Winter Song (Seasons Pass Book 1)

by Susan C. Muller

  “Ralphie, do turn that awful TV down so we can hear.” She wiggled those fingernails in the general direction of her husband.

  Ralph glared and turned the TV down one decibel.

  “I was talking to your old friends the Howells the other day and they said Kenny and Ryan were great friends.” Noah’s heart hammered as he waited to see if she would take the bait.

  A look of distaste passed between the Yates and Ralph turned the TV down to a reasonable level as he nodded to his wife.

  Beebe leaned forward as if to pass on a great secret and those melons threatened to tumble out completely. “We tried to be nice to Ryan for his parents’ sake, but he was completely socially inept. Kenny hated playing with him. We used to have dinner with Jerry and Delores every week or two. We’d alternate houses, and leave the kids at the house we weren’t using. Kenny had so many friends, we thought he’d be a good influence on Ryan, and Ryan was some sort of prodigy while our Kenny was a little slow so we hoped Ryan would help him.”

  Ralph snorted. “Say it, kid’s dumb as a rock. How he got into college I’ll never understand, but it’s a good thing he got a scholarship, cuz I’d never have wasted the money on him. But at least he’s normal. Ryan, well, he’s a little creep. Used to watch Beebe and spy on her when he thought no one was looking. Always trying to look up her dress or down it.”

  “Oh, Ralphie. He was just a kid. All boys that age try to sneak a peek when they can, isn’t that right, Noah?” She leaned back and put her hand on Noah’s thigh. Those melons quivered from the aftershock.

  Noah’s skin crawled from her touch, and he tried to think of a reason to stand. “How can I get in touch with Kenny? I found several comic books that I think are his. Some of those old ones are valuable now.”

  “Comic books. I should have known.” Ralph snorted. “If it wasn’t for the pictures, he probably couldn’t have read them.” He snapped his fingers at his wife and pointed to the back room.

  “I’ll get you his address. He doesn’t come around here much.” Beebe let her fingertips trail to the inside of Noah’s thigh as she stood.

  The hairs on the back of his neck bristled as she pranced into the bedroom, her buttocks fighting to escape the tight fabric. Was this woman for real? How would she like it if he made a move like that on her? Scratch that. She’d probably love it.

  Betsy never had to dress provocatively or act like a slut. One look at her and he just knew. Laurel was the same way. It wasn’t a matter of money or fine schools, it was class. Betsy had it, so did Laurel. This woman probably couldn’t even spell it.

  He’d learned all he could from the Yates and wanted out before Beebe sat down again. But he had to keep things friendly in case he needed to ask more questions later. He glanced around the condo. “How do you like it here? It must be nice not to have to worry about yard work or upkeep. And that hot tub looked inviting.” If you didn’t worry about catching some unpleasant disease from the water.

  “Huh,” Ralph glanced in the direction his wife had disappeared and lowered his voice. “It’s not as much fun as we’d expected. Those young people aren’t so friendly to guys our age.” He nudged Noah’s arm.

  Our age? You’ve got twenty years on me. Not to mention thirty pounds. Ten of it in unwanted hair.

  “Those gals just want the young studs with the six-pack abs. They don’t think to the future, when a little extra money might be important. And the guys all but laugh at Beebe when she goes out to sunbathe. We’ll probably move on when our lease is up.”

  If they laughed at Beebe, Noah didn’t want to think what they did when Ralph put on a bathing suit.

  He couldn’t wait to get out of there and wash his hands. No, take a shower. If only he could wash out his eyes. He didn’t blame Kenny for staying away. He didn’t plan to come back either, at least not without a chaperone.

  Intermittent voices echoed down the hallway. Ryan ignored them. He entered his room, his sanctuary. Every surface clean and orderly. No clothing littered the floor. No sweaty shoes waited to be tripped over. The scent of old textbooks and printer ink made him smile. Even his window appeared a perfect square of black, never tempting his eyes away from his work.

  After seeing that cop, alive and well, in Icky’s room, he needed the serenity of this space. He hadn’t been able to concentrate on a word his professor said all afternoon. His heart rate had only now come back to normal.

