Winter Song (Seasons Pass Book 1)

by Susan C. Muller

  Noah waited while Rosaria fidgeted with her tea cup. Finally she raised her eyes and looked him in the face.

  “I need to know everything you can tell me about the Hudsons. What was their relationship like? How did he treat her?”

  “If Mr. Bledsoe was a bastardo, he learned it from Mr. Hudson. Mr. H was the king of all bastardos. He treated Miss Crystal worse than the servants. Always yelling at her. Saying how much smarter he was. Saying she was dumb like a child and should do what he said. I didn’t like working there, but his money was good, and Miss Crystal was nice when he wasn’t looking over her shoulder.”

  Now they were getting somewhere. Noah forced himself to take a sip of lukewarm tea and tried to look non-threatening. Not easy when they both knew he could ruin her life with one phone call. “I understand you had a falling out with Mr. Hudson recently. Can you tell me what happened?”

  Her eyes dropped to the table, and she began twisting her napkin. “I broke a glass and he fired me.”

  “Rosaria,” Noah reached out and took her hand. “We both know that’s not why you’re afraid of him. What did you see?”

  “I saw him kissing the catering lady. He had his hand on her culo. I was so surprised I dropped a glass and it broke. He started yelling at me and threatened to call immigration if I said a word to anyone. Later that night, I was putting away dishes when I saw him in the back corner of the butler’s pantry. He was on the phone. He never knew I was there.”

  This was why he loved police work. This moment. When all the pieces fell into place. “Who was he talking to?”

  “I don’t know his name, but Mr. H., he didn’t like him, called him icky. Told the man he was the customer who had called last week about hiring a mechanic to take care of his wife. I remember, he said, no, he didn’t mean his wife’s car. He talked about checking out the website and something about a secret door. He mentioned finding the name on Craig’s List. Then he said it should look like an accident, even if that cost more. I was so scared I backed out without making a sound. But I heard him say one more thing.”

  Noah’s skin prickled. “What did you hear?”

  “He said it would take him a month to get the money ready. That was on New Year’s Eve.”

  He almost clapped his hands. This should be enough for a warrant. He’d have this case closed in no time. One more scumbag bites the dust. He glanced at Rosaria, nervously twirling her tea cup.

  Fuck. How was he going to get a warrant for Hudson’s phone and computer without using Rosaria’s name?

  The detective’s car still sat in front of her house when Laurel returned with the few groceries she could afford to buy and still have money left to pay Rosaria. That wasn’t the car the two men came in that morning. This was a big, black pick-up. His personal transportation? Yeah, it looked like something he’d drive.

  Peter would’ve turned his nose up at it, and Gary wouldn’t want it parked on the same street as his Mercedes. But it was a nice truck. Late model, extended cab, probably clean before driving through all this slush. As soon as that thought crossed her mind, her foot sank into an icy puddle.

  Laurel limped in the back door with two bags of groceries and one sodden foot. “Yoo-hoo, I’m home,” she called as she hobbled through the laundry room. Her intent was to avoid surprising Noah and Rosaria, but when she realized this was how she’d always called out to Peter, it felt as if a knife plunged through her chest. She took a deep breath and willed her heart to behave.

  Noah and Rosaria sat at the kitchen table, just as she’d left them. If possible, the detective looked even more haggard than he had when he first knocked on her door. Were they making any progress on Crystal’s case?

  He pushed back his chair and jumped to his feet as soon as he saw her. “Let me take those bags for you, ma’am.” He towered over her, even bending slightly to take the bags from her arms.

  Rosaria was on her feet also. “Oh, Miss Laurel, what happened to your foot? Sit down, sit down. Let me get you a towel.”

  Within seconds, her shoe was off, her foot warm, the muddy tracks through the kitchen cleaned up and the two visitors were putting away her groceries. She buried her face in her hands and pretended to sneeze while she wiped her eyes. She hadn’t been this pampered in months. And by people she barely knew.

