The Christmas Target

by Shirlee McCoy

  “That’s what they tell me. A clever girl like you could probably find a way to sneak me out.”

  “Probably, but I want you healthy, so I did something better.” She put the duffel on the bed and unzipped it. “Christmas stuff! I found the stockings in your attic. I also found some really cool old Christmas cards. Let’s hang them on the door. We’ll make this place festive for as long as you’re in it.”

  “I told them,” Beatrice said, beaming. “I told them you were wonderful.”

  “Did you?” Trinity pulled out a pile of cards. “How about you look through these, Beatrice? Just to make sure there aren’t any that are really special to you.”

  “Call me Nana,” Beatrice responded. “All my family does.”

  “I’d tell you to call me what my family does, but generally, my siblings call me brat, so we’ll just stick with my given name.”

  Beatrice chuckled, her gnarled fingers thumbing through cards that looked to be decades old. “These are all before my time. My mother just loved to collect things. Perhaps we won’t hang them since they’re so old.”

  “I can take them back to the house, if you’d like, Nana,” Stella said. “While you and Trinity decorate, I’m going to make a quick trip home.”

  “Bring me a sandwich when you come back, will you, dear?” Beatrice asked, handing the cards back to Stella and accepting a kiss on her cheek.

  “Of course. I’ll bring you a fresh nightgown, too.”

  “And my pink kneesocks. The ones you bought me. They’re my favorite.” She inhaled deeply, and Chance thought he heard a quiet rattle in her lungs.

  “Maybe I should stay,” Stella said, and Beatrice gestured her away.

  “Of course you shouldn’t. I’m perfectly fine, and Trinity and I have Christmas plans to make. I haven’t gotten my shopping done. You don’t mind helping me with that, do you, dear?” she asked.

  “Not at all. We can make a list, and I’ll go out later. After Stella returns.”

  “Come on,” Chance said, cupping Stella’s elbow. “Standing over the bed worrying isn’t going to change anything, so we may as well proceed with the plan.”

  “You’re right,” she agreed. “And the sooner we go, the sooner we can return. Come on, Uncle Larry.”

  “I’d prefer to stay here.”

  “I don’t think you were given that option,” Chance said, and Larry blanched.

  “Are you threatening me?”

  “I don’t make threats. I act,” Chance responded, walking out into the hall with Stella.

  Larry followed. Just like Chance knew he would.

  “I don’t know what you’re thinking,” he sputtered, his gaze jumping to Dallas who’d moved into step beside them. “But whatever it is, you’re wrong.”

  “I’m looking for answers. I think you might have them.” Chance led the group to the stairwell, motioning for Dallas to move ahead.

  “Answers to what? Why Stella was attacked? If you think I have anything to do with that—”

  “You want to know what I think, Uncle Larry?” Stella asked quietly, her words barely carrying over the sound of their footfalls.

  “You know I do, honey.” Larry took her hand. “You’re as important to me as any of my own children or grandchildren. You know that, right? I’d never do anything to hurt you.”

  “That’s what I think. That you wouldn’t hurt me or Beatrice, but that someone you know might.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  They’d stepped into the lobby, and Dallas jogged outside to get the car.

  “Who is Karen?” Stella asked.

  “I already told you. We met at church.”

  “I don’t believe you.”

  “I’m not a liar.”

  “Are you a cheat?” Stella responded.

  “How can you say something like that?” he asked, his cheeks flaming red.

  “You’re not denying it,” Chance pointed out, and the older man shot him a look filled with anger.

  He didn’t say a word, though. Not as Dallas pulled up in front of the doors. Not as Chance hurried Stella to the SUV. Not as he climbed in beside her.

  Dallas took Larry’s arm, ushered him around to the front passenger seat.

  “Get in,” he ordered, and waited impatiently while Larry did so.

  Still not a word from Stella’s uncle.

  “Well?” Stella demanded. “You were going to answer my question, Larry. Weren’t you?”

  No uncle this time, and Chance was certain Larry noticed.

  They pulled away from the hospital entrance and onto the highway, the seconds ticking by, Larry’s breathing harsh and a little hitched. He’d gone from bright red to stark white, and Dallas must have noticed. He put a hand on Larry’s arm.

  “Calm down, Granddad. Nothing is going to be fixed if you drop dead.”

  “I’m not your granddad,” Larry muttered. “And if you think I had an affair with a little girl who is young enough to be my great-granddaughter, you can think again, Stella. Patty is everything to me, and I couldn’t bear the thought of hurting her.”

  “People cheat,” Dallas cut in, taking over the questioning, playing the good guy, the sympathetic interrogator. “And Karen? She’s an attractive young woman. No one could blame you if—”

  “She’s a baby!” Larry protested. “What could I possibly have in common with someone like her?”

  “You’re right,” Dallas agreed. “She’s way too young. But maybe she saw you with someone else? Maybe she has information that you don’t want shared?”

  “Are you crazy?” Larry snapped. “She got to town two years ago. What could she possibly know that could hurt me?”

