by Joanne Fluke
“Give up?”
“Never!”
The more Debbie struggled, the deeper they sank into the fluffy snowbank. The weight of his body pressed her down until they were both below the crust of the snow. Mac laughed as he pinned both of her hands with one arm and trickled snow down her collar with the other.
“Ready to quit now?”
He could tell she was considering it. Snow down the collar was a great persuader.
Debbie moved suddenly and he almost lost his balance. She was trying for an upset.
“Oh, no, you don’t!”
Mac laughed as she twisted to the side and attempted to flip him over. Their legs were tangled together and he got his on top to pin her. She was amazingly strong for such a little girl. Then he found the zipper of her jacket and pulled it down.
Debbie gasped in shock as he pulled up her sweater. Mac knew he wasn’t playing fair, but snowball fights called for ungentlemanly tactics.
“No! Mac . . . stop!”
Her body looked like it was carved of white marble in the cold, pale moonlight. Mac reached out to pick up a fistful of snow and grinned at her fiendishly.
“Oh, no! Mac! Don’t you dare!”
“Say uncle?”
“I’ll die first!”
The snow was starting to melt in his glove and it dripped down on Debbie’s smooth warm skin. She sputtered and wiggled, trying to slide out from under him. Mac had never seen anything more beautiful than her breasts in the moonlight.
“Give up, Debbie?”
He heard his voice shake and he swallowed hard as he stared down at her.
Her eyes were enormous in the dim moonlight.
“No!” She gave a little smile and tossed her head. Her voice teased him a bit, she was so sure of herself. “You won’t do it, Mac. I know you won’t. You’ll be a nice guy and let me go.”
Mac grinned as he opened his glove and let the snow trickle down. There was an astonished expression on her face that was almost comical as he reached out for another handful and rubbed it deliberately all over her body.
“You . . . you rat!” Her squeal of betrayal was loud in his ears.
Mac laughed. “If you mean dirty rat, it’s one of Cagney’s lines.” Mac pulled off his glove and covered her breast with his warm fingers. “Of course movie historians claim he never actually said it. There’s some controversy about the whole thing. Evidently Cagney can’t recall if he did or he didn’t.”
Debbie made a small sound as Mac’s lips took the place of his fingers. The tension in her body changed as he kissed and nuzzled, warming her cold body with his mouth. Then she was straining toward him, crying out at the heat of his lips and tongue.
She threw her arms around his neck as he picked her up and carried her toward the house. She wouldn’t let go, even when he undressed her by the fire and laid her down on the soft rug in front of the hearth. The flickering heat of the fire matched the warmth in her eyes as he joined her, their skin still chilled from the cold night air.
They didn’t speak. There was no need. Their bodies grew warm and then hot from the passion that blazed inside. She gave a glad cry as he entered her and then, when they were glowing and exhausted with love, she whispered softly in his ear.
“I give up, Mac. You won.”
Mac grinned down at her and brushed his fingers across her toasty skin.
“No, honey. Let’s call it a tie.”
CHAPTER 23
“The National Weather Service reports a new arctic air mass moving in from Canada. Severe storm warnings go into effect at four P.M. in the Twin Cities and surrounding areas. The temperature is expected to drop well below zero tonight while winds from the north, gusting up to thirty miles per hour, will set the wind chill factor at minus fifty-six. Three to four inches of snow is predicted during the late afternoon and evening, so stock up for another bad spell and get your Christmas shopping done early. WCCO Radio countdown shows only three shopping days left before Christmas.”
Debbie snapped off the radio by the bed and yawned. Sunlight streamed through the bedroom window and it looked deceptively warm outside. Not even the prospect of another winter storm could dampen her spirits today. She snuggled back down under the covers and hugged Mac tightly. She felt wonderful!
“Blizzard tonight?” Mac’s voice sounded sleepy as he hugged her back. “We’d better stock up on some staples today.”
“We don’t have to get up this early, do we? It’s only seven in the morning.”
Their bodies fit together perfectly. Debbie snuggled so close that the hair on Mac’s chest tickled her nose.
