him to sleep, but Tracey and I enjoyed seeing the elaborate decorations. She always said she was going to have a big house with thousands of lights on it."
A deep sadness filled his soul. He'd hated his ex-wife at the end, but they'd shared tender moments of hope and possibilities, too. There was even a remote chance they might have made a go of things if Odessa hadn't shown up. At a gut level, Mark had understood the hold the woman had had on Tracey—similar to the hold his father had had on his mother. And, sadly, the results had been the same— Mark hadn't been able to save either of them.
Braden settled down in Mark's lap and turned a couple of pages. He paused and pointed to an image of two women—Tracey and someone Mark had never met—with Braden between them. Braden's finger was shaking slightly as he touched it to the plastic. "P-p-ig-g-eon."
The name seemed tougher than it should have been for him to say. His little brow was furrowed tightly, and Mark could feel his tension. Instinct told him the little boy was trying to impart something important.
Alexa dropped to her knees beside them. ''Can I see?"
Braden handed her the album.
"Your mom looks really happy in this picture. Were you having a party?" He nodded.
"Is this lady a friend of hers?"
"Uh-huh," he grunted. "P-pi-geon."
"Like the bird?" She made a flapping motion.
He grinned and nodded.
"Hmm. That's an unusual name. I bet if she was a good friend of your mom's, she might be able to tell us some things about Tracey's life. Friends keep secrets for each other." She looked at Mark pointedly.
Nice, he mouthed over Braden's head.
Braden's yawn cut the evening short. Alexa insisted on calling a cab to take her home so Mark could give Braden a bath and get him in bed on time.
He walked her to the door. "I don't know what this woman can tell us about Tracey's last days, but I'll check her out."
"Good," she said, putting on her gloves. She looked past him into the living room and smiled. "The tree looks great. The popcorn was an inspired idea. I bet someday when Braden is looking back, he'll remember how his father burned the first batch and we had to open all the windows to keep the smoke alarm from going off."
He leaned against the doorjamb. "Yeah, sure, rub it in. I never said I was a cook."
She leaned closer and patted his shoulder. "Don't feel bad. We always lose one batch at the preschool, too. It's a tradition."
He pulled her into his arms and kissed her. "Are you sure you won't stay?"
"I can't. I'll see you tomorrow—no, wait, Braden is going to Gregor's, but you're coming to the party on Friday, right?” He nodded.
She smiled and kissed him again then dashed away as a horn sounded in the distance.
The party. He hadn't planned on attending, but something had changed tonight. Not just the fact she might or might not be pregnant. They'd deal with that when she found out for certain. No, what really clicked in his mind was the undeniable truth that they belonged together. They fit. She belonged with him and Braden.
As he walked toward the bathroom, mentally preparing for Braden's resistance to his bath, he realized that convincing Alexa they had a future together wasn't going to be easy. But he was prepared to do whatever it took—once he was free of the lingering doubt about the cause behind Tracey's death.
Chapter 19
It took Zeke two days to assemble a file on Pigeon, aka Patti Gionella. Two frustrating days for Mark.
Her name had turned up right away on a search through Metro files, but the woman had either moved away or disappeared beneath police radar since her last brush with the law. Her rap sheet included one charge of prostitution, a couple of drug-related busts and two domestic-disturbance complaints. The last incident had been one of Tracey's cases after she'd returned from maternity leave.
"Do you suppose this is how Tracey and Pigeon met?"
Mark looked over Zeke's shoulder at the file he had no business seeing. He was still relieved of duty and was supposed to be sitting around twiddling his thumbs.
"Seems likely, although look at the other name in this report.” Zeke tapped his finger at the bottom of one page.
Mark read it and let out a soft whistle. "Small world, isn't it?" Years of experience, both as a cop and as an arson investigator, told him they'd stumbled across a good lead--a coincidence too big to ignore. His ex-wife's best friend had at one time been living with the drug dealer who'd died in the same fire as Tracey. The man Odessa claimed was Braden's father.
“Let's try to establish a time line," Zeke said, pulling out his little notepad. "According to Odessa, Tracey had something going with this guy when you two started as partners. He was a small-time pusher, and either she was screwing him in return for a little juice or her mother is full of crap. You say Tracey was clean when you were together."
"I never saw any sign that she was using. She drank too much, but we know a lot of cops who escape into a bottle after work."
