by Linda Ladd
He said, “No, I don’t keep apartments everywhere, only in cities where I have private clinics.” He scrutinized me momentarily, but I refused to squirm. “Didn’t you tell me Charlie ordered you to ease back into work? I understood yesterday’s sting was supposed to be it for a couple of weeks.”
Uh-oh, here came the single biggest bone of contention between us since we became an item last summer, but it was quite a big bone, T.-rex femur, as a matter of fact. Black had this ridiculous notion that I should up and fly off with him on his deluxe private jet whenever he snapped his fingers. I’d done it a few times when I was out on medical leave and had a bunch of casts on, but now I was healed up and back on the job and he knew that.
“I wish I could.” I was equally diplomatic, and sort of slightly meant it, because he was offering Christmas in Paris, after all, and Black did know how to show a girl a good time. He looked encouraged, so I skillfully changed the subject as I’d learned to do in such instances. “How long’s this trip going to take? You’ll be back by Christmas, right?” After all, I did have a book and some as-of-yet-undisclosed stocking stuffer to wow him with, come December 25.
“I don’t know. It’s just a week ’til Christmas Eve. I’ll try to make it back before that, if you’re absolutely determined not to go with me.” Yes, absolutely was pretty much the right word. We stared at each other, both realizing Christmas by oneself could get lonely. Black was nothing if not valiant. “Can’t Bud handle this case by himself for a week or two? Maybe the guy will show up on his own. I could throw in a couple of tickets to Swan Lake at the Bastille.”
Swan Lake at the Bastille? Jeez, that really tempted me not to go. But how would he know that I’d rather have a couple of root canals than sit through a ballet with dancers dressed up like big, tiptoeing white birds? Also, I was not used to somebody making demands on my time, even polite ones, but Black wasn’t really being overly pushy and demanding. I’d been single too long, I guess. Fiercely independent. In control of my destiny. I didn’t want to hurt his feelings. I wanted to go with him, kind of. I felt uncomfortable, pulled in two directions, and the old suffocation dropped down on me, the way it had when my late ex-husband tried to control my every move. I’d vowed a long time ago never to let that happen again. Not even with Nicholas Black, who had definitely wormed his way deep into my LIKE.
Black, being a shrink and therefore, a master of perception, read my hesitation in right-on fashion. “Okay, so be it. I know how much you’ve been looking forward to getting back to work. I’ll go alone, but I’m going to miss you.”
See? Sometimes this guy just makes me melt into mush. I considered reneging on my decision, because truth be told, Bud could probably handle the Simon Classon case just fine. And who knows? The angelologist just might’ve already turned up and at this very moment could be snuggled and snoring in his little angel bed in his little angel house. Or, not. Then I remembered again Black was a crack psychiatrist and could very well be playing the old reverse-psychology trick on me.
My cell phone picked that moment to chime in with the Mexican Hat Dance, no sissy bird chirps for me, and I grabbed it before the second stanza. Two calls before 5:15 A.M.; we’re a real popular duo today.
Bud’s voice. Gruff, sleepy, excited. “We got a body that might be Classon’s.”
Adrenaline punched through me, blood sang through my veins, happy as a Disney tune. I left Black’s lap in a hurry and paced while I talked. “It’s a homicide, then?”
“Don’t know yet.”
“Where’d they find him?”
I watched Black shake his head. He did not look thrilled. He said, nope, muttered, “Well, that kisses Paris good-bye.” He got up and headed for the bathroom. A minute later the shower came on.
Bud said, “Somewhere out around that school he works at. One of the instructors slid off in a ditch last night, and when the wrecker showed up this mornin’, they found a corpse in the woods. How long’s it gonna take you to get ready?”
“Five, ten minutes tops.”
“Put on somethin’ warm. It’s freakin’ freezin’ out there.”
I was out of my robe and into jeans and a black turtleneck before the line went dead. I pulled on a clean gray sweatshirt with SHERIFF DEPARTMENT on the front in glow-in-the-dark yellow, pumped with excitement at getting back to work in earnest. I do love my job, even in snow and ice and frigid weather and Christmas traffic. As I sat down and pulled on thermal socks and worn black-leather combat boots, I heard Black brushing his teeth. Now I had a legitimate excuse not to go to Gay Paree and mingle with all the French America-phobes. Besides that, my book for him would look even more paltry on top of the Eiffel Tower with all those sparkling Christmas lights and panoramic views of the Seine River. The pirouetting swans would have to live without me, too.