  “That’s a good question,” Stella said. “How about you answer it?”

  Chance’s phone buzzed, and he saw that Trinity had texted him.

  Interesting tidbit. Guess whose father owns an antiques store in town?

  He didn’t have to ask. He knew.

  Everything was clicking into place. All the little clues—the overeager young woman, the antique weapons, the missing antique frame, Beatrice’s comment about Karen nosing around in the house.

  “What is it?” Stella asked, and he handed her the phone, watching as she read the message.

  He knew the moment the truth hit her, saw her eyes narrow, her expression tighten.

  “Change of plans,” she said, thrusting the phone back. “We’re going to town. There’s a little antiques shop I’d like to visit.”

  Larry stiffened, his shoulders suddenly straight, his face even paler. He didn’t argue. Didn’t try to make them change their mind.

  Chance got the address from Trinity, gave it to Dallas, then texted his sister.

  Keep Karen out of the room and away from Beatrice. Don’t let Beatrice out of your sight. We’re going to the antiques shop. Will keep you posted.

  He shoved the phone into his pocket and detached the ankle strap he used to carry his extra pistol.

  “Just in case,” he said, handing it to Stella. She nodded, adjusting the straps so they’d fit her calf, checking the firearm to be sure it was loaded, the safety on. She looked confident, assured, ready.

  She also looked heartbroken.

  “It’s going to be okay,” he said.

  “You keep telling me that.”

  “Because I believe it.” He squeezed her hand, and her fingers wove through his. They sat just like that as Dallas sped toward town.

  TWELVE

  Everything was about to change.

  Stella felt that to the depth of her soul.

  The fact that Larry hadn’t said one word, asked one question or protested the change in plans seemed to confirm that.

  She wanted to pok
e at him a little, ask more questions that she knew he wouldn’t answer, but he looked terrible—his face ashen, his lips colorless.

  She thought he might pass out and, despite the fact that she knew he had something to do with the attacks, despite the fact that she was sure he’d withheld important information, she couldn’t stop herself from caring.

  “Are you okay, Uncle Larry?” she asked.

  When he didn’t answer, she leaned over the seat, felt the pulse in his carotid artery. Steady but too fast, his heart beating at an alarming rate.

  “You need to calm down, take a couple of deep breaths. Whatever is going on, we’ll handle it,” she said.

  “This is all my fault,” he responded so softly she almost didn’t hear.

  “Whatever this is,” she responded, “it can be fixed. You just have to tell us what’s going on.”

  “I can’t.”

  “You won’t,” Chance replied, his tone harsh. He’d always put his family first. He’d never have made the choice to keep silent if it would hurt the people he loved.

  There was no way he could understand someone like Larry.

  Stella couldn’t, either, but he was her family, and she wanted to believe there’d been extenuating circumstances, some reason besides money or lust that had driven him to keep secrets that had almost gotten Beatrice and Stella killed.

  “I can’t,” Larry repeated, the words breaking, his hands trembling as he smoothed his hair, tried to pull himself together. “It’s a horrible choice. Like trying to decide which child to feed when you only have enough food for one and both are starving, and you know one of them is going to die, and all you can do is hope that you can save the other.”

  “What are you talking about, old man?” Dallas asked, his hands tight on the steering wheel.

  “He said he’d kill Patty. He told me that if I said anything to anyone about who he was, he’d kill her.”

  “Who?” Chance asked, but Larry was done, his lips pressed together, his jaw tight.

  “Better call local law enforcement,” Dallas suggested. “We might want backup when we get to the antiques shop.”

  Stella called Cooper’s direct number, gave him as much information as she had as quickly as she could. He promised to meet them at the shop. Old Thymes. That’s what it was called. He knew it, had been there on several occasions. He even knew that the owner was Karen’s father. Camden Woods was the guy’s name. He’d been in town for a couple of years, and Cooper hadn’t heard any complaints about him or the business. Maybe that’s why he hadn’t put the shop and Camden together with the attack.

  That’s what he’d said to Stella, but she could hear the frustration and irritation in his words. He was frustrated with himself, annoyed that he hadn’t made the connection.

  By the time he disconnected, they were in town, the familiar buildings and pretty streets belying whatever secret was hiding there. Stella had walked Main Street hundreds of times. As a kid, she’d hung out on the street corners, playing tag with friends and eating ice cream from the local shop.

  Despite all the heartache, she’d had a good childhood.

  She needed to remember that just as clearly as she remembered the rest.

  “Looks like we’re here,” Dallas said, pulling around the side of the old brick building that housed the shop. “It would be good to know what we’re walking into, don’t you think?” He shifted so that he was looking straight at Larry.

  “I told you, if I talk—”

  “Your wife dies. Yeah. We got that part, man,” Dallas said. “But you know what? She’s probably going to die anyway. Along with other people you love. All because you decided to keep your mouth shut.”

  Larry blinked, shook his head. “I can’t.”

  “Then the consequences are going to be on your head. Get out. We’re going in that shop, and we’re going to have a little talk with the guy who owns it,” Chance said, none of the usual politeness in his voice.