“I have to call the station for an update.” Mac kissed the inside of her arm. “But that can wait until later.”
“Would you believe I forgot all about it?” Debbie sighed happily. “I don’t think anything can get me down today. Not even the mystery killer.”
“Maybe we ought to help him out a little.” Mac grinned and pulled her over on top of him. “We could save him the trouble and screw ourselves to death.”
“Mom?” Trish ran into the kitchen. “You know the play we saw last night? The actress that got replaced is dead! I just heard it on the news.”
Kay dropped the egg she was holding back into the carton and raced to the den behind Trish. Charles’s breakfast could wait. Nora couldn’t be dead!
A commercial was blaring from the television. Kay stood in front of the set and stared at the Pillsbury Doughboy doing his antics. “Nothing says lovin’ like bakin’ from the oven, and Pillsbury says it best.” Her mind whirled. Trish must have heard the name wrong. Kay didn’t want to consider what it would mean if Nora were dead.
Bill Moore’s face filled the screen. His expression was somber.
“Nora Stanford, leading lady of the Guthrie Theater, died this morning at age thirty-six. Miss Stanford’s body was discovered in her compartment when the Amtrak Express pulled into Chicago’s Union Station early this morning. Preliminary reports indicate massive heart failure as the probable cause of death. Miss Stanford operated a theater workshop on Hennepin and is the veteran of more than fifty prizewinning productions, including—”
Kay snapped off the television. She couldn’t bear to hear any more. Nora was dead. And it wasn’t a heart failure, like Bill Moore said. Kay knew the truth. Nora had been murdered.
“Mom?” Trish took her arm. “Are you all right?”
“Oh . . . yes, dear.” Kay swallowed hard. “Nora . . . Miss Stanford . . . was a good friend of mine. It’s a shock, that’s all. A terrible shock.”
“Maybe you should sit down or something.” Trish looked worried. “You’re shaking.”
“No, I . . . I have to call some people I know, honey.” Kay took a deep breath. “Can you finish making Daddy’s breakfast?”
“Sure, Mom.” Trish started for the kitchen. When she reached the door she turned back and frowned. “Will we still go to Grandma’s today? You don’t have to stay for the funeral or anything, do you, Mom?”
“No. I can’t stay!” Her voice was full of panic and Kay fought for control. She didn’t want to scare Trish.
“We’ll leave right after the fashion show, honey. No change of plans. Now hurry and make Daddy’s breakfast. And, honey? Don’t mention this to Daddy. I’ll tell him later, when we’re on the road.”
Kay sat by the phone and fought down her panic. They should have gone to the police after all. Nora, Debra, and Mac had all tried to protect her. Their first concern was for her and for Charles’s career, and now Nora was dead. Like Jerry. And Greg. And Father Marx.
It was her fault! Kay lowered her head and sobbed. Charles’s political career seemed insignificant when it was weighed against Nora’s life. She had been selfish and now Nora was dead. There was no way she’d ever forgive herself.
Kay’s hands trembled as she dialed the phone. Nora had tried to run away, but somehow the killer had found out. Did he know about the plans she’d made with Charles? Would he try to murder
her when they drove out of town?
She couldn’t go. She was putting Charles and the kids in danger. Her heart beat so loudly in her chest, she thought she’d surely faint from the fear. She had to get control of herself or she wouldn’t be able to talk to Mac.
The line was busy. Kay listened to the rhythmic beeping for a moment and then she dialed again. She had to catch Mac before he left the house. He would know what to do.
Kay tried to remember everything Mac had told her. The killer had a pattern. He only struck when the victim was alone. Nora had been alone on the train. If Elena had been with her, she might still be alive.
The panic lessened as Kay began to think clearly again. She was leaving with Charles and the kids. That would protect her. She’d make sure someone was with her every second until they left. Less than six hours from now, she’d be gone. Then she’d be safe at last!
“Debbie?” Mac turned from the phone and motioned to her. “Hurry and get ready. We’ll leave for Kay’s house in ten minutes.”
