Winter Song (Seasons Pass Book 1)

by Susan C. Muller

  He tapped the fender with his knuckles and laughed. “Can you believe our luck? Who would have thought someone would wander in and call him Icky? I almost didn’t put that in my notebook when you told me the maid’s story about the phone conversation.”

  Noah scratched his head. “Why don’t you run back and bring our car around. I’ll stay here and keep watch. I want to see if we can get a sample of the tape or pull off some fingerprints.”

  Conner hesitated a beat longer than necessary, but Noah didn’t blink.

  “Will do,” he finally said. “I’ve got my kit in the trunk. Although I don’t think we can prove anything if his fingerprints are on his own car.”

  “No, but we can see if he was in my house.”

  Noah leaned against the next car and waited as Conner rushed back to their motor-pool car. Those fingerprints would undoubtedly match the ones in his house, but he’d eat a live bug if they belonged to Ignacio. That fat little ball of dough never climbed into his attic and crawled around. And he’d have broken a leg and the dryer both if he’d tried to drop down into the laundry room.

  As soon as Conner was out of sight, Noah strolled over two spaces to the pale blue Volvo. It wasn’t on their list of cars, but the Rice University parking sticker was in the correct spot, and tape residue marked an area around the C and the F on the license plate. A pale blue car might look white on a grainy video, so the fact that it wasn’t on their list didn’t bother Noah.

  He had no intention of telling Conner, not yet anyway, but he’d recognized that high-pitched voice the minute he heard it. The red hair and glasses only confirmed his suspicions.

  And having him turn up in the middle of this investigation was too big a coincidence to ignore.

  Conner checked his cell phone on the way to the squad car. An unnecessary act, he knew––Jeannie had been feeling fine when he left her that morning––but one he couldn’t resist. He might as well get used to it. Once their daughter was born, his worry quotient would likely double, and last the rest of his days.

  He knew all too well how fragile life was. He saw it every day.

  No messages. Excellent. He slipped the phone into his pocket and started the car. Something was up. He and Noah had been partners and friends for too long for that fool to think he could put anything over on him. Noah should have been more excited about finding Icky. And the questions he asked were all wrong. Playing good cop was one thing, but who cared about the kid’s problems with his tutor?

  Several minutes passed while he circled through twisted streets to the college parking lot. He hated to leave Noah alone for this long.

  Of course Noah would take the case personally. If this was their guy, then the kid had come into his house and tried to kill him. But that wasn’t what this felt like. Noah was definitely hiding something.

  How am I going to watch his back when he keeps it turned away from me?

  He needed to get back fast, before Noah made a mistake that could cost him his career, or worse.

  The evening sky had turned a shade Noah couldn’t quite name. Betsy could have. Her face would have come alive as the colors bathed her skin. “Oh, isn’t that gorgeous?” she’d have said. “The sky’s such a lovely shade of…”

  And she’d have been right. The minute he heard the word, he’d have known exactly what she meant. But not him. That was a talent he didn’t have. He recognized tonight’s dusk was exceptionally lovely, but without a name for the color, it lost something. And without Betsy, well, it lost even more.

  Ditching Conner wasn’t easy. He’d left his partner with a stack of paperwork while claiming he had to check on Sweet Pea. But he’d called the vet earlier and Pea was doing fine. He planned to have her home again soon. And tonight was the first step in that direction.

  Pulling into the garage gave him a chill, and he could swear remnants of exhaust fumes lingered in the air, but that only strengthened his determination. Remembering last July when that Howell kid ogled Betsy in her little white shorts and tank top as she bent over to put her cherry cobbler on the picnic table, turned it to stone.

  They’d laughed about it that night and Noah had said, “At least the little nerd has good taste.” Then they’d made love to the rhythm of firecrackers and he’d forgotten about the incident. Until he heard that squeaky voice and saw that head full of red hair.