  The ones she should have been able to count on––her mother and her sister––were too wrapped-up in their own lives to give her the time of day. Other than a few admonitions to pull herself together, they’d hardly spoken to her once they discovered she was no longer an easy touch for quick cash.

  Crystal was the only person who had given her support and encouragement. And what had she done in return? Missed any sign that her friend was in trouble. How awful for Crystal. Did she know what was happening? Was she frightened or in pain?

  The big detective hunkered down beside her chair, his face almost even with hers. When he reached into his back pocket and drew out his wallet, she was aghast. Surly he wasn’t going to give her money? She’d die of embarrassment if he did. Instead, he pulled out a business card.

  “I don’t know if you have a lawyer yet, Laurel, but if you don’t, you need one. And if you do, I suspect he may not be a good one or you wouldn’t be in the mess you’re in. This is a friend of mine. I’ve known him since high school. We played football together.”

  He gave a short laugh. “You know guys and football. Once you’re on the same team, you’re bonded for life. He may not be famous, but he specializes in Family Law––wills, probate, divorce. He knows how to counter every dirty trick your husband can pull on you. If you tell him I sent you, he’ll fight to the ends of the earth for you.”

  Laurel tried to concentrate on the card, but her eyes wouldn’t focus. She rubbed her thumb over the embossed lettering. All she could see was the scales of justice in the upper right corner. In the picture, they were tipped to one side. With someone on her side, would it be possible to right them?

  Noah stood and pivoted toward the housekeeper. “I have to get to work on the information you gave me, Rosaria, but I’ll be happy to drive you wherever you want to go. Remember, I gave you my promise that I was only interested in information about Mr. and Mrs. Hudson. No one’s going to bother you if you go back to your housesitting job.”

  “He’s right, Rosaria.” Laurel straightened herself in the kitchen chair. “Go back to the Ford’s. Don’t risk your job by leaving. You can trust Detective Daugherty to see you’re not disturbed.”

  Rosaria studied the big man, then glanced at Laurel and sighed. “If you think so, Miss Laurel.”

  Laurel watched Noah pick up Rosaria’s suitcase as if it were a box of feathers and prayed her instincts were right. Unfortunately, past history wasn’t on her side.

  She’d trusted her father’s promise to leave his family financially secure. And she’d trusted Peter when he promised to love her and she’d trusted his promise to be faithful when she married him. Three for three, not good odds. She hardly knew this detective, yet she’d just vouched for his word.

  Maybe she should have advised Rosaria to run while she still could.

  Noah escorted Rosaria to a small door on the side of the Ford’s home. With no door frame, and painted the same color as the house, it was almost invisible.

  Must be the servants’ entrance.

  Heaven forbid they let someone they trust with everything they own come and go through the front door. As soon as she slid the bolt into place, he pulled out his cell to dial Conner.

  The phone rang twice before Conner answered. “Crawford.”

  “Where are you, partner? Still in the office or headed home?” Strains of classical music in the background answered the question for him. Damn, he’d wanted to get moving on this before another case came up. Now they’d have to waste half a day watching tapes.

  “In my car, but still downtown. I’ve got the murder book in top shape in case the Lieutenant checks to see if we’ve been doing our job. The videos are logged i
n and will be ready to go in the morning, but I thought we might do better with fresh eyes. I can be back in the office in ten minutes if you need me to.”

  “No, go home. Check on Jeannie, eat a good supper, but don’t watch too much TV. We’ll need to be on our toes tomorrow. We have to invent an excuse for a warrant with no evidence to back it up and I’m hoping those tapes will help.”

  “Looking for a miracle?”

  “I’ll fill you in with the particulars in the morning, but remember the maid who didn’t speak English? She does and she spilled a good story.”

  “Now that does sound like fun. See you in the morning.”

  Noah debated returning to the office and watching the tapes by himself. No point in that. He’d have to watch them again tomorrow with Conner. Might as well head home. He could use his laptop to prepare information for the warrant.