Black was back, hair combed, wearing a cream-colored sweater and denim jeans, smelling like Irish Spring soap, alert and ready to jet. “I take it they found that guy you’re looking for?”
“They found a body they think might be Classon. Bud’ll be here any minute.”
“Was he murdered?” Black was into murders, too. Big-time. Gave him fodder for the forensic psychiatry cases he dealt with when he wasn’t busy playing shrink to Hollywood stars and abused political wives. Nick Black, Man of Many Talents. Plus some.
“Not sure yet, but it looks like it.”
“Guess that means I’m headed to Paris solo.”
I picked up my badge and dropped the chain around my neck, then retrieved my well-worn leather shoulder holster from the bedside table. “Yep, sorry, maybe I can tag along with you next time.”
“I’ll hold you to that, Morgan.”
While he finished dressing, I threw some cold water on my face and brushed my teeth, then retrieved my 9mm Glock from underneath my pillow. Since my last case, the hair-raising, Hellraiser-ish one, I prefer to sleep with my weapon. Black doesn’t mind because he was there last summer, so he sleeps with a loaded gun nearby, too. Legal, of course, since Missouri enacted its new concealed-weapons law. He carried one before that, too, but I chose to overlook it. Black watched me strap on my shoulder holster and slide the Glock snugly into its bed. I secured the snap, and no longer felt naked.
“Man, what is it that’s so damn sexy about a woman wearing a shoulder holster?”
“Maybe if you’re a good boy, I’ll wear it to bed when you get back.”
“Good God, Claire, give me a break. It’s hard enough to take off without that image dancing in my head.”
We laughed together but waited to say our good-byes downstairs in my huge, glassed-in front porch, which looked even more huge and glassed-in in the light of day. We had two or three minutes tops before Bud arrived, so we took full advantage of it with lots of rubbing around and kissing and touching and heavy breathing. When Bud’s white Bronco nosed around the bend, Black stepped back. “Okay, I’m out of here. Be safe. Duck and weave, and all that.”
That was Black’s way of telling me to be careful, sort of an inside joke. He grabbed an aluminum travel mug with the Cedar Bend Lodge logo, filled it with coffee, pulled on his heavy black parka, and headed for his slick Cobalt 360 cabin cruiser docked in all its magnificence at the end of my teensy-weensy dock. He just loved to speed across the lake in the Cobalt when he came to call because it cut off about twenty minutes’ driving time around the jagged, hilly shoreline. I downed some coffee myself and watched him wave one arm at Bud before he climbed into the cabin cruiser, fired it up, and eased it expertly away from the dock. He was going to have one helluva cold trip back to his heliport at Cedar Bend Lodge.
About a minute later, Bud was outside leaning on the horn, and I slipped on my department-issue brown parka, checked to make sure my gloves were still in the pockets, poured out a couple more aluminum travel mugs of hot black coffee, and headed outside. It was daylight now but overcast with an angry, gunmetal sky threatening even more snow. The wintry air hit me as I stepped out onto the front porch, b
racing and invigorating, but not as cold as I’d expected. My breath smoked out in front of me and snow, unblemished but for Black’s boot tracks, squeaked underfoot as I negotiated the front steps. I suddenly realized that I felt great, on top of the world, but maybe that’s because I had on warm clothes, my Glock was loaded and back under my left arm where it belonged, and I was on the job full-time. Smiling, I slid into the passenger seat and presented Bud with his java.
He took it gratefully, looked askance at me, and said, “Don’t tell me. Those crazy TV people from While You Were Out came calling on you last night and left you a big room with lots of fancy windows on the front of your cabin?”
I sipped my coffee. Nonchalant. “Nope. Black’s Christmas present. Gave it to me early.”
“I hope to hell he’s got me down on his list somewhere.”
“He’ll probably just give you a big boat or a Jaguar or something. He doesn’t know you that well yet.”
