Deadly as the Driven Snow

by Agnes Alexander

  Deadly

  as the

  Driven Snow

  A Calendar Clan Mystery

  Agnes Alexander

  Deadly as the Driven Snow

  Copyright © 2011 by Lynette Hall Hampton

  Originally published as June and Wallace

  Cover Design Livia Reasoner

  Fire Star Press

  www.firestarpress.com

  All rights reserved.

  This is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, and dialogues are products of the author's imagination and are not to be construed as real.

  No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  Prologue

  At eleven o’clock on Thanksgiving morning I was in the little room in the back of the church as nervous as an ant at a picnic trying to decide what to eat first. I kept thinking something would snatch this happiness away from me. It didn’t take Mom long to calm me down.

  “June, honey,” she said. “You’ve known Jason Striker all your life. There’s nothing to be afraid of.”

  “I don’t know, Mom. I had an awful dream about us breaking up last night. What if he leaves me standing at the altar? I have a sinking feeling this wedding is his way to get back at me for all the mean things I did to him in school. What if he doesn’t really love me?”

  “Don’t talk like that, June March. Jason loves you. He has always loved you. There is no way he wouldn’t show up for the wedding.” She chuckled. “Now, talk about nervous. Think about what he’s going through. You know how flustered he gets, and today is no different.”

  I smiled. I did know. But we’d been out of high school for seven years. Things could change in seven years. Heck, things could change in six months.

  After all, when I broke my leg last May and came back to the March farm in the foot hills of the Blue Ridge Mountains to recuperate, I never dreamed I’d end up staying. At the time, I only wanted to get well and get back to my job with the detective agency in Greensboro. Then my no-good brother-in-law robbed a bank and ended up murdered, and Jason Striker, the sheriff of our tiny county, came back into my life. At first, I found working with my school science partner as irritating as when we were trying to come up with a project in fifth grade. Then he began to show signs of a maturity I never dreamed he possessed.

  How it happened and when it happened, I’m not sure. But it wasn’t long until I found being in his company was more important to me than anything else. Then I found out another woman wanted him. I lost my cool, and decided she couldn’t have him. It turned out to be rather easy, because as Mom said, he’d always loved me—and later, he told me this, too.

  Now, here we were getting married. I still couldn’t believe it. Oh, he was handsome enough. Six-foot-three, a couple of hundred pounds, brown hair, deep green eyes and a physique in his uniform that turned many women’s heads. But he was Jason Striker, the guy I’d tortured for years.

  A light tap on the door made me jump.

  “They’re waiting on you, Celia,” Dad said to Mom.

  “I’m coming.” She kissed my cheek. “Love you.”

  “I love you, too, Mom.”

  Dad looked at me with approval. “I can’t believe you’re getting married, Baby Girl.”

  “I know, Dad. I can’t believe it, either.” It made me feel a little better to hear him call me Baby Girl, the pet name he called all his four daughters. I clutched his arm. “Please tell me Jason is here. He didn’t stand me up, did he, Dad?”

  Dad chuckled. “June, Jason is standing at the altar waiting for you.”

  We began lining up, and I held tightly to Dad’s arm as I straightened my dress. My sister, April was playing the piano. May was singing one of our favorite songs, George Strait’s “I Couldn’t Say No,” and my maid-of-honor, Jan, was waiting to go down the aisle in front of me.

  Clinging to Dad’s arm, I followed. I was wearing a simple off-white street length lace dress. To carry out the Thanksgiving theme of the wedding, I carried a bouquet of rust-colored mums and white roses.

  I looked at the two men standing at the altar. The best man was Ken Striker, Jason’s brother, who had flown in from Texas to watch his little brother get married, but as far as I was concerned, the important man there was Jason. He looked as handsome in his black suit and rust-colored tie as he always did in his sheriff’s uniform. He was smiling at me and I knew everything was going to be all right—that was, if he didn’t say “no” when the preacher asked, “Do you take this woman?”

  We went through our vows and I almost breathed an audible sigh of relief when Jason said “yes” at the right time. Then everyone crowded around to hug us, and to offer congratulations and snap pictures. We only invited family, so it wasn’t long until everyone was getting into cars and heading for Mom and Dad’s farm for the traditional Calendar Family Thanksgiving dinner.

  Earlier, we decided this would be our reception. Of course, Mom, April, and I had cooked and baked for days. We made quite a houseful: Mom and Dad; April and her four-year-old twins; my brother, August, his wife, Teresa, and their two boys; Jan and my younger brother October, known as Toby, in from college; May and her husband, Bert; Jason’s brother, Ken; Aunt Nadine and her son, Jackson; and the preacher, Reverend Larry Smithers. We had a great time, and the meal and the other festivities went on for a long time.

  Mom and my sisters had baked a wedding cake to surprise us. We did the traditional feeding each other a piece of it. I learned later the family had taken bets as to whether I’d smash cake in Jason’s face. They said I’d lost some of my vinegar when I didn’t.

  Aunt Nadine and Jackson took their leave soon after we ate, and the children were all settled down for games on the braided rug in the living room. Dad pulled out his fiddle, Toby his guitar, and April sat down at the piano. It wasn’t long until we were singing and laughing and having a wonderful time.