  A quick stop at the golden arches––he substituted a fried pie for his usual milkshake due to the cold weather––and he was home for the night. The warm scent of hamburger and fries filled his nose as he held the to-go bag in his teeth while digging for the house key.

  Sweet Pea met him at the door with her usual good humor. When she smelled dinner, she stopped barking and actually wagged her tail.

  “Don’t worry. I got you a hamburger all your own. You don’t even have to share it with me.” Noah set the bags on the counter and reached for the dog dish. Before he saw her move, the dog clamped her tiny teeth on his hand. He yelped in surprise and yanked his arm back, sending the dog spinning to the far side of the room.

  “Son of a fucking bitch,” he whispered in amazement. “Now I can’t even feed you?”

  He scooped up the dog dish and crumbled the burger into it before he changed his mind. Sweet Pea stayed in the corner, eyeing him while he set the dish on the feeding mat, not venturing out until he turned his back.

  Noah turned on the cold water and held his hand under the stream. A semi-circle of red dots marked each side of the web between his thumb and forefinger. His heart felt as if it weighed a ton. Each breath ached.

  When the dog finished eating, he opened the back door and watched as she darted out for a quick pee, a poop and a circuit of the backyard. Apparently satisfied that no cat had dared enter her territory during the day, she scooted back inside.

  Under the counter in the half bath, Noah found a bottle of alcohol and poured a generous splash over his hand. The sting went straight through to his soul. Tomorrow was Thursday. On Saturday, he’d have to . . . Well, he’d think about that later.

  Sweet Pea stayed in the kitchen as Noah made his way to the spare bedroom. Working on the computer would help postpone making any decision about the dog.

  He dashed off a summary of his interview with Rosaria and forwarded it to Conner. The meaning of “icky” stumped him. Was it a name or was Hudson disgusted by the man? Had Rosaria misunderstood or could it be a Hispanic word he didn’t know? His Spanish was good enough to get by, but far from fluent. He made a note to ask one of the Hispanic members of his squad and started work on the warrant for Hudson’s home.

  Two hours later, he’d worked up a satisfying list of reasons for issuing a warrant to search Gary Hudson’s home, office, car, all phones and all computers. He emailed the list to his office computer. He could hit the ground running in the morning.

  Exhaustion filled every corner of his body as he made his way to the bedroom. He left the door open in case Sweet Pea wanted to sleep in the dog bed that rested in the corner instead of the one in the kitchen. He lay in bed with his eyes open, staring at the ceiling until he heard the dog tiptoe into the room and curl up in her bed.

  The driver lay in his single bed and stared out the window. A sliver of crescent-shaped moon hung framed by the sill. No stars were visible in the partly cloudy sky. His mind churned as he tried to figure out exactly why the police weren’t writing off this latest job as a case of road rage. There’d been a small hiccup in his plan, but overall, it had worked.

  What hadn’t worked was the client’s attitude. He was refusing to pay the second installment until he was sure the cops weren’t looking at him. They hadn’t said anything to him yet, but he claimed he could feel it in their attitude.

  The one thing the driver hated most in the world was stupidity. And this guy was demonstrating it in spades. In their first conversation, he’d warned the client that cops always looked at the family before anyone else. That if he played it cool and followed all instructions, there’d be no trail for the police to follow and they’d move on. But what did the guy do? Called in a panic after the big cop frowned at him.

  If the client couldn’t hold up to a stern facial expression, he was going to shit himself if they ever truly interrogated him. And that made him a liability. No question the jerk had to go before he said too much, but could he afford to wait until after the last installment was paid?

  Afford was the key word. While he’d carefully saved every penny, his partner had driven to Louisiana and tried his luck at one of the casinos; sure that he could double his money counting cards at the blackjack table. He might have managed to, if he had practiced first. Reading about a skill in a book and pulling it off were two different things. Especially after those sexy waitresses started plying him with free drinks.