“Maybe I’ll invite him out for beer and wings.” Bud had the Bronco in four-wheel drive and backed up over my icy driveway and maneuvered a U-turn without a single skid. He was better at winter driving now than he’d been when he’d first moved up north from Atlanta. He pulled the gearshift down into drive. “Yep, wish the doc had a rich sister I could date. I’ve been wantin’ a new house, too.”
“Have they positively identified Classon yet?”
“Nope. Said the body’s hanging from a tree limb.”
That got my attention. “Suicide?”
“Dunno. Uniforms’re waiting for us to show before they cut him down. Said we need to get the victim out of the tree before kids start comin’ out of the dorms across the road and buildin’ snowmen. Apparently, the body was left in sight of the school.”
“Great, that’s all we need. A bunch of hysterical teenagers converging on the crime scene and staring up at their favorite dead teacher. The media would love a few pics like that. C’mon, let’s get going. We shouldn’t hit any major traffic this early and with these road conditions.”
“Snowplows are out clearin’ the roads. Man, I bet there’s thirteen, fourteen inches on the ground.”
“Yeah, Buckeye and his crime scene guys aren’t going to like getting out in this stuff.”
“Maybe the perp left footprints that we can follow straight to his house, we nail him, then we go to IHOP for breakfast.”
“Sure, and maybe aliens will take us to Venus, too.”
Bud concentrated on driving, certainly a tricky affair for a homegrown Georgian, and when we rolled past Harve’s place, gray smoke already drifted lazily from his chimney. I had a fireplace now, too. Jeez. I never thought I’d have a fireplace of my very own. Or a plasma TV. Or a hot tub. Or a man like Black wanting me to go to Paris with him. Miracles do happen, I guess, and they were hitting me like manna from heaven.
The Angel Gabriel
In the deep woods where the orphan boy walked behind the Angel Gabriel, it was shady and cool and quiet with lush green ferns and lots of underbrush and baby trees, all dappled and dancing with sunshine. Spiderwebs hung suspended between tree branches everywhere, and looked pretty and sparkled like great nets of silver silk. He avoided them as he trailed his new friend, their feet crackling through layers of dead, brown leaves. When they reached a wide, rushing stream, its clear water gurgling and splashing over flat brown rocks, they sat down together to rest on the bank and dipped up water in their open palms.
“There’s some great big fish in this little river, kid, smallmouth bass and catfish, too. I’ll teach you how to catch them if you want me to. I like to catch things, you know, trap them alive. I’ve gotten lots of frogs and lizards, chipmunks, too, and other stuff like that, right along here. I get ’em for my experiments.”
“What do you mean, experiments, Angel Gabriel?”
Gabriel turned to him, then he smiled and shook his head. His yellow curls shivered around his face. “Now you gotta quit calling me that, okay? I told you I ain’t no angel.”
“Okay, but you sure do look like one.”
“I wish. Archangels are pretty cool, you know. Especially the one named Uriel. He’s an archangel, like Gabriel. It’s just that more people know about Gabriel, is all. You know there’s seven archangels, but some Bible scholars think there’s even more than that?”
“What’s an archangel anyways?”
“They’re the angels that do God’s good work for him. Dad says only four of ’em are really in the Bible. Gabriel’s the messenger that came down and talked to the Virgin Mary and the shepherds in the field, and all that. Michael’s sort of an avenger kind of angel that cast Satan out of heaven, and let me tell you, we don’t never, ever want to ever mess with the Archangel Michael or he’ll smite us dead right where we stand. He’s the most powerful of all of ’em and the boss over all the other archangels. He’s got special people he blesses, too, and we aren’t gonna ever mess with them either, you hear?”
The orphan nodded but the idea of Archangel Michael coming down and smiting him with a sword was about the scariest thing he’d ever heard. He looked up at the sky but didn’t see anything on fire and headed at him, just the pretty green leaves tossing in the wind.
The Angel Gabriel said, “Uriel’s my favorite angel, though, ’cause Dad says he’s the “Fire of God.” He stands at the Gates of Eden and holds a fiery sword so nobody can get to the Tree of Knowledge, and he warned Noah about the Flood, and things like that. And he’s in command of thunder and terror, and stuff. Best of all, he watches over hell.”
“Wow. Wish I was like Uriel.”
