“That was fiction. We’re real. We were going to be married. We still can be.” He shifted his eyes to meet Constance’s gaze, and his voice softened. “I love her. We swore we’d go through life together as husband and wife.” His bottom lip quivered and he wiped the tears from his cheeks with his free hand.
“Then if you love her—”
“I don’t want to live without her. She doesn’t want to live without me. It’s that simple.”
“Is it?” He nods at Constance. “Is life and death…and love…so simple? If you love her as passionately as you claim, wouldn’t you want her to live? To go on remembering and loving you?”
Fraser brought his arm up to his face and drew it beneath his nose.
“You know, Fraser, to live in someone’s heart like that, like Constance would do, is an incredible thing. How many people are loved so deeply, for decades, like that? You have an uncommon love, if your feelings for each other are that strong. Don’t throw it away, Fraser. On either of you. Love…and life…are too precious to destroy either so wantonly.”
Fraser blotted his teary eyes on the back of his hand and sniffed. Constance murmured that she loved him and wanted to become a family with him. The boy pressed his lips together, his throat quivering.
“We can talk about this, you know.” McLaren’s voice was low and smooth, barely audible above the crying. “This isn’t the only way out of your difficulty, Fraser. Please let Constance go and we’ll talk.” He had inched forward, barely perceptible, while he talked, keeping the teenager’s focus on his speech. As he finished, he stopped. He could grab Constance if he wished.
Fraser bent forward, easing his shoulders out the window. His left hand slid down Constance’s left arm to grip her wrist. The knife pointed at her midriff. “Yeah, we’ll talk. You’ll talk and I’ll be inside a jail cell. No dice, mate. I’m not stupid. Now, back up. I can still slice her up before you can grab me.” He pulled Constance after him as he ducked his head to clear the window frame.
As his head and shoulders emerged outside, Jamie grabbed Fraser’s shoulders and pulled him backward to the ground. At the same instant, McLaren lunged for Constance’s arm. His fingers had barely closed around her wrist, pulling her aside, before he realized he’d been stabbed.
Fraser’s startled yell drowned out Constance’s scream. In the quick melee that seemed to be tangled arms, legs and swearing, Jamie kicked the bloody knife from Fraser’s hand and rolled him onto his stomach. Kneeling on the boy’s back, Jamie turned toward the window. Constance leaned against McLaren, sobbing onto his shoulder. She seemed oblivious to the soothing caresses against her hair—and to McLaren’s right hand pressed against his side, trying to stem the flow of his blood.
* * * *
Late that afternoon, after McLaren had been treated and released from hospital, he lay on the sofa in his front room, propped up by pillows and comforted by tea, soup and Dena’s kisses. But, by the anxiety shining in her eyes, Dena needed comforting too, so Jamie again repeated the doctor’s assurance that the knife had missed vital organs, that McLaren would be very sore for a week or two, and that he would fully recover with no ill effects.
During the telling Dena scrutinized Jamie’s face with the intensity of a defense attorney questioning a suspect. But third time was the charm, evidently, and she gave Jamie a small smile, thanking him as she made room for herself on the sofa.
“Constance is all right,” Jamie added, not sure if Dena heard him now that she held McLaren’s hand. “And Fraser is enjoying a restful stay in one of the Force’s best cells, so all’s well, as they say.”
“Hardly ‘enjoying,’ but I’ll let it pass.” McLaren grimaced and grabbed his side as he struggled to sit up straighter. “Did I thank you for your help?”
“Yeah, you did, but you can say it again.” Jamie swallowed the last of his coffee and grinned. “I’m glad you’re still around to ask.”
“Me, too.” Dena brought McLaren’s hand to her lips and kissed it. “I’m sorry, Michael, for messing up your investigation. I thought I would be a help, but I just succeeded in causing problems.”
McLaren opened his mouth, ready to vent his frustration and fear, to voice his earlier thoughts. He had been ready to scold her, to yell that he never wanted to go through that again, that he couldn’t function if he had to worry about her every time he worked a case. But seeing her sparkling eyes, the concern painted across her features, and hearing the regret in her voice stopped his words. Of course she was sorry! Besides, hadn’t she suffered more than he had?
He kissed her cheek, murmuring it was the most interesting case he’d worked on in years.
“And here I thought it all had to do with the Minstrels Court,” she said.
