Death Benefits

by Hannah Alexander

  “We need to get a few things straight, Ray Clyde.” Ginger kept her voice low.

  “What is it we need to get straight?” Ray asked.

  “These two little girls are precious to me,” she said quietly. “They don’t need to be used as pawns so you can try to make amends with me.”

  There was a slight hesitation, then, “You know better.” His voice chided but remained gentle, maybe a little sad. “Let’s be honest with one another for a moment. You feel you need to place some distance between the two of us on this trip, and so you must make sure I don’t bond with Lucy or Brittany.”

  “You have a problem with that?” she asked.

  “I do. A considerable amount as a matter of fact.”

  Ginger shifted in her seat. No one else had quite the same knack of rendering her speechless like he did.

  Books by Hannah Alexander

  Love Inspired Suspense

  Note of Peril #1

  Under Suspicion #25

  Death Benefits #60

  Steeple Hill Single Title

  Hideaway

  Safe Haven

  Last Resort

  Fair Warning

  Grave Risk

  HANNAH ALEXANDER

  is the pseudonym of husband-and-wife writing team Cheryl and Mel Hodde (pronounced Hoddee). When they first met, Mel had just begun his new job as an E.R. doctor in Cheryl’s hometown, and Cheryl was working on a novel. Cheryl’s matchmaking pastor set them up on an unexpected blind date at a local restaurant. Surprised by the sneak attack, Cheryl blurted the first thing that occurred to her, “You’re a doctor? Could you help me paralyze someone?” Mel was shocked. “Only temporarily, of course,” she explained when she saw his expression. “And only fictitiously. I’m writing a novel.”

  They began brainstorming immediately. Eighteen months later they were married, and the novels they set in fictitious Ozark towns began to sell. The first novel in the Hideaway series, published in the Steeple Hill Single Title program, won a prestigious Christy Award for Best Romance in 2004.

  HANNAH ALEXANDER

  Death Benefits

  Trust in the Lord with all your heart, and lean not on your own understanding. In all your ways submit to Him, and He will make your paths straight.

  —Proverbs 3:5–6

  With thanks to Ray and Clydene Brown, real, live heroes who were there for us in our time of need.

  CONTENTS

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  QUESTIONS FOR DISCUSSION

  ONE

  On New Year’s Eve, Lucy Jameson dreamed she saw her dead mama’s face in the fire. Mama had a pretty face, with eyes the color of sunshine through leaves, eyes that filled with love when she smiled. That was what Lucy missed the most about her—the smile, the love.

  Mama didn’t always smile, though.

  In the fire, her eyes looked scary, and her mouth moved as if she might be shouting—though no sound came from her lips. She acted this way when she needed to get high. Soon, if she got high, she’d be happy for a few days.

  Lucy wasn’t supposed to know about these things, because she was only eight and a half. Some kids just knew, whether they were supposed to or not.

  Mama stepped out of the fire and came toward Lucy, her hands black and smoking. Her feet burned into the wooden floor, spreading flames with every footstep.

  Lucy gasped and sat up in bed, trying to scream as her eyes flew open in the dark. The sound came from her mouth like the chirp of a cricket. She knew it was her own voice; there weren’t any crickets outside the window the week after Christmas in Hideaway, Missouri.

  She hated these dreams worst of all. They made her remember the bad times, when her mother was scary-mad, when she slapped and screamed at Lucy and Brittany and called them nasty names. That was when Mama hated them.

  “Sissy?”

  Lucy winced at Brittany’s frightened voice. “I’m here.”

  “What was that noise?”

  “It’s okay, it was me.” Good thing she sounded normal again, not like the screechy cry from her dream.

  There was a whisper of covers, then a thud of bare feet as Brittany dropped from her own bed and crossed to Lucy’s.

  She climbed up beside Lucy without asking permission.

  Lucy pulled the blankets back and helped her settle under them. Even though Brittany kicked the covers off, and sometimes even snored, Lucy didn’t mind. Much. Brittany couldn’t help it, she was only five. She wouldn’t be six until February.

  Brittany squirmed close, right into Lucy’s face. Eeww! Her breath stank.

  “Did you have another bad dream?”

  “Guess so.” Lucy protected her nose with a handful of blanket.

  “Was it about Mama again?”

  Why did Aunt Ginger’s spaghetti make their breath smell like this?

  Brittany tugged at Lucy’s arm. “Huh? Was it?”

  “Yes,” Lucy said. “Now be quiet or everybody will wake up and nobody’ll get back to sleep and we’ll be tired all day tomorrow.”

  Brittany shifted…settled…shifted…settled, then snuggled close to Lucy’s side. “Tomorrow’s New Year’s Day. Mama used to let us stay up until midnight on New Year’s Eve.”

  “But we never got up early on New Year’s Day to catch a plane to Hawaii when Mama was alive.”

  Brittany sighed. “No.”

  “You’ll want to be awake for the airplane ride, so go back to sleep.” They’d never flown.

  “I don’t know if I can sleep now. You scared me awake.” Still, she yawned.