Nora was dead! Debra’s legs carried her toward the bedroom. She knew she should hurry because Kay needed them, but she couldn’t seem to move any faster. She supposed she was in shock.
She stopped at the bedroom doorway. The room was washed with sunlight, but suddenly she was terrified to step over the threshold. She remembered feeling this way as a child, trembling as she went up the stairs to bed, dreading that moment of paralyzing fear before she snapped on the light in her dark bedroom.
This was ridiculous. It was broad daylight. She knew she didn’t have time to panic now. She had to hurry and get ready.
Debra forced her trembling legs forward, away from Mac and safety. She could still hear his voice, comforting Kay on the phone. That helped a little. She glanced toward the shower and shuddered. The scene from Psycho flashed through her mind. Norman Bates with the knife, stabbing through the shower curtain. Blood mingling with the water that swirled down the drain.
She turned on the water and took a deep breath. At least Mac’s shower had glass doors. The image from Psycho was not quite as vivid without the slashed shower curtain.
Debra shivered as she slipped off her robe. She closed the bathroom door and locked it. She wasn’t sure if the locked door made her feel better or worse. She was either safe or trapped, depending on circumstances. She didn’t have the time to think it out right now.
The water was hot, but nothing could warm her chilled body. Debra shivered under the steaming spray. She was numb with fear. The soap slipped out of her trembling fingers and she finally left it on the rack in the shower caddy. She’d rub the washcloth over the top of the bar. It would work almost as well.
She hurried through her shower as fast as she could and stepped out on the bath mat. Her face was very white in the steamy mirror as she dried off and wrapped herself in a towel. She had her hand on the doorknob when she realized she was afraid to leave the bathroom.
“Mac?”
Her voice was filled with terror as she called to him loudly. Someone was moving around in the bedroom. What would she do if it wasn’t Mac?
“Hurry up, Debbie. We’ll get coffee at Kay’s.”
It was Mac. Debra unlocked the bathroom door and rushed out. She threw herself into his arms.
“Psycho.” Mac nodded. “I thought about it, too. Get dressed, honey. I’ve got another call to make before we can leave.”
How could he be so calm? Debra’s hands were still shaking as she dressed. She left her wet towel on the bedroom floor where it fell. She’d pick it up later. Right now all she wanted was to be close to Mac.
Mac was just hanging up the phone as she came into the kitchen. He slipped his arm around her and hugged her hard.
“There’s a flight leaving for San Diego at noon. Call the paper, then call your cousin, honey. Tell her to meet you at the airport.”
He wanted her to leave! Debra started to tremble again as the panic set in. He really wanted her to leave!
“I’m staying with you.”
Her voice was shaking, but her mind was made up. There was no way she’d leave without him.
“Debbie . . . honey!” His arms folded around her. “Can’t you see it’s the best thing to do? You’ll be safe in San Diego.”
“As safe as Nora was in Chicago?”
Mac winced. Debbie had a point. He had done everything in his power to protect Nora, but it hadn’t helped. He was positive that no one had followed them to the train station. And he’d checked every person boarding the train. Yet the killer had struck again and he didn’t know how.
“Oh, God! I’m sorry, Mac.” Debra put her arms around him. “I know you did your best, but the killer got Nora anyway. I . . . I don’t want to go. The only place I feel safe is with you!”
“Debbie . . . don’t cry.” Mac pulled her even closer. Her whole body was trembling. Debbie was terrified. He had to protect her somehow.
Mac thought about it as he held her tightly. The tunnel at the station had been deserted when he’d taken Nora to the train. The killer had had the perfect chance to murder them both, but nothing had happened. It confirmed his theory that the killer struck only one victim at a time. That meant Debbie was relatively safe as long as they stuck together.
There must be a reason the killer had passed him by last night. There had been plenty of opportunities to hit him. Mac had stood alone on the platform as the train pulled out. And he had walked alone through the dark post office parking lot to his car. There had to be a reason why the killer hadn’t taken advantage of the situation.