  Whenever he looked at the white plastic test stick hidden in his drawer, its small blue plus sign staring at him accusingly, he counted back and came to that night. He’d caught a big case the next day and hadn’t come home for three nights, so that had to be the time. But was he the only one watching the joy on Betsy’s face while fireworks lit the room? The belt that stretched tight across his chest and kept him from breathing properly tightened one more notch.

  It didn’t make sense, not yet anyway, but he’d keep plugging away until it did.

  Noah stepped out of his truck and stretched, loosening his muscles. He removed his Glock and checked it over before returning it to his holster. No need to chamber a round. Not yet.

  He couldn’t start with the Howells. That would be too obvious. So he began three houses down, knocking on doors, asking questions, smiling, and taking useless notes.

  His heart rate quickened as he reached the Howell’s home. Paint was peeling on the front door, and spider webs filled one corner of their porch. The entire house had a shabby, rundown feel. A “Please Knock,” sign covered the doorbell.

  His hand shook slightly as he reached up, so he let it fall, cleared his throat and tried again. An annoyed, “I’m coming,” sounded from inside.

  What should he do with his face? His smile felt false and hurt his teeth. He’d knocked on hundreds of doors in his lifetime and never once worried about his face. Now it was the only thing he could think about.

  The door flew open and an older, heaver version of Ryan glared out at him. The red hair had faded and was mixed with gray, and the glasses were bifocals, but the nose was the same, or at least it had been before broken blood vessels covered it.

  “Hi, Mr. Howell. I’m Noah Daugherty, from down the street. I think we met at the Fourth of July picnic.”

  Howell shook his head and his jowls waved back and forth. “I’m sorry, but we don’t need any cookies or wrapping paper or whatever your kid is selling, and I’m not signing any petitions for a stop sign or speed hump.”

  “No, sir. I’m here on official business.” Noah opened his coat to reveal his badge. “There was a break-in down the street and I promised to canvass the neighborhood to see if anyone noticed a strange car or someone who didn’t belong here.”

  Howell’s eyes widened, but he never stopped shaking his head. Those jowls were going to flap right off his face if he didn’t slow down. “I haven’t seen anything like that.”

  “How do you know what date I’m asking about?”

  “I’m here all the time. I would have seen.” At least the man had quit shaking his head. Watching those jowls was like following a ping-pong game and Noah’s eyes were beginning to cross.

  “May I come in? If your wife’s at home, I’d like to talk to both of you.” He tried to smile, but his cheeks were frozen.

  Howell twisted toward the living room and Noah squeezed past before he had time to object. “That’s very kind of you…Jerry, isn’t it?”

  Mrs. Howell stepped into the room with two drinks in her hands. Noah could smell the alcohol from six feet away. She took a step back when she saw him, her brown hair falling over tired eyes.

  “Hi, Delores. I’m Noah from down the block. Sorry to bother you this late.” What was it, six-thirty? “But I needed to question you both about last Thursday. There was a break-in and a couple of people remember hearing a car—older, needed a tune-up—but no one saw it.”

  Noah held his breath and waited.

  Jerry took the amber drink from his wife’s hand and downed a large portion, then swirled the ice cubes. “Ryan came home Thursday night. Might’ve been him. His car so
unds like a herd of asthmatic buffalo. He’s above little things like changing the oil or getting a tune up.” He turned toward Delores and raised his eyebrows.

  She plopped into what was obviously her chair and tucked bare feet under her, still clutching her drink like a lifeline. “That’s not fair, Jerry. He probably doesn’t have the money for a tune-up.”

  “Could be, but an oil change he could manage himself, if he was willing to get his hands dirty.” Jerry’s drink was almost gone and he rattled the ice cubes and looked expectantly at his wife.

  Oh, he’s not above it. You’d be real proud of him if you knew just how hands-on he was.

  “He’s at Rice now, isn’t he? That’s not an easy school to get into.” Noah settled himself on an ancient sofa whose springs sagged and sighed under his weight. The fabric had pilled to a rough finish in spots, and strings hung from the worn armrests.