Zeke didn't disagree. "Since we don't have the DNA results back yet, we only have Odessa's word that Tracey and this bastard were sleeping together. What we do know for certain is the guy got popped for trafficking and was sent to Jean where he served three of six. He comes back to Vegas and hooks up with Pigeon long enough to knock her around. Tracey takes the call. He gets a slap on the hand. Since you and Tracey aren't together at this point, Tracey offers the girl a place to stay. Sound about right to you?"
Mark nodded.
"Until Odessa shows up some time after this holiday picture," Zeke said, pointing to the photo Mark had brought from home.
"That was always Odessa's MO. She'd drop in without warning and expect Tracey to take her in. I think it's safe to assume that once Odessa moved in, Pigeon split."
"When I asked Odessa, she said Pigeon went back to the lowlife scum who used her in the first place, then there's this." He held up an official-looking fax. "One Patricia Gionella participated in an out-patient rehab program a full three months before the meth lab went boom. The same program you said Tracey claimed to be participating in."
"Knowing Tracey, she kept in touch with Pigeon and provided an out when Pigeon needed help," Mark said. "For all her faults, Tracey had a good heart."
Zeke didn't appear convinced. "Or Tracey and Pigeon could have been partying together."
Mark threw up his hands. 'That could be, too. I honestly don't know. By that point, Tracey and I were barely speaking. And when we did talk, we fought over Braden."
Neither spoke for a moment, then Zeke said, “One given is the fact that Tracey knows this jerk. If she had business with him—drugs or otherwise—would she have gone to a meeting unarmed?"
"Not the Tracey I knew."
Mark could see a number of scenarios unfolding the day Tracey had died. He'd assumed she'd been at the meth lab to buy drugs, but maybe there'd been another reason for her presence there. If she'd taken along a gun, anything could have happened, including an explosion.
"We have to locate this woman. She may have a bird name, but I'd bet my badge she didn't fly the coop," Zeke said.
Mark groaned. "You keep that up, and Santa is going to whiz right past your house Sunday night."
Zeke chuckled but didn't look apologetic about his failed wittiness. "Speaking of Santa, I heard you and Alexa did a little decorating the other night."
"Bought a tree and put up lights. I burned the popcorn, but Alexa and Braden still managed to string a few strands. That's when I found this album."
"Alexa's mother is worried about her."
So am I. They'd talked on the phone, but she hadn't been home when he'd dropped by on his way to pick up Braden after the play date at Gregor's.
"Isn't Yetta goin
g to be at the party this afternoon?"
Zeke nodded. "Yetta, Grace, Kate...the whole clan by the sound of it."
"Grace is in town?"
"She and Nick arrive at eleven. Have you met him? He's a decent guy. Got a good head on his shoulders. Applied for a captain's position in Detroit—well, some suburb, but same thing. According to Yetta, he was just told he didn't get the job. It went to some guy with DEA experience. They've got their own kind of drug problems."
"Hmm, too bad. Maybe he should move here and take your job." Mark laughed. "Oh, right, I forgot. You're never going to retire."
Zeke scowled and stood up. "Let's go find your little bird."
Alexa wiped a bead of sweat from her brow. The noise level is surely going to take the roof off. Or the top of my head at the very least.
"Hey, sis, are you okay? You don't look too hot.” Liz paused as she circulated with a pitcher of punch. She'd volunteered to refill cups to minimize the line at the refreshment table.
The Dancing Hippo holiday party had grown into such a popular affair Alexa was afraid she might have to start limiting the invited guests to immediate family only. Currently, grandparents, friends and extended family were welcome to attend. And they did—en masse. Too massive.
But, a part of her was loath to restrict what was for many of her students a very important part of their holiday experience.
"No, I'm fine," Alexa said, putting some starch in her spine. She wasn't feeling well, but nausea was a part of pregnancy, right? She hadn't confirmed her condition with another test, but her cramps had disappeared without her period showing up. And this morning she'd spent a good hour vomiting. A bad hour, actually. An hour she couldn't spare. "Is Grace here, yet?"
"Haven't seen her. You know she's always late. Maybe you should start the program."
"Good idea."
Alexa walked to the small raised platform where her students would be performing their songs and picked up one set of sleigh bells. She gave the leather strap with three brass orbs attached to it a shake. "Hello..and Merry Christmas. May I have your attention?"
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