The killer might have known that he was a cop and assumed he was armed. Perhaps he was afraid of Mac’s trained reactions to danger. It was a damn good thing no one knew about his problem with guns!
Whatever the reason, Debbie might be right in refusing to run. It was possible that she’d be safer sticking close to him.
Mac looked down at Debbie’s face. God knows he didn’t want her to go. There were so many selfish reasons to keep her here. His own personal safety could be threatened if she left. Then he’d be alone and the killer could decide to take a chance. If he got killed, the police might never solve the case. Mac knew he was the only one who had all the inside information. It would take poor Curt Holt months to put it all together, and by then it would be too late.
“Mac?” Debbie stood on her tiptoes and kissed him. “You don’t really want me to go, do you?”
“No. I want you next to me every minute.”
He bent his head to kiss the tip of her nose. It felt good holding Debbie in his arms. He wanted them to stay this way for the rest of their lives. Mac just hoped that would be longer than the killer intended.
Curtis Holt sat at his desk. There was a box of Kleenex man-size tissues next to his elbow and a thermos of hot lemonade in the bottom desk drawer. His winter cold was even worse today. Marge’s vitamin C therapy hadn’t worked worth a damn.
He still hadn’t made any sense out of Mac’s call this morning. It had been a simple matter to get the report on Nora Stanford’s death from the teletype and read it to Mac. But then Mac had dropped the bombshell. He’d asked Curt to call the Chicago police and tell them he’d received an anonymous tip that Miss Stanford’s death was a homicide. And Mac hadn’t been willing to tell him any more than that—just start the investigation rolling with the Chicago PD and keep his name out of it.
Of course he’d made the call. Even if it was a bad tip, Chicago had to be notified. Then he read over the dispatch again. Death from natural causes with no sign of foul play. The Chicago police listed Stanford DOA at Union Station with her compartment locked from the inside. Who had tipped Mac off and why?
Something told Curt there was a connection between Nora Stanford’s death and the other murders. Assuming that Mac’s tip was right, what tied Miss Stanford to the priest and the dentist?
Curt reached for a Kleenex and sneezed. He had read over all the paperwork again and the only known connection was Mac. Mac had known
Feldman and he had discovered Marx’s body at the church. And now he was interested in Nora Stanford.
He was missing something. Curt picked up the phone and dialed Mac at home. No answer. He’d keep trying every half hour until he got through. The key to this whole thing was Mac, and it was time for some answers.
Should he go to the captain? Curt sighed deeply. Sure, Mac was connected to all three deaths, but that didn’t mean he was personally involved. If he went to the captain without giving Mac a chance to explain, he’d feel like a traitor. Mac was a good friend, and loyalty counted for a lot.
Curt wadded his Kleenex into a ball and lobbed it into the wastebasket. Two points. Then he sneezed again. The damn cold was getting him down. Somehow he had to stay on top of this whole thing. If he found a common thread linking Feldman, Marx, and Stanford and solved the case on his own, he’d be a cinch to make lieutenant.
“Where’s your little automatic, Kay?”
“It’s in my bedroom. I put it back in the drawer. Why?”
“Look, Kay . . . I don’t want to scare you, but I think you’d better carry it in your purse today. Bring it down and I’ll load it for you.”
Kay frowned. “But, Mac! Don’t you need a permit to carry a gun? I don’t want to do anything illegal!”
Mac sighed. It was almost funny. Kay’s life was in danger and she was worried about a lousy permit to carry her gun.
“Don’t worry about it, Kay. I doubt if the killer’s got a permit either. Just go up and get it and leave the legalities to me.”
Debbie waited until Kay had gone upstairs. Her face was pale as she turned to Mac.
“Do you really think she’ll need a gun?”
“It can’t hurt. I’ve got a little Beretta I’ll give you. Do you know how to shoot?”
Debbie nodded. “I took a 4-H course in gun safety. My dad insisted.”
In a moment Kay was back. She held the gun gingerly as she handed it to Mac. Debbie and Kay watched as he cleaned and loaded it.