  Delores’ shoulders went back and she raised her chin. “He had his pick of Ivy League Schools. Jerry insisted on Rice because it was somewhat cheaper and there wasn’t any travel expense.” She reached over to the table beside her and added a splash of Diet Pepsi to her drink.

  “Kid could have paid the difference if he’d wanted. He’s paying his own way now.” Jerry glared at Delores and shook his glass. She ignored him.

  “Wow. That’s impressive. Paying his own way. Does he have a scholarship?”

  Delores beamed. “A partial. And he tutors to earn the rest.”

  “You say he was home Thursday night. What time did he leave? Maybe he saw something on his way out.” Now they were getting somewhere. He’d find out everything he needed if Jerry didn’t interrupt her. She was relishing center stage, probably hadn’t been talked to like an equal in years.

  She took a healthy slug from her glass and savored it for a moment before answering. “He spent the night. He was sound asleep when I left for work.”

  Sure he was. He wore himself out scouting my house.

  Jerry pushed out of his chair and stomped into the kitchen, giving Delores the evil eye.

  “I’d love to ask him if he noticed anything. Does he come home often?”

  Jerry’s voice floated in from the kitchen “He only comes if he wants something. Thursday he came home for his electric blanket because his room is cold.”

  This is it. Will Jerry bite or is he sharp enough to keep his mouth closed?

  “I think I remember him from that picnic on the Fourth. Was he still living here then?”

  Jerry returned with a fresh drink for himself, but not one for his wife. “No, he’d moved out by then. I remember the Fourth because I was all dressed for the picnic and he waltzes in expecting me to work on his damn car. He had to drive to Galveston for some school-sponsored thing and wanted me to check his oil and tires. He brought his friend Derrick and they stuffed their faces at the picnic while I worked. They were on the road well before dark.”

  The dummy probably thinks he’s shut me down by giving his kid an alibi, but he’s told me more than he thinks. Mamma doesn’t know what she’s dealing with, but Papa does.

  Would the school sponsor something in Galveston? And on the Fourth of July? Maybe some club would. That should be easy to check. Noah let out a breath. The kid might not have been watching that night. But what about another time? He seemed to know the layout of his house.

  “By the way, do you know the people that used to own my house? I think their name is Yates. My water heater is acting up and I wanted to see if they had a warranty. I was told it was new.”

  Delores gave her first real smile. “Sure, Ralph and Beebe. They used to come over all the time. After a while, we drifted apart. Beebe is sort of loud and…” She glanced at Jerry as if searching for a word or maybe permission.

  “Vulgar,” Jerry muttered and went back to his drink.

  “And Ralph, he was just rough and ill-mannered. But Ryan was great friends with their son, Kenny. They played together all the time when they were young. Then Ryan skipped a couple of grades, and Kenny was… Well, Kenny was slow and what didn’t seem to matter when they were kids, mattered more as they got older.”

  Bingo. He was closing in on the little turd. He knew the house, and he’d been in the area the night someone tried to kill him. That was means and opportunity. But what was his motive? Could that geeky little pervert actually have anything to do with Crystal Hudson’s death? Hard to believe, but why else try to kill him and Sweet Pea? Did he think that would shut down Crystal’s murder investigation? The HPD was capable of investigating two cases at once, even if one of them was a cop.

  As Delores lifted her drink, a glint of silver caught his eye. Noah waited until she lowered her drink again. Yes, definitely a silver band set with gemstones. He’d give his eye teeth to see what the stones were.

  “That’s a lovely bracelet, Delores. Is it an antique?”

  “No, it’s just costume jewelry. But Ryan gave it to me for my birthday and one of the stones is purple, like an amethyst, so I love it.”

  Yeah, I know what an amethyst is. Betsy was born in February also. If the other stones are pale green and dark blue, we’ll have a peridot and a sapphire for our wedding and my birthday. But she didn’t move her hand again, and he couldn’t see them.

  Time to talk to Kenny Yates and get the real scoop on Ryan Howell. One piece of good news. It seemed unlikely that he’d been spying on Betsy if he’d moved out by the time they moved in. It was possible he wouldn’t have to kill the kid after all.

