Deadly Holiday

by Margaret Daley

  DEADLY HOLIDAY

  Strong Women, Extraordinary Situations Book 3

  Margaret Daley

  Copyright © 2014 Margaret Daley

  Smashwords Edition

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the author, except by a reviewer, who may quote brief passages in a review.

  All texts contained within this document are a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons (living or dead), is entirely coincidental.

  Chapter One

  Tory Caldwell released a long breath. Ah, a weekend to do nothing but relax and rest. The best gift I could have right now after the past four months. If only that were possible…

  After dropping her ten-year-old son Morgan off to spend the weekend with his best friend, Tory headed down the mountain toward Crystal Creek, a little town nestled at the bottom of a mountain in the Colorado Rockies. Although mid-December, the next few days were supposed to be above freezing with no chance of snow, so Morgan had pleaded with her to let him stay with Josh, who lived at nine thousand feet.

  As she navigated the curvy two-lane road, she mentally ticked off her long list of chores and Christmas shopping to be completed before she returned to school on Monday.

  Four-thirty Friday afternoon, and it was already starting to get dark. She didn’t like to drive this highway at night. Glancing out her rearview mirror, she glimpsed a black sports car speeding around the curve and coming right toward her, at least fifteen miles over the speed limit. When it was practically on her bumper, she noticed the driver’s irritated face. All of sudden, the young, blond headed man, no more than twenty, gunned his vehicle and passed her at the start of the most twisty part of the highway.

  Tory gasped, gripping the steering wheel.

  The reckless driver zipped in front of her, nearly clipping her bumper. She’d barely registered the car’s license plate—HOTSHOT—when it disappeared around the bottom of the S-curve. She breathed easier, knowing at least she didn’t have to worry about him riding her tail.

  When she hit a straight stretch of the road, she spied the black sports car a hundred yards or so ahead. It was veering toward the drop-off on the right side of the highway. The driver swerved, over-compensated and bounded into the other lane—right toward an older gentleman walking on the shoulder next to the mountain.

  The car hit the pedestrian. The man flew into the air.

  “No!” Tory screamed.

  The older man struck the pavement, his body bouncing.

  Stunned, Tory slammed on her brakes and skidded several feet while the driver of the sports car slowed for a few seconds, then revved his engine and sped away.

  Tory guided her Jeep to the shoulder, parked, then climbed out, shaking so badly that she held her door until she was steady enough to move. A chilly wind cut through her as she crossed to the man lying face up in a pool of blood. He stared up at her with lifeless eyes.

  She knelt, and with a trembling hand, she felt for a pulse at the side of his neck. Nothing. She tried again. Still no pulse. Then she hovered her fingertips over his slightly open mouth. No breath. She wished she knew CPR, but from the looks of him she didn’t think it would have mattered.

  She straightened and scanned the area. Deserted. Except for the black sports car, she hadn’t seen any other vehicles since she’d started back to Crystal Creek. Not a lot of people lived on the top of this side of the mountain.

  As she took one final sweep of her surroundings, she spied a wallet and set of keys not far from the older gentleman. She picked up the brown billfold and flipped it open to see if there was any identification. A photo of a man who looked like the one on the pavement declared the victim was Charles Nelson, seventy-two years old. The address indicated he lived nearby. He had probably been on his way home. Since this was a crime scene, she returned the wallet to where she found it. She shouldn’t have touched it in the first place, but at least she could tell the 911 operator who the victim was.

  Shivering, she dug into her coat pocket and removed her phone, praying she had driven far enough toward the main highway to get cell reception. No bars. Dead as the man at her feet.

  She could return to Josh’s house, but she knew a gas station/grocery store was closer down the mountain. If there wasn’t cell reception, the place would have a landline phone she could use. Not wanting to involve her son in this, she chose to continue toward the highway.

  Ten minutes later, she sat in the store’s parking lot and punched in 911 on her cell phone. After she reported the hit-and-run, she took a few minutes to compose herself. Her hands were still shaking. She’d never seen a wreck like that. Then she went inside to use the restroom, grab something hot to drink, and then head back up the mountain to wait for the police. When she arrived at the spot of the hit-and-run thirty minutes later, all she found was the blood on the pavement. The body was gone.

  * * *

  Tory used the police officer’s large body to block the biting edge of the wind sweeping down the road, the lights on his patrol car the only illumination in the dark that settled on the mountain. “Sergeant Bennett, I know what I saw. A man named Charles Nelson lay dead right there.” She pointed to the bloody spot.

  The police officer took his flashlight and shone it on the spot. “Then where is this dead man? Did he get up and walk away?”

  “If he’s dead, obviously not.” On the side closest to the drop off, she stared down into the valley, dark except for a few scattered lights. Could she have been wrong about Mr. Nelson being dead? Could he have gotten up, been disoriented and fallen down the mountain? “I told you his address. If he did walk away,” she tried to keep the sarcasm from her voice, but it leaked in, “I figure you need to check his house. Or,” she gestured to the drop off, “check down this ravine. Mr. Nelson was hit by a black sports car with a vanity license plate that read HOTSHOT. A young man with light blond hair drove away. Didn’t even stop.”