  Dark was settling in when Jason took my hand and whispered, “I think it’s time to go.”

  I nodded, and we stood.

  “I thought it was time you kids took off,” Mom said with a twinkle in her eye. “I know you have to catch that plane in Raleigh tonight.”

  “And don’t you worry about a thing. We have your cats, Dingo and Buzzy, here, and you know we’ll take good care of them. We don’t want you worrying about your pets while you’re gone,” Dad said.

  After promising to visit Ken and his family in Texas sometime soon and hugging everyone good-bye, we turned toward Jason’s house.

  “Well, Mrs. Striker,” he said. “We just pulled off our first deceitful thing, didn’t we?”

  “Do you really think it’s deceitful?” I took the hand he reached toward me.

  “Not really. If they knew, I’m sure they’d understand why we wanted to spend our first night together in our house, not on an airplane.”

  “Our house. That sounds lovely when you say it, Jason.” I pulled his hand up to my lips and kissed it.

  “Everything I have is ours now, you should know that, honey.”

  “Same for me.” I laughed. “Of course, you’re getting cheated. I’m bringing a contrary cat named Dingo, a few pieces of furniture, and the money I’ve saved to replace my seven-year-old compact car. Doesn’t look like you’re getting much of a bargain, does it?”

  “I’m getting you. That’s all I want or need.”

  When we got to the house, we pulled the car into the garage and Jason stopped me at the door leading from the garage into the pantry and then into the kitchen. He reached down and swooped me into his arms. “Might as well go with tradition,” he sa
id as he stepped inside. “I want to carry my bride over the threshold.”

  “Thank you,” I said as he kissed me, then set me down. I flipped on the light as we went into the kitchen.

  “June, look at this,” he said pointing out a bottle of wine in a silver cooler, two glasses and a note was propped on the counter.

  “What in the world?” I picked up the note.

  I read it aloud. “Here’s something for you to enjoy on your wedding night. We’ve put a few snacks in the refrigerator in case you want something to eat. For breakfast, Mom has left the fixings, also in the refrigerator. Love, April, May and Jan.”

  “We didn’t fool anyone, did we?” Jason laughed.

  “And we thought we were so smart.” I leaned up and kissed him. “I think I’ll go get comfortable while you open the wine.”

  “You do that. It won’t take me long.”

  I went into our bedroom and stopped when I flipped on the light. Our bed was turned back and there was a rose and a note on the pillow. At the foot of the bed was a beautiful lace gown.

  “Jason,” I called. “Come see what I found.”

  In an instant he was beside me. “Somebody else had been here, haven’t they?”

  “Looks like it,” I said and turned to him. “Why don’t you read this note?”

  He opened it and read aloud. “Dear children. May your first night together not be the only one you share with anticipation and love. Carry this love into your future and when you have gray in your hair and lines around your eyes, you will still feel the joy and excitement you feel tonight. Take it from two people who know. Love, Mom and Dad.”

  “Oh, how sweet,” I whispered.

  Jason put his arms around me. “This is a wonderful surprise. It really makes me feel I’m a part of the family.”

  “I never doubted that you would be.” I reached for the gown and held it up. “Isn’t this lovely? It’s old fashioned and sexy at the same time.”

  He put his arm around me, kissed my neck and mumbled, “Why don’t you put that gown on and I’ll go get the wine.”

  “I’ll be waiting,” I whispered back.

  Chapter One

  I looked out the kitchen window and noticed the Leland cypress trees dividing our land from Mrs. Goodman’s property were beginning to bend. This told me sleet was freezing on the trees. I knew it would be a hard day for Jason. I shivered, and the warm days of our honeymoon and thoughts of how I really loved this husband of mine came to mind. Why else would I have boarded a plane with him three months ago and flown for forty days – well it seemed that long to me – from North Carolina to Hawaii?

  I do have to admit that once we got there, the honeymoon was perfect. We strolled on the beautiful beaches, and when we toured a volcano, Jason said he wasn’t getting too close to the edge because he might get covered with strawberry jam. I gave him a playful bop on the head because I knew he was referring to the volcano we’d constructed in fifth grade for a science project. I’d rigged it so he’d get covered with strawberry jam when it exploded.

  We also went to a lovely orchard where we ate pineapples from a field. We wore leis, then toured everything people suggested to us. Since we’d never been there, we took a ton of pictures. Most of all, we enjoyed being together, and I must admit the best part of the whole trip for me was lying in his strong arms at night and knowing I was safe. I would be safe as long as he had breath to protect me.

  Then it was time to come home – which only took thirty days. It was a little faster flying back. But the Good Lord knows now that my feet are once again on North Carolina soil, I don’t ever intend to get on another airplane. No, not ever.

  That is, if I can control my husband. The idiot (and I use this expression with a lot of love) told me at breakfast he was wondering if we should think about going with Calvary Baptist Church’s building team to Honduras this spring where they’re helping build a new church. I don’t think you can drive from Edison, North Carolina, which is located in the foothills of the Blue Ridge Mountains, to Honduras. I told him I thought we should wait a year or two to consider something that drastic.