  Proof that his choice of partners was less than ideal. But shooting was a skill also. He didn’t have it and his partner did, so he was stuck with the dick-wad for a partner, and the dick-wad hadn’t saved enough to cover his expenses. Decision made; they waited for the client to pay up before cutting out that link of the chain.

  On to the next problem––how to keep the client cool until after he paid the final installment. The driver got up and paced the room. He always thought better when moving. When he passed the window, he yanked the blinds shut. Cold air was seeping through the glass and it distracted him.

  The old building wasn’t insulated for this type of weather but the rules prohibited space heaters. He had nothing going on tomorrow afternoon. He’d go home and snag the electric blanket off his old bed. There was no rule against that. If he called in the morning to give his mom enough warning, she’d go by the store and buy something for supper. Maybe a steak.

  The driver smiled. Just the thought of a home cooked meal and a warm bed calmed his mind and made planning easier. He slipped on his jacket and made another circuit of the room.

  The next step was finding out how much the cops actually knew. Now here was a problem he didn’t mind tackling. Understanding how to handle people was his weak spot, and he knew it. Uncovering information, making a plan on how best to use that information, there was where he excelled. One sure sign of intelligence was recognizing your weak points as well as your strong points, then learning how to maximize each.

  That was what he didn’t understand about cops. Why would a person with any sense take a low paying job handling other people’s problems while putting themselves in danger? Take that tall cop. He had to have some basic intelligence to achieve the rank of detective. It must be what he’d heard called ‘street smarts.’ But essentially he was like the rest––a big, dumb, flatfoot.

  He gave a soft chuckle as he hugged his jacket tighter. There was a use for stupid people after all. They certainly made his life easier.

  Noah’s hand was tender and slightly swollen the next morning. The teeth marks stood out like a semi-circle of dots from a crimson marker and the surrounding skin was pink, but not angry looking. He decided to ignore it. Otherwise he’d have to think about what that bite meant for Sweet Pea’s future.

  The dog was on her best behavior, as if nothing had happened. She made a quick lap of the backyard, her usual check for overnight intruders, and hurried back inside to warm up. No new ice had formed, but patches remained in protected spots. She waited patiently while Noah scooped dog food into her dish and put out fresh piddle pads. She even played with the squeaky toy he tossed her.

  Maybe it was his fault. He’d moved too quickly when
he reached for her dish. He’d startled her. Yeah, that was all.

  He’d slipped back to the bedroom to grab his keys when he noticed the smell. She didn’t usually make a mess in the house. Only outside or on the paper. The hamburger had probably given her gas. Much as she loved it, her stomach didn’t handle people food well.

  As he swung around for the door, something caught his eye. A small, steaming turd sat on his pillow. Guess that told him how she felt.

  Morning traffic was back to normal. Businesses that had closed for the ice storm had reopened, and drivers were trying to make up for lost time. Noah needed a distraction to keep him from thinking about Sweet Pea, so he switched the radio from country/western to heavy metal. It didn’t help.

  By the time he reached downtown, he was in a sour mood. Maybe he should try classical music. Conner claimed it soothed his mind. No, it was likely to have the opposite effect on him.

  Parking was tight at the Travis Street Headquarters, but he found a spot when a night shift worker pulled out. He took the elevator to the sixth floor without speaking to anyone.

  Conner rounded the corner with an armload of tapes. “Perfect timing. I’ve got us set up in the viewing room. Let’s see if we can catch the scumbag who fired the shot.”

  “I need coffee. Let me grab a cup and I’ll join you.”

  “Already taken care of. Jeannie knew we’d be sitting here for hours. She fixed us a thermos of decent stuff.”

  Did Conner suspect he’d been pissed about his early departure last night? He had no right to expect his partner to work the hours he did. With nothing to go home to, he worked late to help pass the time. Conner had a life and someone warm waiting for him. Soon he’d have even more reason to hurry home.

  Noah forced a deep breath. It was jealousy, plain and simple. And he’d better get over it or risk losing the best partner he’d ever had. “I always told you she was a keeper. Just don’t know what she sees in you. It can’t be looks or money.”