  “There isn’t a crime without a body. Did you start celebrating the weekend a little early?”

  “If you’re referring to drinking, I don’t drink alcohol, so no. I’m not the criminal here. I’d find the person driving the sports car.”

  “And charge him with what? There is no body. That blood could be from an animal.”

  “Test it. It’s not.” Anger welled to the surface. She’d never been doubted like this before. Maybe it hadn’t been a good idea to move to Crystal Creek last August. The town was beautiful and quaint, but the people weren’t too inviting to newcomers.

  Sergeant Bennett frowned, a skeptical expression in his eyes. “Officer Ward is on his way. We’ll check it out, but there are some things that will have to wait until daylight. I have your information, if I find a body and need to contact you later. You’re free to go.”

  “Just like that. I witnessed a hit-and-run.”

  “Do you want me to take you to the station?”

  “No, but I know what I saw. Please check out the sports car driver. He may have been drinking. He weaved all over the road and sped dangerously fast.”

  “Lady, I know how to do my job.”

  Biting the inside of her cheek to keep from retorting her doubts, she started for her car. That whole conversation didn’t feel right. What was up with Sergeant Bennett? She glanced back and added, “I’d like to be informed of your progress. Please.”

  “Sure. I don’t have anything better to do than stop by every evening and give you an update to a hit-and-run that doesn’t have a body.” His sarcasm dripped off every word.

  It would do no good to give a snappy comeback. Let it go, Tory. She contin
ued to her Jeep as another patrol car appeared. Maybe Officer Ward would do a better job.

  * * *

  Tory took her anger out on the house as she nailed in the clips to hold her Christmas lights around her door and porch, the extent of her outdoor decorations. Even Jordan Steele, her neighbor, had outlined his whole house yesterday in white lights and laid some in his front bushes. She’d never figured he’d participate in the challenge to have all the houses in the subdivision decked out for the holidays, but last night his quite tasteful display of simplicity dared her to put something up, even if it was only two or three strings of red lights.

  Two years ago, even though her husband had been fighting cancer, he’d been outside putting up the Christmas decorations because Morgan loved the wonderland he created in their front yard. She’d never forget finding him on the ground. He’d collapsed. She’d rushed him to the hospital. He’d died a month later.

  Her pounding echoed through the air, but she gave the last plastic clip an extra hit. She imagined the bald headed Sergeant Bennett’s face with his dark bushy eyebrows as she hit the nail. “Why don’t…” pound, pound “…you believe me?”

  “I don’t think your house is going to answer back.” The deep masculine voice startled her.

  She jerked around and almost lost her balance on the stepladder. Flapping her arms, she regained her steadiness, but not before Jordan Steele moved forward and put his hands around her waist. There’d always been a polite casualness between them when they’d talked out in the yard, but he’d never gotten that close. His touch was even more startling than his voice had been a moment earlier.

  “Who doesn’t believe you?”

  Cheeks flaming, Tory descended the short ladder and sat on its top step. “The police, or rather, Sergeant Bennett. He told me today when I called that I must have imagined the hit-and-run I witnessed yesterday.”

  “Where?”

  “The north face of the mountain. I was returning from taking Morgan to stay the weekend with his friend.” She pointed to the rocky structure dominating Crystal Creek’s landscape. “A young man ran Charles Nelson down on the road. The driver killed Mr. Nelson but kept going, barely slowing down. I saw the whole thing.”

  Surprise flittered across Jordan’s expression. “And this sergeant didn’t believe that was what happened? How did he explain the dead body?”

  Twisting her mouth in an exasperating look, Tory averted her gaze. “There was a small problem. I had to go farther down the mountain to get cell reception to call 911. When I returned to the scene of the hit-and-run, Mr. Nelson’s body was gone, along with his keys and his wallet, which had flown out of his coat pocket.” The police might not believe her, but the Lord knew she was telling the truth, and somehow she would convince the rest of the world too.

  “There wasn’t a trace of the man? Maybe he wasn’t dead and somehow got up.”

  Tory shook her head. “Impossible. I’ve had first aid training. I know how to check for a pulse. Besides, there was blood on the pavement, which was still there when I came back half an hour later.”

  “What did the police officer say about the blood?”

  “He thinks it’s from a deer or something.”

  “Is he going to test it?”

  “I insisted he test to see if it’s human. He said he would, but I think he just said that to humor this crazy lady.” Tory patted her chest. “I called Sergeant Bennett when I didn’t hear anything this morning. He told me Mr. Nelson lives with his son and daughter-in-law, and they said that the man went to see his brother until after the holidays. Every year the two brothers go hunting north during this time. The couple’s place is up the road from where the hit-and-run occurred. The police sergeant wasn’t happy I still insisted there was a hit-and-run. On the phone I could hear him muttering a few unkind words under his breath.”

  A dark glint flared in Jordan’s deep brown eyes. “Some people don’t like to have their authority challenged.”

  “I’m not letting this go. A person ran down that man and killed him. The driver was reckless—he didn’t even get out of his car to see if Mr. Nelson was alive. I’m going to stop at the Nelsons’ house and do my own questioning. I know what I saw. I dreamed about it last night.” She shuddered at the memory of the nightmare that had awakened her early this morning.