“At least the event isn’t tainted by the memory of Kent’s murder. They’ll have a dedication to him each year—something like naming one of the musical evenings after him.”
“That’s nice. The fete’s too nice to live under a cloud like that. So much to learn and so many nice things to look at.”
Jamie reached down to the side of the sofa and handed Dena her purse. “Including…”
She scrunched up her eyebrows, wondering what he was referring to.
“A little something in a paper bag,” Jamie hinted, nodding toward the purse.
McLaren glanced from Dena, who was opening her purse, to Jamie. “You’re being bloody cryptic. What’s going on?”
“Hang on for a minute more, I think.”
Dena pulled a small paper bag from her purse, put it on the coffee table, and handed the bag to McLaren. “I was going to wait for your birthday.”
“January’s half a year away,” McLaren muttered.
“But we can consider this a little something for successfully finishing the case.”
“And living to see another day,” Jamie chimed in.
“AND,” Dena said loudly, staring at Jamie, “protecting Constance.”
McLaren shook the bag lightly and listened for any auditory clues. “What is it?”
“You’re allowed to open it to find out.”
McLaren unfolded the bag, peered inside and grinned at Dena. Drawing out the rawhide bracelet he laughed and gave her a kiss. “Smashing! Perfect! Now I’ve got an ensemble.” He held it next to his necklace. The bracelet’s ceramic beads matched those of his necklace in color, if not in texture. “Super, Sweets. Thanks so much.”
“Hopefully that’s one memento of the Minstrels Court you won’t mind carrying around with you,” Jamie said.
“If only Fraser’s memento of his adventure weren’t so heavy.” McLaren held out his left arm and Dena tied the leather around his wrist.
“So Fraser killed Kent Harrison, then,” she said, finishing the knot.
McLaren nodded, still amazed at the story. “He was consumed with jealousy. Kent helped everyone under the sun but wouldn’t help Fraser.”
“Why not? Did Fraser say?”
“It all stemmed from Fraser’s get-rich-scheme, if you want to label it that way. He wanted to impress his girl friend.”
“Constance, the girl he nearly knifed.”
“Yeah. She loved music, so he thought the quickest and surest way to her heart was to become a musician. He had wanted lessons from Kent, but when that didn’t materialize, he thought he could short circuit his lack of talent and the years of hard work and study by getting into the business via Kent’s professional associates. Kent, being an honest and ethical man, wasn’t impressed with Fraser’s idea and told him so. Fraser, seeing only the people Kent had helped and Constance just out of reach, exploded in anger and jealousy. Why was he any different from the dozens Kent had helped? But Kent refused to compromise his integrity and wouldn’t get Fraser an audition with a music producer he knew in Manchester.”
“No easy road to stardom for Fraser, then.”
“No. Just years of hard work. Which he didn’t want to put in. That’s when Fraser plotted Kent’s murder.”
“I can see why you like police work,” Dena sighed, snuggling against him.
“On yes?” McLaren answered warily.
“It’s so interesting, so exciting.”
“And your other excitement…the interview today. How did that go?”
Dena grimaced. “I can also see why you came home so tired some days.”
McLaren winked at Jamie, then looked back at Dena. “Lengthy, was it?”
“Hours. No exaggeration, Michael. If I wasn’t giving the detectives my story, they were asking questions. A million questions. How was I treated? Did I have any idea who my abductors were? Was I aware someone was following me? When did I first talk to Blossom and Hart? Did they seem unduly interested when I asked questions about Kent’s murder? Did anything odd happen before my abduction, like phone calls with no one speaking on the other end when I answered, a strange car parked near my house, someone ringing the house doorbell to ask an odd question? Did they ask for ransom money? Did they threaten me? Honestly, you’d think these detectives didn’t have anything else to do, the session lasted so long.”
“They do have to get all the puzzle pieces together, sweets. Evidence for the trial.”
“Yes, it’s the great puzzle, isn’t it? Something to solve. And help people, too. Your sense of justice is very admirable, Michael. I think I completely understand now why you liked being a detective. So you can see why I find it fascinating, too.”
McLaren looked at Jamie, silently conveying his mounting frustration. Was she going to help him in every case from now on?
Before he could ask her, Dena said, “How did he get Kent’s body to the boulder? His car was parked in the dirt track near the wood.”
“Kent drove the car to the area, planning to meet Fraser there for a talk.”
“Odd place for a talk. Why not at his home?”