  It’s not that I have anything against the church going to foreign lands to help those who need it, but I’m sure there are places we could help that are a little closer. Somewhere near enough to drive a car, or at least take the church bus. Anywhere airplanes aren’t involved.

  He finally dropped the subject and went into the bathroom to take a shower and get ready for work.

  I turned from the window and let my mind come back to the present on this icy February day. I also let out a sigh of relief because the subject of Honduras had been dropped, at least for the time being. I busied myself putting the dirty breakfast dishes in the dishwasher. As I bent over to fill the slot on the door with liquid soap, Dingo came sauntering into the room. He stretched and twisted around my leg. I closed the dishwasher, then reached down and rubbed his long gray hair. He purred, and I knew he was asking for something to eat. The shower turned off, so I started the dishwasher and turned to the cat.

  “Come on, boy,” I said and headed for the laundry room which is connected to the mud room where our back door is located. Though we mostly come into the house from the side which leads into the garage, when Jason has muddy boots he comes in the back door, so he can deposit them there. This door leads to a glassed-in porch with another door and four steps down to the yard. I crossed this small room to get to the laundry room where I keep food for Dingo and Buzzy, Jason’s cat. After our marriage, we tried for a few weeks to make Buzzy an indoor cat, but he would have nothing to do with it. Jason ended up building him a fleece-lined house and we put a cat door in the garage, so he could come and go as he pleased. I’ve noticed that he’s staying in the garage more and more since the weather has turned cold.

  Dingo jumped in front of me and slid his body through his cat door into the laundry room. I had to wait until he wiggled his fat behind through the opening before I could open the big door and go inside. “I’ll get you fed then I’ll go feed Buzz,” I said. Though I know he ignores me, I talk to him anyway.

  Just as I took the can of food from the cabinet beside the washer, I heard a loud knock on the door leading outside. I left the laundry room door open and went to glance out the glass panels on the top half of the outside door. The blinds were closed, and I couldn’t see anything. I set the cat food down and moved to open the blinds, wondering who could be at our door so early on such a bad day.

  I screamed and jumped back in horror as I looked at a man’s bloody face plastered against the glass. I think the man was trying to tell me something, but I wasn’t about to open the door.

  “Jason!” I screamed his name, hoping he could hear me all the way down the hall and into our bedroom. “Jason, come here.”

  He must have heard my first scream because he appeared in the laundry room area wearing the pants to his uniform, but no shirt.

  “Get back in the kitchen, June,” he ordered.

  Normally, I argue with him when he tries to tell me what to do. This time, I didn’t. I reached down, grabbed Dingo, then scurried back into the kitchen.

  Jason followed me, then went into the bedroom. In an instant, he returned carrying his gun and his shirt. He went back into the mud room and closed the door to the kitchen.

  I heard the outside door open, and I held my breath.

  In a minute, Jason yelled for me to call nine-one-one. “Tell them there’s a man at our back door and he’s been shot.”

  I dialed the number. “Yes,” I said when the emergency number was answered. “He just appeared at out back door…I don’t know what happened. Please send an ambulance to Sheriff Jason Striker’s house. That’s right, ma’am…Sheriff Striker. Yes, ma’am, I’ll keep the line open…” I walked to the mud room and pushed it open a crack.

  Jason had pulled the man inside and was working on him with the first-aid kit we keep in the cabinet above the dryer. I noticed he was still without his shirt, but h
e’d thought to put on latex gloves. I was glad, because the bleeding man was a stranger. At least, he was to me.

  “How is he, Jason?” I asked.

  “Pretty bad. He said something about somebody named Jay, but that was about all I got out of him before he passed out.” He looked up at me. “Is the nine-one-one operator still on the phone?”

  “Ma’am,” I said into the receiver. “I’m going to put the sheriff on the phone.” Before she could answer, I handed Jason the portable phone.

  Into it, he said, “This is Sheriff Striker. Are the emergency vehicles on the way? Good. No, he’s still alive, but only barely. I’ve tried to stop the bleeding, but that’s about all I can do.”

  There were the faint sound of sirens.

  He looked up at me. “June, would you please show them where to come?”

  Dingo was still in my arms, so I ran down the hall and stashed him in the hall bathroom and closed the door as I went to the front of the house. By the time I opened the front door, the medics were coming up the steps. In a minute, a deputy’s car pulled into the driveway and a tall, handsome African-American deputy got out. I waited until he came to the door, where we exchanged hellos, then led him to the mud room.

  Jason was coming into the kitchen. He had his shirt on, but it was unbuttoned.

  “What happened, Sheriff?” the deputy asked.

  “We don’t know. I was getting ready to go to work and I assume my wife went into the laundry room to feed her cat.” I nodded, and he went on, “The next thing I heard was her screaming.”

  They both looked at me and I said, “I couldn’t help it. He had his face pressed against the glass and he was really scary looking.”

  “I don’t blame you, Mrs. Striker,” the deputy said. “Something like that would scare anybody.”

  “Will you see if you can do anything out there, Charles? Check for an ID. I need to finish dressing."