  “You shouldn’t go alone. What if something else is going on?”

  “What are you doing tomorrow afternoon? Care to take a trip up the mountain?” The invitation came out without her thinking it through. Her neighbor usually kept to himself. Sure, they’d had a few casual conversations in the yard, often about his rental property, the house she lived in.

  “If you insist on going, I’ll go with you.”

  Elated she would have a witness when she confronted the Nelsons, she smiled, pushing down the urge to hug him for his assistance. “Thanks.”

  “No problem.” One corner of his mouth tilted up. “I came over here to help you with your lights. I wouldn’t want you falling off the ladder on my rental property.”

  Tory’s grin widened. The day was looking up after a rocky start. “I accept your offer. I may be crazy, but I’m not stupid.”

  * * *

  Sunday afternoon, Jordan set his empty coffee mug on the coaster on the end table then stretched on the couch. He’d been sitting most of the morning. Dutch, his German shepherd, came up and dropped a red ball in his lap.

  “Sorry, boy, I promised my tenant I’d go with her today. She fancies herself a private detective or something.”

  Thinking about Tory Caldwell brought a smile to his lips. She was a plain Jane, but there was a spirit about her that intrigued him—or would, if he were interested in a woman. He wasn’t. He had his hands full trying to keep his life together. With Dutch, his service dog, he’d made strides toward healing from the post-traumatic stress disorder that came home with him from Afghanistan two years ago. Most of his squad hadn’t come back to the States. He was the lucky one—or so people kept telling him. He didn’t feel that way. His battle buddies had died when a bomb landed on the building they were in. Their screams still rang in his mind when it quieted enough to let the sounds in.

  When he heard a sharp knock on his front door, he shook off those memories. He tried not to dwell on what had happened in the war zone, but sometimes the flashbacks would come out of nowhere. He rubbed Dutch on the top his head, feeling the calming connection with his dog, then rose to let his tenant into his house.

  Tory’s smile and sparkling green eyes greeted him when he pulled the door open. The sight lifted his spirits just as their occasional talks over the past few months had. He stepped to the side to allow her inside. Her gaze stopped at his dog.

  “This is Dutch. You’ve probably seen him around. He looks ferocious, but he’s a cuddly teddy bear.”

  “Thank goodness you put Teddy in front of bear, because I’ve encountered a few hiking, and have kept my distance.” Tory held her hand out for his dog to sniff, then scratched him behind his ear and gained a new best friend.

  “He likes you.”

  “Good thing, because I wouldn’t want a German shepherd mad at me. Ready? I’m supposed to pick Morgan up in an hour, but I’d like to stop and talk with the Nelsons beforehand. I haven’t said anything to my son about seeing that hit-and-run. It didn’t seem like something to talk about over the phone.”

  “True. Maybe we can get to the bottom of it today.”

  Tory turned to leave, zipping up her blue parka, her long blond hair peeking out from under her white beanie. “A cold front is moving in.”

  “The weather report calls for snow in the middle of the week.”

  “That’ll just make my dazzling display of fifty lights a must-see on all the Christmas light tours.”

  “I looked at it last night, and I thought it was nice.”

  She laughed. “Your outside decorations are nice. Mine are adequate and will keep Mr. Foster from bugging me for not participating in the
neighborhood light challenge. I was the last holdout. When you caved in, I thought I should too.”

  “I’m with you. It’s easier to comply than deal with Mr. Foster’s little notes in your mailbox.”

  “It’s sad he thinks these decorations are what Christmas is really about.”

  “I’m not sure what he believes. All I know is that he wants this to be the best neighborhood in Crystal Creek.”

  She groaned. “Then I didn’t do enough. Why didn’t you warn me before I moved in to this neighborhood?”

  He tried an apologetic grin. “Sorry.”

  Jordan locked up and followed Tory to her Jeep in the open garage. Usually he took Dutch with him everywhere, but she was driving and had just met his service dog, and she didn’t even know it was a service dog. That was a conversation he didn’t start with people. He filed it under none of their business.

  As he slipped into the front passenger’s seat, he said, “Send Mr. Foster to me if he says anything about your display. I’ll sic Dutch on him.”

  “I thought your dog was a cuddly Teddy bear.”

  “Usually, but he’s also protective and well-trained.”

  “Good to know. Morgan has been bugging me about getting a dog.” She backed out of her driveway and headed toward the highway. “We had one where we lived previously, but he died right before we moved.”

  “What kind?”

  “A Yorkie, always in everyone’s business. What made you get a German shepherd?”

  Jordan deepened his voice. “He’s a manly dog for a manly man. None of them little yippy critters for me.” He winked at her, so she’d know he was joking. Admitting he had PTSD had been tough enough, and even to looking into getting a service dog had made him feel weak that he couldn’t get over it on his own. The first eight months back in the States, he’d tried to deny he had a problem. But when he’d stopped wanting to interact with people and ran his rental and investment business from home, only going out when absolutely necessary, the pastor from the church he grew up in came to visit him in Denver.