Winter Winds

by Gayle Roper

  She peered into the night. Shouldn’t she have come to the entrance to the Garden State Parkway by now? It hadn’t seemed this far when Trev drove it. She frowned. It hadn’t looked this rural either. She had no idea where she was. She thought she was driving north, and Philadelphia was north, wasn’t it? Philadelphia and the airport. She’d just keep driving, and she’d get there eventually.

  This time, Lord, I won’t turn away from You. I at least learned that much in my short time here.

  Trev had taught her. She’d seen in him what a Christian should be. She’d even seen mesmerizing glimpses of the loving husband he would have been if she hadn’t messed it all up.

  And I believe in marriage so strongly, Lord. That’s the irony of it all.

  She dashed a hand across her cheek. At the rate she was weeping, she’d have chapped skin before she got halfway to the airport.

  Six years without a move to divorce was proof of her commitment to marriage, wasn’t it?

  She thought for a minute, and honesty forced her to rephrase. It didn’t show commitment to marriage but rather to the concept of marriage. If she’d been committed to marriage itself, wouldn’t she have been here, fighting for it instead of abandoning it?

  Her parents had been committed to marriage, not the idea of marriage. They had lived together every day, been happy together, sad together, bored together, angry at each other, dazzled by each other. The same with Pop and Honey.

  Pop wasn’t always an easy man to live with, and Honey had been independent for over forty years before they married. Both were highly opinionated. Their fights were dillies, and at first the young Dori, already uncertain in her new surroundings, still raw from the loss of her parents, had been frightened by them. When Honey had realized how the little girl was being affected, she sat down with Dori.

  “Dori, love, you mustn’t worry. Pop and I are fine. Since no one can be everything that his or her partner wants, there will always be struggles and disagreements in a marriage, even between people who love each other deeply like Pop and me. It can’t be avoided. A marriage without struggles isn’t a marriage. It’s only two people living in the same house, not caring enough to work out the issues between them.”

  “But you yell,” Dori said in a small voice.

  Honey smiled. “That we do. Some people cry. Some people get real quiet. Some people turn away. We yell. But this is the fact you need to always remember, honey. We love each other, Pop and I. When we stood before the minister and said our vows, we both knew that we were promising to be together for life. I’m not going anywhere. Pop’s not going anywhere.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “Absolutely positively. And you’re not going anywhere either.” Honey hugged her close. “We’re family, and family stays together even in the hard times. Especially in the hard times.”

  “No!” the adult Dori shouted into the black night and cranked the steering wheel to the left. “I am not running again. Families stick together, especially in the hard times. I’m fighting this time. Oh, God, give me courage!”

  The car turned, crossing the white center line, all but invisible under the carpet of snow. The nose swung toward Seaside, and Dori was filled with determination and hope. She would get down on her knees and ask Trev’s forgiveness, then get up and help him build their marriage, one that would reflect their love and commitment to each other and to the Lord.

  When the right front wheel slid off the shoulder into a slight ditch, she felt the jolt of the undercarriage coming to rest on the ground from her tailbone to the base of her skull.

  Thirty-Five

  MAUREEN LEANED AGAINST the headrest on the passenger side of her car and let her eyes slide shut. She was more than content to let Phil drive her and Ryan back to Trev and Dori’s.

  What a night! The dogs were both expected to recover completely but it had been close. They were staying at the vet’s until tomorrow afternoon, just to be safe. Even now the thought of having to tell Trev and Dori that their dogs had died made her shudder. At least it made telling them that the animals were only ill seem like a piece of cake.

  “You okay?” Phil asked, his hand reaching over and grasping hers.

  She turned her head and looked a question.

  “You shivered.”

  “Ah. Just thinking about how close a call it was.”

  When she and Ryan had left the vet’s, she hadn’t been able to resist stopping at the pharmacy. It was mere moments from closing time.

  “Want a candy bar?” she asked Ryan as she parked beside the store.

  “Sounds good.”