  What was the guy made of that poisonous gas didn’t faze him, and what would it take to kill him, a stake through the heart? A silver bullet?

  He settled at his desk and opened his computer to Wednesday’s physics paper. Within minutes, he sank deep into the lesson. When an insistent ringtone filled the air, he grabbed for his cell phone and answered immediately, never taking his eyes off the computer screen.

  “Yeah?”

  “What have you been up to this time, you little piece of shit?” his father hissed, hardly above a whisper.

  Ryan jerked back, his spine digging into the wooden slats of the school issued desk chair. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I haven’t left campus since I saw you last week.”

  “That’s what I’m worried about. What fool thing did you do while you were here that sent the police to my door?”

  “Police?” His heart stopped and he couldn’t catch his breath. “What’d they want? Were they looking for me?”

  “There was no ‘they.’ Just the one guy. The same one from down the street that you oh-so-casually asked your mother about on Thursday.”

  Even worse. Could the cop have recognized him? Why not? He’d recognized the cop. That still didn’t explain how he’d followed the trail to Icky.

  All thoughts of his physics paper disappeared. “Did he ask for me specifically?”

  “Only in the most round-about way. His face didn’t give away a thing. Not like yours, jumping all over the place. He said there’d been a break-in somewhere in the neighborhood, had we seen anything? What about you? Had you come around lately? Maybe you saw something.”

  Ryan sighed. If Pops had kept his mouth shut, it might be all right after all. “You didn’t tell him I’d been home, did you?”

  “Hey, I warned you last time I’d finished covering for you. Even if I’d been willing to lie, which I wasn’t, your mother would have corrected me. She actually believes you’re the innocent choirboy you pretend to be. And that’s not all. You ever drug me again, you better sleep with one eye open for the rest of your life.”

  This time Ryan’s heart jumped all the way to his throat. Cold sweat pooled under his arms and trickled down his back. Things were starting to get serious. That cop was interfering with his GPA.

  The time for finesse had passed. He glanced at the last sentence he’d written and hit the delete key. That’s what was in store for mister meddling cop.

  Silence greeted Noah when he opened his back door. No yapping or barking, no toenails scrabbling on the floor. The house even smelled different. Instead of Pea pooh, he recognized the sour smell of spoiled milk. His eyes quickly found the forgotten carton, still sitting on the kitchen table.

  Shit, no cereal for breakfast. And no toast. He’d never made it to the store over the weekend.

  One way or another, Pea would be home soon. He had thought the house was quiet before. Now it felt like a tomb. Even his breathing echoed around the empty room. If he couldn’t even protect a dog, he deserved to die.

  The refrigerator started to hum, but instead of filling the house, it accentuated the emptiness.

  “Enough of this feeling sorry for myself,” he muttered. He stormed out of the room, yanking off his tie.

  He stripped off his suit and hung it on the back of the closet door. Maybe he should give some thought to clearing out a few of Betsy’s things. His clothes looked like they’d been slept in after being crammed into the small space that was available. He could store some of her blouses in one of those containers made to slide under the bed.

  No, I�
��ll buy the container all right, but it’s my own shirts that’ll go in it.

  Five minutes later, he had on sweats and tennis shoes. He flipped on the light in his office and a reflection from the closet’s folding doors caught his eye. One door hung slightly ajar. Inside, nothing seemed disturbed and he lifted his father’s violin off the top shelf.

  The wood still gleamed and felt smooth under his fingers. He ran the bow experimentally over the strings, then adjusted the tuning and tried again. Even when he got the instrument properly tuned, he couldn’t replicate the flowing sounds his father had produced with so little effort.

  The one thing he’d hoped would keep his father’s memory alive, only reminded him how long the man had been gone. He’d love to kick his teenage-self’s ass for slacking off on his lessons. Had his voice gotten as rusty as his bow?

  He eased himself into his favorite spot—the Henry Miller chair Betsy had bought him as a housewarming gift—and called Conner.