  Of course, Ryan had tried to kill him and Sweet Pea. And if he got home and Betsy’s bracelet was missing, then just killing the thieving, peeping, murdering cocksucker might not be enough.

  Streetlights punched perfect circles in the darkness, and Noah tried to keep his pace to a brisk walk. A large man running in a suit and dress shoes on a cold night would attract too much attention. He gripped the piece of paper containing the Yates’ address and phone number in one hand while checking his watch.

  Seven o’clock. He should be able to make it to their new condo by seven-twenty. Not late in the summer when dusk still lit the sky, but borderline late in the winter when the night had been full dark for over an hour.

  I could telephone. It’s not too late for a phone call. No, this needs to be a face-to-face meeting. I want to see their reactions when they talk about Ryan.

  Rush hour traffic was ebbing, and he made the drive easily. The Yates’ condo was in the third building, toward the back, facing the swimming pool and hot tub.

  The entire complex screamed “singles.” Hot young things, or those who thought they were hot, or those who just wished to be near someone who was hot, lingered outside, drinking beer and chatting despite the cool weather. At the far end, someone was grilling steaks and the aroma wafted across the pool and reminded Noah he hadn’t eaten since breakfast.

  Not far from the Yates front door, two bikini clad hotties lingered in the Jacuzzi while guys fawned and offered to bring them drinks. He dreaded to think of his nieces at that age. Thank goodness they were Rachelle’s problem. He wouldn’t be able to handle it.

  The brunette with the diamond stud in her navel called out as Noah passed. “Hey, big guy. I haven’t seen you around here before. Why don’t you ditch that suit and join us?”

  Noah couldn’t think of anything worse than living with that many hormones floating in the air, although, he had to admit, he’d noticed the diamond stud.

  Ralph Yates opened the door after Noah’s first knock. “Yeah, what is it?” he growled over the sound of the TV.

  A car chase continued to roar in the background as Noah put on his most congenial smile. “Hi, Mr. Yates. I’m Noah Daugherty. We never got a chance to meet, but my wife and I bought your house on Shannon Drive.”

  Ralph’s eyes narrowed. “That sale’s all finished. I can’t be responsible if anything breaks now. It’s been what, six or eight months since we moved out.”

  “There’s no problem with the house. We love it. I just found s
omething that probably belongs to your son and I wanted to see about returning it.” Noah waited to be invited in, but Ralph didn’t budge.

  “Okay, I’ll hold it for him till next time he comes by.” Ralph stuck out his hand.

  “I don’t have it with me. I was on my way home from work and thought I’d get his address and mail it.”

  “Who is it, Ralphie?” Beebe Yates called from inside.

  Noah took a step forward and Ralph backed up until he had to let Noah in. “The guy what bought our old house,” he called, still backing away.

  In the light, Ralph looked every bit of the thirty years he had on the prowling herd outside his door. He sported an elaborate comb-over, but the hair he’d lost on top now sprouted out of his nose and ears. His shirt was undone at least one button too far and gray hair spilled out in every direction. A heavy gold chain nestled in the pelt. He looked, sounded, dressed, and acted like a mob wannabe. If they’d been in New York or New Jersey instead of Houston, it would have been funny. Instead, it was ludicrous, or maybe sad. Noah couldn’t decide which.

  Beebe had obviously used surgery in an attempt to remain youthful. Her skin was tight enough to bounce a quarter off and her lips puffed out in a permanent pout. Boobs the size of cantaloupes spilled out of a skin tight jumpsuit with enough sequins to read by. Gaudy, oversized jewelry decorated every finger and competed with fingernails so long and red, she’d need help picking her nose. If asked her favorite color, she’d have undoubtedly said, “Glitter.”

  “Hi, Mrs. Yates. I’m Noah. We spoke on the phone a couple of times.”

  “Well, of course you are. I’d recognize that voice anywhere,” she purred. “Come in and have a seat.” She scooted over a half inch and patted the sofa next to her.