  So Ry got his candy, and she got Phil. Comfort food for both of them. Phil had insisted that he drive them out to Dori and Trev’s.

  “You don’t have to.” She felt she had to protest, but she really hoped he wouldn’t listen. “The suitcase was undoubtedly snagged while we were gone. Greg Barnes and Cary Fleishman have the culprits in custody by now.”

  “I don’t care whether that blamed suitcase is there or not. I’m taking you home, and I’m spending the night on the couch to be certain you’re safe.”

  “So who’s arguing?” she asked.

  Now she shut her eyes again and fell into that hazy half sleep that occurs when there’s too much on your mind to actually allow slumber.

  Ryan lay on the backseat, half-asleep.

  “Maureen! Look!”

  Phil’s anxious, excited hiss brought her awake. They had just turned onto Heron Lane. Scooting down the sidewalk was a slight man all in black pulling a black suitcase behind him.

  Instantly alert, Maureen ordered, “Drive around the corner and park. Don’t look at him as you go past. Just drive.”

  “It’s the suitcase!” Ryan was completely awake now, too, bouncing up and down in his excitement.

  “Get down, Ryan,” Maureen ordered. “We don’t want him to see you. And don’t get up until I tell you.”

  Ryan frowned in disgust but did as he was told. So did Phil. She noted out of her side vision that the man checked his speed when they drove past, like he expected something to happen. When they kept moving, he resumed his near run. They rounded the corner onto Beachcomber and Phil pulled to the curb.

  “Kill the engine.” Maureen reached into the glove compartment and grabbed her gun. She noted Phil’s start of surprise as she stuck it in the waistband at the small of her back. She also fished in her purse and pulled out her small camera. Quickly she reached across Phil and flipped the knob that turned off the dome light. She opened her door and slid out.

  “Stay put, both of you. I mean it. If he comes around the corner, duck.”

  She slid into the shadows back toward Heron. Where were Barnes and Fleishman? They should be shadowing this guy, but neither they nor their cars were anywhere to be seen. She huddled behind a large hydrangea, wishing her coat weren’t royal blue, and watched the man in black come steadily in her direction. As he got close, she could see in the light of the streetlamp that his face had been blackened. She held up the little camera and sighted. How wise her dad had been giving it to her. Click. Click.

  Then she hunkered down and waited to see what he would do. He rounded the corner onto Beachcomber. She scarcely breathed as he stopped at a beat-up light blue car mere feet from her and threw the case into the trunk. He climbed behind the wheel, and as his motor turned over, Maureen took a picture of the car, license plate on the rear visible. The suitcase thief did a 180, and drove up Beachcomber to the stop sign at Central. He turned right toward town.

  Maureen raced to her car and jumped in. Phil already had the motor running and took off toward Central without her saying a word.

  “He’s going one of two places,” Maureen said.

  “Atlantic City and Jankowski’s offices there,” Phil offered as he turned onto Central.

  “Or Eric’s house.” This from Ryan.

  “So don’t lose him.” Maureen kept her eyes fixed firmly on the battered baby blue car ahead. “But don’t get t
oo close. There’s not much traffic around here this time of year.”

  “All we need to know is whether he crosses the Ninth Street Causeway. If he doesn’t, we can get to Jankowski’s house by another route.”

  Maureen looked at him in surprise. “You know where he lives?”

  “That I do. Aside from the fact that he lives down the street from friends at church, his wife also uses our pharmacy. When this mess all started, I looked up the house number just in case.” He grinned proudly.

  Maureen rolled her eyes. “Look, Phil, please don’t get to thinking you’re a cop here. You are not.”

  “Of course I’m not. I know that. I’m just the cop’s chauffeur.”

  “And don’t you forget it!” She pulled her cell from her purse. “If anything ever happened to you—” Her throat closed. She looked out the side window as she struggled to regain control. How could she feel this intensely this quickly?

  “Hey Irish.” Phil pulled gently on one of her curls.

  “What?” she asked in a thick voice.

  “Look at me.”

  “Look at the road.”