  “How’s the murder book coming? Is the Lieutenant going to be satisfied?” Noah leaned back and propped his feet on the desk. One of the perks of being the senior partner, probably the only perk, was that Conner had to keep up with the paperwork.

  “Satisfied is up to his wife and the mood she’s in tonight. But from the phone call he got before he headed home in a hurry, I’d guess not so much. Now pleased with our work is another story. Every T is crossed and every I is dotted. That book is a work of art. I dare some defense lawyer to question it.”

  “Anybody else there tonight?”

  “Earl the Pearl and Alonzo the Giant, doing the same thing I was while their partners were home sitting on their lazy butts.”

  “You better watch it. If Alonzo or his partner hears you call him that, I won’t be able to protect you.” Some nicknames were accepted, but others were best left outside the office. He didn’t even want to know what he and Conner were called behind their backs.

  “True, he’s the only person in the department bigger than you are.”

  “I was thinking of his partner. He could bench-press you without breaking a sweat. Did you ask Alonzo if icky meant something in Spanish?”

  “He couldn’t think of anything, unless she comes from Argentina or Chili. The dialect changes the farther south you go. Otherwise, nothing.”

  “Of course not. It wouldn’t be that easy.” That left Ignacio and his friend Ryan. No more questions about another meaning.

  Conner chuckled. “How’s the dog? Did the vet let her come home?”

  “I sat with her for a few minutes, but her blood count is still too low. Maybe tomorrow. Speaking of which, that’s why I called you. I want you to start running down everything you can on our friend, Ignacio.”

  Noah paused and took a steadying breath. Lying to his partner stuck in his throat, but he couldn’t put Conner’s life or career at risk. “I’m going to follow up with Rosaria. Make sure she told me everything she knows. Maybe she forgot something, anything that will help. I’ll ask if she’s sure Hudson used the word icky. I’ll be in about noon, maybe earlier. Depending on what you find, we’ll decide on our next step.”

  “Whatever you say, Boss.” Conner’s words may have said yes, but his voice said he didn’t approve.

  Continuing to work behind his partner’s back was about to get harder.

  One more chore before that torture chamber called a bed. Going to sleep was bad enough—strenuous exercise usually knocked him out, although many nights he sat on the edge of the bed and watched the red glow of the digital clock as it counted down the minutes and hours until daylight.

  Waking up was the real kick-in-the-gut. His eyes would fly open minutes before the alarm was set to go off and, out of habit, he’d roll over to see if Betsy was awake. Occasionally the covers were mussed, or her pillow had been moved, and his breath would catch before he realized the bed was empty.

  Disgusted with his thoughts, he began working on the elliptical machine. He challenged himself at a punishing rate and stayed with it until he was drenched with sweat and his legs trembled. Then he worked with the free weights until his arms were as tired as his legs.

  That should do it. If I can’t sleep now, nothing short of a general anesthetic will knock me out. The little turd wouldn’t dare come back tonight, and if he does, he’ll have saved me the trouble.

  Conner glared at the phone. He’d barely resisted the urge to slam the receiver down, knowing if he did that, Jeannie would be all over him, asking questions he didn’t want to answer. Damn, Noah was starting to aggravate him. This one man crusade had to stop now.

  If that Ignacio kid turned up dead and his fingerprints were found in Noah’s house, they’d both be up shit creek. They might joke about their Lieutenant, but he hadn’t gotten where he was without knowing when smoke was being blown up his ass.

  “There’s only one person who’d call this late. Make that two people, but my mother’s on a cruise. What did Noah want?” Jeannie stood in the doorway. Her skin glowed, but the slight slump to her shoulders showed how tired she was. One hand supported the ever growing swell of her belly.

  He crossed the room in two steps and wrapped his arms around her. When he leaned down to kiss the top of her head, he breathed in the fragrance of her shampoo, with only the slightest hint of paste and Crayolas. “Just laying out the plan for tomorrow.”

  That much was true, anyway. “How were the little darlings today? Any of them give you trouble? They do know your husband’s a cop, don’t they? If that doesn’t keep them in line, I’ll come up to the school tomorrow and show them my handcuffs.”