  Lucy felt Brittany’s teddy bear Chuckles being squeezed between them, his soft fur comforting as it had always been when they were alone at home, when Mom had been out somewhere in the night.

  Lucy rubbed Brittany’s head with gentle strokes and waited until her breathing grew deeper. Even when Brittany said she couldn’t sleep, she always did.

  “A dream,” Lucy whispered to herself, remembering the angry face of her mother. “She’s dead. It’s okay now. She’s dead.” And then she cried, hating herself for saying that.

  Willow Traynor was going to become their new mother next week. She wouldn’t do the things Mama did, because she’d never done them.

  Willow didn’t look anything like Mama—Mama was pretty—but Willow was gentle, and when she spent time with Lucy and Brittany, it was as if she really wanted to be with them. She never yelled, and she hugged them a lot. She didn’t take drugs, and she never slapped them. Willow made Lucy feel special.

  As soon as Graham and Willow got married and everyone got home from the honeymoon, then Willow would move in here with Lucy and Brittany and Graham. Then, the week after that, the adoption would be final, and they would be a family.

  Graham and Willow were going to be the most wonderful mother and father in the world. Lucy knew she could learn to feel safe with them.

  She glanced across the room and barely saw the outline of Brittany’s bed, the pile of blankets looking like a jumble of little hills in the moonlight
.

  Brittany had her own bedroom in this house, but even after all these months, Lucy and Brittany wanted to stay together. The same people who said Lucy was too mature for an eight-and-a-half-year-old couldn’t believe Brittany was almost six. She was small for her age.

  Light came in under the door, and it was brighter than the night-light, so that meant someone was up.

  The surface of the lake, down the hill from the big log house where they lived, reflected lights from the boys’ ranch on the other shore, where Blaze Farmer lived.

  Lucy loved Blaze. When she grew up, she was going to marry him.

  On any other night, if the lights were on at the ranch, it meant that it wasn’t midnight yet. The boys all had to be in bed by eleven, even Blaze, who helped with the younger boys when he wasn’t working at the clinic or in college. Tonight, all the boys got to stay up late because of New Year’s Eve.

  Lucy realized, since she’d heard no footsteps rushing down the hallway, that her cries from the nightmare hadn’t been loud enough to be heard through the house. Sometimes, she screamed loud enough to wake Aunt Ginger or Graham. Then Aunt Ginger would place Brittany in bed with Lucy, and spend the rest of the night in Brittany’s bed. She’d done that a few times since Mama died last spring.

  Aunt Ginger said Lucy had never had the chance to be a child, and that she should learn to be one now. Lucy didn’t know what she meant.

  Sometimes, when Lucy woke up from a bad dream and couldn’t stop shaking, she’d creep down the dim corridor to Aunt Ginger’s room. She never made any noise, but sat on the floor in the corner, listening to Ginger breathing…sometimes snuggling into the clothes Ginger’d tossed off when she changed into her pajamas. The smell of Aunt Ginger made her feel safe.

  Lucy would miss Aunt Ginger when she moved out.

  Tonight wasn’t a good night to wake her up, but if someone was already up anyway…

  With slow, careful movements, Lucy pushed the covers back and slid to the floor. Had to be quiet. Brittany shouldn’t wake up again. If she did, she might never get back to sleep.

  Lucy opened the door, holding her breath. No sound came from the bed. She crept out into the hallway, but the telephone rang in the front room. She stopped, startled, then glanced back at her sister. No movement.

  Who could be calling at this time of night?

  Ginger Carpenter reached for the cordless phone beside her chair in the great room of her brother’s lodge—that was how she would have to think of it from now on. No longer home. This would be her last night here.

  Curious about who might be calling to wish them Happy New Year, she gave one final, longing glance toward the glow of the full winter moon over the lake.

  She would miss this place. After the wedding in Hawaii, Ginger would move into Willow’s condo off Lakeshore Drive. It was situated in a nice area, but it wouldn’t have what Graham’s roomy log house had—two little girls who had taken up so much of her time…and her heart…for the past nine months.

  She answered the phone, glancing at the caller ID. It was blocked. “Yes.”

  “Ginger Carpenter, that you?” came a deep, gravelly voice that she was too tired to recognize.

  “That’s right.”

  “Larry Bager here.”

  Oh. Of course. How could she have forgotten that extremely masculine voice? Larry. Mr. Tough Guy himself. “Why is an undercover investigator calling here at this time of night?”

  “I have to clue you and Graham in on some things.”

  “What things?” she asked. What was her brother up to this time? When he’d first hired Larry last year, it was to shadow Willow Traynor without her knowledge—for her own protection, of course, but she hadn’t been happy about it. It had taken some hard convincing for Willow to trust Graham Vaughn again.

  “Is the boss around?” Larry asked. “He needs to hear this, too.”

  Any other time, Ginger would have rolled her eyes at the man’s standard reference to her brother, but something in his voice alerted her. “Larry,” she said, “what’s going on? Just tell me, okay? Graham’s already asleep. I was getting ready to turn in, myself. We’ve got a long day ahead of us tomorrow.”