  “Look at me, Maureen.” His voice was firm.

  Reluctantly she did. She saw a man with strength behind his gentleness and humor, a man who had learned to love the Lord and showed it in the changes in his life. She saw a man she was falling head over heels in love with.

  She also saw a highly interested thirteen-year-old face watching from the backseat.

  Phil ran a hand over her cheek. “Don’t worry, Irish. You’re in charge. And this is Seaside, not Bosnia.”

  She laid her hand over his and held it to her face. “Like Jankowski’s goons are going to care about the locale.”

  “Hey,” Phil said. “Now you’re making me worry about you.”

  “Well, he didn’t turn at Ninth Street,” Ryan announced. “In case you two were too busy to notice.”

  Maureen dropped Phil’s hand and hit speed dial for Greg Barnes. She glanced at the clock on the dash. It was just after ten o’clock. “Where are you?” she asked without preamble.

  “About ten miles south of Seaside at the Sea Whisper with Joanne Pilotti and Barney Noble.”

  “And Fleishman?”

  “He’s with me.”

  “Well, get yourselves back here. The suitcase is en route to Jankowski’s. We’re tailing it as we speak.”

  She could hear Greg gnashing his teeth. “We’re on our way.”

  Next she hit the chief’s number and got him at home, courtesy of call forwarding. She reported what was happening.

  “Keep everyone under surveillance,” he ordered. “Backup’s on the way.”

  As the blue car drove in a straight line toward Jankowski’s oceanfront home, Phil cut off and went by another route, speeding in an attempt to arrive first. Even though there was no traffic and speed was of the essence, Maureen still flinched as they ran three stop signs.

  “You’re having way too much fun,” she said sourly.

  Phil just grinned and rounded the corner onto Ocean Drive with his lights off.

  “It’s the one with the white stones instead of grass,” Phil said.

  As a car began to turn off Central, he pulled into the drive of the darkened house two down from Jankowski’s and killed the motor. In silence they watched the blue car roll to a stop in the driveway of Neal Jankowski’s magnificent house. The man got out, went to the trunk, and got the suitcase. Maureen took a picture.

  “Eric’s house looks dark,” Ryan said. “Maybe the guy wasn’t supposed to come here.”

  No sooner had he finished speaking than the light beside the front door came on for a brief minute, flicked off, and the door began to open. There was probably a peephole in the door, Maureen thought. The person inside flicked on the light to check the identity of the man on the porch before opening the door. Then he doused the light for secrecy’s sake.

  Quickly, before the door was fully open and the man could look up and down the street, Maureen slipped out of the car, paused a moment to send a don’t-you-dare-leave-this-car look at Phil and Ryan, and ducked behind the low but tightly woven fence of the property next door to Jankowski’s. She put her eye to a slight crevice between two boards in the fence and managed to see the front door. Maureen put the camera to the crevice and clicked.

  “You’re late.” Neal Jankowski stood in the doorway, looking his guest up and down with distaste.

  Jankowski himself! What was he doing here? He wasn’t due back in town until Sunday. He must have come home early to check on the problem of the paintings.

  “I got trapped,” Vinnie whined. “That place is a madhouse.”

  “Like I care.” Jankowski scanned the street. “Get in here.”

  When she heard the front door close, Maureen stood and stared at the house. She felt like she should do something, but she wasn’t sure what. Certainly she was not going to do anything to attract the attention of anyone inside. The last thing she wanted was shots being fired. What if his kids were in there? They certainly weren’t in Aruba. She knew that because of Ryan’s run-in with Eric. So where were they? No kid should see his father in a shoot-out with the police.

  She scanned the house carefully. The curtains in most rooms were open with no lights showing. Too dark for a family of six. She was willing to bet no one was home but the big guy himself. Suddenly a splash of light fell onto the dunes behind the house. Someone had turned on a light in one of the back rooms.