  He was angry.

  So was Stella.

  She waited until Chance got out of the SUV, then she followed, the weight of the gun strapped to her ankle comfortingly familiar. She’d been trained by the navy, and she’d continue to train in combat and self-defense since she’d left it. She didn’t take things for granted, and she wasn’t content to rest on her laurels.

  She hadn’t done her due diligence, though.

  As angry as she was with her uncle, she was just as upset with herself. She should have run a background check on Karen, asked for references, talked to some of the people who knew her. Someone somewhere might have known something that would have kept Beatrice safe.

  Too late now.

  All Stella could do was move forward.

  She walked to the front of the shop with Chance, Larry shuffling along behind them. Dallas was there, too, hanging back, flanking them and searching for trouble.

  A sign hung from the shop window, the bold letters declaring that the place was closed.

  “Odd for a shop in this area of town to be closed during business hours, don’t you think?” Chance asked, banging on the door.

  “Odder that it looks nearly empty inside.” She peered in through the storefront window, eyeing shelves that looked mostly empty. Someone had left a light on in the back room.

  As she watched, a shadow moved, blocking the light for a split second.

  “There’s someone in there,” she said.

  Chance yanked her away from the window, placing his body between hers and the glass. “Let’s not take chances, Stella. A bullet can go through a store window just as easily as it can go through the window of an SUV.”

  “How many entrances does this building have?” Dallas asked, stepping back and looking at the upper stories. Three of them. All with windows glinting in the sunlight.

  “Front and back,” Larry said. “And a fire escape in the alley.”

  “Whoever is in there is going to have to come out,” Chance said, moving to the window and peering into the shop. “Light is off, so he or she may be on the way. You want to take the back door, Dallas? Stella and I will watch the fire escape. My guess is that he’s going that way.”

  “Will do,” Dallas responded, jogging around the side of the building.

  “We should wait for Cooper,” Larry suggested, his voice shaking. “Whoever is in there probably isn’t the kind of person you should mess with.”

  Chance laughed, the sound harsh and ugly. “You’ve got that wrong, Larry. We’re not the kind of people he should mess with. There’s the sheriff’s car. I suggest that you stay here and explain things to him.”

  He took off before Larry could respond.

  Stella followed.

  As much as she wanted to hear the truth, as much as she wanted to force it out of her uncle, she wanted to help Chance more.

  Despite Chance’s suggestion, Larry followed along behind them, his breath hitched with fear as they entered the narrow alley.

  “This isn’t a good idea,” he said nervously, beads of sweat on his brow despite the frigid temperature. “He’s not a nice guy.”

  “Who?” Chance asked. “Or are you content to just let whoever it is get away with terrorizing you and your family?”

  Larry closed his eyes, swayed. “Camden Woods,” he whispered. “My youngest son.”

  * * *

  Chance heard the words. He even understood them. He just wasn’t sure how it all fit. Now wasn’t the time to figure it out. They needed to get in the shop, see if the person moving around in there was Camden.

  Larry’s son?

  If so, he wasn’t a son that anyone in the family had known about. That explained a lot, but it didn’t explain everything.

  Stella looked stunned, but she didn’t question her uncle’s assertion.

 
; “Go to the front of the shop,” she said. “Tell Cooper everything you know. Being honest is the best thing you can do right now. I’m going up the fire escape. If the guy doesn’t want to come out on ground level, he’ll head to the roof and try to escape to the next building.”

  She was probably right. Less than four feet wide, the alley was little more than a space between buildings, the ground littered with debris and dusted with snow. The fire escape was near the back corner, the metal rusted and old. If a person were brave enough to try it, they could make it to the roof and jump to the next roof.

  Brave enough or desperate enough.

  “I’ve ruined everything, Stella,” Larry said. “I didn’t mean to. I just never thought that a mistake I made forty-five years ago would come back to haunt me. I panicked, and I made everything worse. I hope you can forgive me. I hope Patty and Beatrice and my kids can.”

  He looked...lost. Like a man who’d been walking in one direction for a long time and suddenly realized he’d taken the wrong path and had no idea where he was or how to get back.

  Stella must have seen that.

  She pulled him into a quick hug, then gave him a gentle shove away. “We’ll work it out. Now go talk to Cooper.”

  Larry looked stricken, but he turned and walked away.

  “Let’s get this done,” Stella said, impatience in her voice as she reached the fire escape. Above it, someone had fashioned a bridge between buildings. From Chance’s angle, it looked like several two-by-fours side by side.

  “Careful,” he cautioned as Stella grabbed hold of the rail and put her foot on the first rung of the fire escape. “That thing doesn’t look like it will bear weight.”

  “It should. There’s got to be a code, right? Fire safety inspections? Something that guarantees this thing is functional in case of emergency.”

  “I wouldn’t count on it,” he said, yanking at the metal frame. It held firm, but he still didn’t trust it.

  A soft sound came from somewhere above—wood against wood as a window opened. Third floor. Chance could see someone in the window, climbing over the ledge and onto the metal landing.