  “Hawaii, right?”

  She paused. How did he know about that? “That’s right. Please don’t tell me Graham’s contacted you about something and hasn’t told us.”

  “Not yet he hasn’t. That’s what I called about. I saw the wedding announcement in the paper, and I made a few inquiries. If I could find out so easily, I’m afraid somebody else could’ve seen it, too.”

  “Someone like who?”

  “Sandi Jameson’s killer.”

  Ginger frowned, confused. “So? That man’s in prison. Why should it matter?”

  There was silence, and Ginger felt a knot of tension tighten in her stomach. “Larry? Please tell me that monster is in prison.”

  A tired sigh. “I didn’t figure you’d get a call from the police in Kansas. State line and all that. Nobody wants to step on anyone else’s toes. But I’d’ve thought somebody’d at least give you guys the heads-up.”

  “Are you trying to tell me Rick Fenrow has been let out of prison?”

  “Nobody let him out, that’s for sure. He broke out.”

  The fingers of Ginger’s left hand tingled. She realized her grip on the receiver might crack the hard plastic, and she shifted to the other hand.

  “Ginger? You there?”

  This couldn’t be happening. “When?”

  “Two days ago. He was in the infirmary—”

  “Why did they allow a convicted killer to work in the infirmary? Are they crazy?” And why hadn’t someone called them sooner? This was unconscionable.

  “I didn’t say he was working there, I said he was there.” Larry sounded tense, himself. “He purportedly injured his leg. From there he coaxed a medical supply delivery lady to slip him out underneath her truck.”

  “How did he convince her to do that?”

  “What can I say? Bad boys do seem to have their charm for some women. I’ve seen it happen too many times. She’s been arrested.”

  “Shouldn’t someone have checked the truck before they allowed it to leave the prison grounds?”

  “Yep. The guard who neglected that part of his job has been fired.”

  Somehow, that failed to comfort Ginger. “But they haven’t found Fenrow?” The tingle of alarm spread over her shoulders and down her back.

  “Not a clue where he went,” Larry said gently. “Look, the boss is going to need to know about this, that crazy loon could be headed toward Hideaway with revenge on his mind.”

  Ginger shot a sudden glance out into the darkness beyond the bay window and the deck. “Let me talk to Graham. I’ll have him call you back.”

  “You do that. I have a feeling I’m going to need to pack for a trip to Hawaii for some protective surveillance.”

  Ginger hung up. Had it been anyone else, she’d be tempted to suspect he was making it all up to con them into taking him with them to Hawaii. Larry Bager had the chutzpah to pull it off, too, but he wasn’t the type. She knew for a fact he didn’t like flying, and he didn’t like water.

  She decided to check into Rick Fenrow’s whereabouts before waking Graham, but she had an awful tightening in her gut that told her Larry Bager knew exactly what he was talking about. Last year’s horror was paying another visit.

  TWO

  Lucy inched along the broad hallway as Aunt Ginger talked to somebody on the telephone, then Lucy crouched behind the coats on the hall stand when Aunt Ginger hung up and hurried in Lucy’s direction.

  Aunt Ginger wouldn’t be mad at Lucy for being up, because she knew Lucy often couldn’t sleep. But Lucy realized from the tone of Aunt Ginger’s voice that something was going on. She knew from past experience that no one would tell her what it was.

  Nobody ever told Lucy anything around here. They thought they were protecting her, when really they were killing her. Curiosity was an awful t
hing to die from.

  Aunt Ginger knocked on Graham’s door.

  There was no answer. Aunt Ginger always joked about how easy Graham could wake up if he received an emergency call from a patient, but try to wake him up any other time, and it was like waking the dead.

  Lucy thought of her dream about Mama. It would be horrible to wake the dead. But Graham wasn’t anything like Mama. And he was really alive.

  Lucy’d never had a father before. She didn’t know what she was going to call Graham after the adoption was final. “Daddy” sounded too childish, but Aunt Ginger reminded her that she was a child, and that “Daddy” was a good name for a real father who loved his little girls.

  If Graham wanted her to call him Daddy, that was what she’d do. It was what Brittany already called him, but Lucy had decided she was going to do this right. When Graham and Willow were married, when they came back and signed the adoption papers, then they’d all be a family, and then Lucy would call Graham and Willow what they should be called.

  Sure, Lucy already called Aunt Ginger “Aunt.” And she called Willow’s brother, Preston, “Uncle.” But a mother and father were different from other relatives.

  Graham finally muttered something from his bedroom that Lucy didn’t quite hear, and Aunt Ginger opened the door and stuck her head through. “Graham, something’s come up. You need to call your pee eye.”

  Lucy wrinkled her nose. Eeww!

  Graham muttered something she couldn’t hear.

  Aunt Ginger went inside, and Lucy crept closer to the door. She hadn’t been able to hear what the call was about earlier, but she could tell Aunt Ginger was upset. Her words were clipped, her voice higher and her speech faster than usual.