  She crept from behind her fence and hurried down the short drive past the baby blue car, around the side of the two-car garage, and into the backyard, such as it was. Seaside was not a big island, and even million-dollar homes like this one didn’t have much property. The spill of light illuminated an empty patio, large terra-cotta urns empty of flowers, and a pool with a top stretched snugly over it. A black cat sat in the middle of the pool cover.

  Maureen slid cautiously along the back of the house past darkened floor-to-ceiling windows. She wanted to get close enough to the lighted room to see what was going on. The only problem was how to see them without them seeing her.

  “Hey!”

  She jerked to a stop, her hand going to her gun. She looked behind her.

  “Hey! Over here!”

  The words were hard to hear over the constant sound of breaking surf just yards away. Maureen scanned the perimeter of the yard, then farther back into the dunes, their sea grasses undulating in the wind. There she saw a hand waving, then a grinning face emerging. The hand beckoned even as the face disappeared behind the grasses.

  She was going to kill him. When she got her hands on Phil, she was going to string him up by his thumbs. She was going to arrest him for interfering with police business. She was going to send him to jail for years and years.

  First, however, she was going to join him for what had to be a great view of what was happening in that room. Then she would string him up.

  She scooted back the way she’d come, got behind the neighbor’s fence once more and followed it until it ended at the dunes. She found both Phil and Ryan lying on their stomachs, watching the lighted room. She fell down beside them.

  “I thought I told you guys to stay in the car.”

  “You did. And please put that away.” Phil pointed to the gun she held in the hand nearest him.

  She snorted and stuffed it back in her waistband. Then she turned her attention to the house. The view was unbelievable. There was the opened suitcase on the coffee table. There was the slight man who had brought it, tossing the ratty clothes onto the floor. There was Neal Jankowski watching like a hawk, then reaching to slit the lining and get his treasure.

  Maureen pulled out her camera and recorded the whole process. Her coup was the shot of Neal Jankowski pulling one of the paintings, a beguiling swirl of primary colors, from the suitcase and gazing at it lovingly.

  Suddenly Chief Gordon rounded the side of the house, moving silently through the shadows. Maureen pushed to her knees, read
y to join them.

  “Stay put,” she hissed to Ryan. She glared at Phil. “You too.”

  He grinned unrepentantly leaned up to give her a quick kiss and said, his voice completely serious, “Be careful, Irish. You mean the world to me.”

  She hurried through the dunes and joined Chief Gordon in the backyard.

  “I got it all,” she said in a low voice, holding out her camera.

  His smile was blinding. “Good girl.”

  “You alone?” She sincerely hoped not.

  He shook his head. “Uniforms out front. Barnes and Fleishman on their way. ETA ten minutes. How many people in the house?”

  “As far as I can tell, just the two in that room. At least I haven’t seen anyone else.”

  The chief nodded. “Probably keeping knowledge of this picture deal limited to as few as possible.” And he stepped out into the light streaming from the window, gun in hand. “Police,” he yelled. “You’re under arrest for dealing in stolen goods.”

  The two men looked up in surprise, then anger, at least on the part of Jankowski. He reached for the drawer of an end table. Without hesitation, Chief Gordon shot through the window. Though he hadn’t aimed at either man, they both froze.

  “Open the door, Vinnie,” he yelled to the slight man.

  Vinnie looked at Jankowski, then at the chief. With a resigned expression, he moved toward the glass door.

  “Who’s he?” Maureen asked. She too stood in the light now, her eyes fixed on Jankowski and her gun leveled at his midsection.

  “Vinnie Testa, a small-time would-be wise guy. He works for Jankowski. Just an errand boy.”

  Vinnie slid the glass door open and stepped aside. Chief Gordon stepped through, pulling his cuffs from his belt as he moved. Maureen followed him inside.

  “Keep him covered,” the chief ordered as he holstered his gun and moved behind Jankowski. The cuffs clicked over Jankowski’s wrists.

  “Go open the front door,” the chief told her as he stepped back and pulled his gun again. “Sit,” he barked at Jankowski who lowered himself onto the sofa. He looked with loathing at the chief, then with longing at the paintings.