  “They weren’t angels, but they weren’t devils either, and that’s the best I can hope for.”

  “I’ve got a couple of hour’s work I’d like to do here. Why don’t I run you a warm bath and then you can watch that hospital show you like. I should be finished by then and I’ll give you a backrub or a foot massage before we go to bed.”

  He hadn’t lied, he just hadn’t been forthcoming about why he needed to work tonight, and the words tasted foul on his tongue.

  She smiled and his heart reminded him there were more important things than Noah and his problems.

  “Umm, that’s a tough choice. Do I have to decide now?”

  “Both, it is. I’ll get the water started and you find your robe and those flannel pajamas. In the morning, I want you to take my car. I’ll get the oil changed in yours on my way home.”

  He could do the research on Ignacio from his home computer, and if his test kit showed the same fingerprints were on Ignacio’s license plate and in Noah’s house, then he planned to be parked outside Noah’s in the morning and see where that slippery son-of-a-bitch went.

  He wanted this case over and done with. When he was home with Jeannie, that’s where his mind should be. Not worrying about what kind of trouble his partner was getting them into.

  Noah couldn’t wait to get started the next morning. The sooner he had this case solved, the sooner he could get back to his real life, such as it was. Traffic was moderate heading north on I-45. All the tie-ups were heading the other way, into downtown. Poor suckers. The worst of the traffic should be clear by the time he started back to the office.

  Sam Houston State University was the poor second cousin to Rice. Located far enough north of Houston to edge into the piney woods, it had plenty of trees in the background, but not enough on campus. The atmosphere screamed, “College,” while Rice discreetly murmured, “Higher Learning.” But it offered two things Rice didn’t: affordable tuition and a degree in Criminal Justice. That made it the winner in Noah’s mind.

  The sun flashed in his eyes as he cruised the parking lot, looking for a space. He flipped the visor down, then back up when it blocked his view. A space big enough for his truck instead of one made for some little compact opened and he pulled in and switched off the engine.

  He took a last swallow of cold, travel-mug coffee as he stepped out of the truck. His stomach growled and he vowed to find s
omething to eat before the hour and a half drive back to town. No supper and now no breakfast. His mind didn’t care, but his body objected.

  If the kid had an eight o’clock class, Noah had missed him. But what kid didn’t know how to avoid an eight o’clock by his sophomore year?

  “If you’d drive something a little smaller, it wouldn’t take you so long to park.”

  Noah’s head snapped around to find Conner leaning against a brick wall. “What the fuck? Don’t you have a job you’re supposed to be doing in the office?”

  Conner tapped a folder against his thigh. “I know everything there is to know about our boy. Even things he hasn’t told his parents. And this is my job. Unless Rosaria is working on an undergraduate degree, you’re the one who has some ‘splaining to do.”

  “Okay, you caught me.” He should have known better than to think Conner would let it slide. “Let’s talk while we walk. What did you find out about Ignacio?”

  He started down the sidewalk without giving Conner another glance.

  Conner fell into step beside him. “Top of his class, but with only forty-seven graduating, that might not be too hard. Of course, he worked in his father’s auto repair shop all through school, plus equipment manager for the football and baseball teams, and on the debate team. Voted most likely to succeed, but not to any class office or popular position. Even in a class of forty-seven, he was the class nerd. He has an IQ of 130. Not quite Mensa level, but pretty damn close.”

  “It’s the things he hasn’t told his father that I’m more interested in.”

  “There’s a rumor, unproven, that some of the popular guys invited him to a party, got him drunk and left him naked on a turtle-trap in the middle of a lake. No one can figure out how he got home without causing a scandal. But by the time one of the boys got back to the party, his truck was missing. It turned up a block from Ignacio’s house and the boy’s gym shorts and shirt were gone.

  Noah chuckled. He could almost like the kid. If it didn’t turn out he was a murderer. “That’s where the 130 IQ comes in. He did work in an auto shop, so he’d know how to hot-wire a truck.”