“Well, I can call you Uriel if you want. We can have some secret names that only we know about. You can be Uriel and I’ll be Gabriel, okay?” The orphan smiled with pleasure and decided he liked having secrets. He’d never had any before, and it was fun!
Gabriel smiled. “C’mon, now, I’ve got some traps set down in my special fishing hole. Let’s go see if I caught anything. Take off your shoes and socks, and we’ll wade.”
Uriel followed obediently, and the cold water felt wonderful against his hot feet. The bottom was sandy and felt soft, and minnows darted this way and that in little silver streaks. A few yards upstream, a fallen log had dammed up the water in a big, deep pool with a little waterfall trickling over the top.
“This here’s my favorite place. I keep most my traps here. I dammed it up all by myself.” Gabriel squatted down, reached up under the logs, and pulled out a glass cage. A thick brown snake coiled up on the bottom.
“Look here, kid, I caught myself a great big water moccasin. You ain’t afraid of snakes, are you?”
Uriel hadn’t seen a snake up close before, but he shook his head and tried not to look petrified.
“Well, they ain’t gonna hurt you, if you don’t hurt them first. I like snakes a lot. I got a whole collection of them in my secret hideout. I like all the creatures out here in the woods. They’re my friends. They’ll be your friends, too, as long as you stick by me.”
“I’ll stick by you forever, Gabriel. I like snakes and other animals, too.”
Smiling, Gabriel reached down and ruffled Uriel’s hair. Uriel grinned, pleased, hoping Gabriel could be like his older brother.
“He’s still alive, Uriel. Let’s take him home, and I’ll show you some more snakes.”
They waded in the rippling water until they reached the top of the hill. Gabriel stopped and pointed down to the hollow below. Overgrown with vines and bushes, and hidden in the trees, Uriel could just make out an old, dilapidated building.
“Know what that used to be, kid?”
“Uh-uh.”
“An old hunting and fishing lodge, you know, sorta like a motel. It’s been rotting out here for years. Hunters and fishermen used to drive down here outta St. Louis and Kansas City until they closed the place up. Nobody ever comes round here anymore.” Gabriel looked down at Uriel. “But me and you. It’s all ours, and nobody’s gonna ever know what we do back here.”
�
�Kind of like a secret clubhouse?”
“You’re a smart kid, ain’t ya? Nobody knows about this place but me. Your grandma owns it, I think, but since your daddy left home, nobody even remembers about this old lodge.”
Most of the doors in the lodge hung askew on the hinges. Rusted metal bedsprings were in rooms with broken windows and sweet-smelling honeysuckle vines twining up to the open rafters. One room had a big gray nest buzzing with hornets.
Uriel smiled, pleased to have his awesome new friend. He’d learn to find his way through the woods from his grandma’s house and hang out in Gabriel’s secret hideout. The bullies from the church wouldn’t bother him out here in the woods, not with Gabriel around to protect him.
SIX
Once we reached State Highway W, we headed north and found the entire county buried under enormous mounds of snow. It looked to me like pictures of the Sahara Desert after a giant sandstorm. But the snowplows were out in force, scraping the roads so people could get back to maniacal Christmas shopping. But with such a heavy snowfall, public schools would probably get out for the day. Bud made good time, considering the adverse conditions, but it didn’t really matter. We were too late to save Simon Classon. His killer was long gone, but that didn’t mean we wouldn’t get him.
The snowdrifts were awesome. Great, hulking mountains alongside the roads, mounded up tree trunks and banked against some homes nearly to the eaves. Only the lake remained uncovered and black. No boats buzzing about. Black had the water to himself today.
The Dome of the Cave Academy for the Gifted was north of Buck Creek near a little place called Rocky Mount, so we took rural gravel roads down through dense woods for about twenty minutes before we came to the school’s entrance gate. It was pretty hard to miss with a great log archway branded with the academy’s wordy name in scorched black letters. Through the snowy woods, we could see some school buildings off to the right, rough-hewn log buildings with dark-green metal roofs, all very rustic but with a modern twist. They formed a quadrangle, in the middle of which sat a little white church with a steeple. It didn’t look to me like anyone was up and stirring, at least not outside on the grounds.