“Fraser told Kent he wanted to ask his opinion about an outdoor pageant he and a few friends wanted to put on. They were going to hold it at night and Fraser needed Kent to see the area as it would be, with the lightning. I don’t believe Kent thought it suspicious or odd, for he obviously met Fraser there.”
“And his car…how did it get back to Kent’s driveway?”
“A friend of Fraser’s drove it back after Fraser killed Kent and dumped his body in the wood. The police found several strands of hair from an unknown person in Kent’s car, but weren’t able to match it to anyone.” McLaren shrugged, suggesting the futility of such a search. “Fraser walked slightly behind Kent as they entered the wood. He was just behind Kent so he easily coshed Kent with a rock, knocking him out and making it easy to strangle Kent.”
“That’s why Fraser had no marks on his arms, then,” Dena said. “Kent didn’t have time to hit back in defense. But what about the hydrangea in Kent’s stomach? Were two people trying to kill him?”
“Fraser stole some of the hydrangea buds from his dad. Aaron was writing that natural foods cookbook, if you remember. He had a lot of different plants, spices and herbs in the house so he could experiment with his original recipes. I don’t think he even missed the buds when Fraser took them.”
“He probably took a little bit at a time so he wouldn’t be found out.”
“But it was too slow for Fraser. He couldn’t wait. His anger dictated he kill Kent immediately.”
“So Kent ended up as he did.” Dena trembled and squeezed McLaren’s hand. “The poor, dear man. I’m sorry it ended that way, but I’m thankful you’ll be fine.”
“I wouldn’t have been if Jamie hadn’t been around to help.”
“Speaking of which…” Jamie set down his coffee mug and stood up. “I think you’ll both be better off without me around. Get some rest, Mike.” He picked up his car key and got to the door before McLaren said, “Come over for tea tomorrow, Jamie. You and Paula. We’ll both be up for it. We want you to come.”
He refrained from telling Jamie how grateful he was that Jamie had saved his life and had given him back to Dena. Jamie already knew.
* * * *
Coming Soon! The third title in the McLaren Case Mysteries by Jo A. Hiestand:
TORCH SONG
“Do you know what it’s like to lose a child to murder?”
An up-and-coming singer of 1940s-style torch songs, Janet Ennis tragically died five years ago in what the police labeled an accidental fire. But Janet’s mother, Nora, believes it to be murder and arson. And ex-cop Michael McLaren is Nora’s last chance to prove it, for she’s losing her memory to dementia.
As McLaren pokes through the case details, he becomes emotionally involved with the dead woman, succumbing to the spell of her singing and her beauty. Yet, Janet Ennis isn’t the only person from the past who threatens his peace and sanity. A series of arsons on his own property hint that he’s upset someone connected with this case, someone capable of harming him and his fiancée, Dena Ellison. And one dark night another danger confronts McLaren: the nemesis from his personal past, Charlie Harvester. The man he tangled with, the man who was responsible for McLaren leaving his police job.
Can McLaren solve the cold case while Nora is still able to comprehend the facts and die in peace, or does Harvester have other plans that will stop McLaren in his tracks?
ABOUT AUTHOR JO A. HIESTAND
Books, the natural world and music have filled Jo Hiestand’s life since childhood. These passions and an intense love of Things English create the foundation of her writing. It is nowhere more evident than in her novels featuring ex-police detective Michael McLaren. a folk music enthusiast and reluctant solver of cold cases.
Jo’s insistence for accuracy—from police methods and location layout to the general ‘feel’ of the area—has driven her innumerable times to Derbyshire, England, the setting for her books. These explorations and conferences with police friends provide the detail used for McLaren’s cases.
In 1999 Jo returned to Webster University to major in English with an Emphasis in Writing as a Profession. She graduated in 2001 with a BA degree and departmental honors.
She has combined her love of writing, board games and music by co-inventing P.I.R.A.T.E.S., the mystery-solving game that uses maps, graphics, song lyrics, and other clues to lead the players to the lost treasure.
Jo founded the Greater St. Louis Chapter of Sisters in Crime, serving as its first president. She is also a member of Mystery Writers of America. When not writing, she likes to listen to early and bluegrass music, play guitar, take nature photographs, read, change ring and watch her backyard wildlife.
Her three cats—Chaucer, Dickens and Tennyson—share her St. Louis home.
For more information about Jo, please visit her on the web at www.McLarenCases.com
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