by CJ Snyder
“You don’t believe in coincidences.”
“Got that right,” he agreed. “Who knew you were going to Wyoming?”
“Pam.”
“Your secretary?”
“My assistant. She’d never tell anyone. Besides, she didn’t know where I was going, only that I was going to be away. I didn’t tell anyone where I was going.” She read off the second item on the list. “Fourteen-thirty Saturday. Back in Denver. Max to hospital, Kat to North Carolina.”
“Who knew about that trip?”
“Pam.”
“Who else?”
“No one. There isn’t anyone else in my life.” She looked as if the admission hurt, then her shoulders straightened. “I just want to find Lizzie.”
And he wanted her over the notion that finding Lizzie would help. Lizzie was beyond help. But he still needed Kat’s, so he wouldn’t push.
Kat turned the tables on him. “Who knew you were in Denver? That Miriam’s in the hospital?”
“All of Bluff River Falls,” he admitted grudgingly. “But keep going.”
“Fifteen-thirty, Saturday. Lizzie’s abduction.” Kat swallowed, but kept on reading. “Twenty three hundred Saturday. Two tires explode.” She tossed him a glance. “They didn’t explode.”
“That’s not what the garage said.” He showed her an e-mail he’d sent in her name–and the garage’s reply early this morning. “They’re holding the tires until we get an expert in.”
“Why did you–“
”Loose ends. Why would two tires blow? On the very day you and I run into each other?”
“Coincidence.” Kat got to her feet.
“Exactly.”
She returned after a quick trip into the kitchen with a soda for each of them. “What’s next?” She pulled a wing-back chair close to the computer and popped open her can. Max felt a glimmer of encouragement. Nobody solved a puzzle faster than Kat—when it kept her interest.
“Zero hundred Sunday, Kat home.” Kat gave a grimace at that, but didn’t say anything. Max continued, “Oh-eight hundred. Note found on hospital tray. Now look at this. Eleven hundred Sunday. Kat involved in robbery.”
“I wasn’t involved!”
Max ignored her. “Thirteen hundred Sunday. Box found at hospital.”
Kat stared at the time line on the screen. He could almost hear her brain whirling. “I have a question.”
“Shoot.”
“Why would the kidnappers deliver a meaningless note in the morning and another threat in the afternoon? On the same day?”
“Good question. I have another. Did you read that letter you got this morning? About your mother?”
“No. He’s just another crazy. Mom collects them. Why? You can’t think she’s involved?”
“Of course not.” Max glanced at the time line again. Two notes. One day. Hours apart. Why? When his gut started screaming out a possible answer, Max dragged Kat to her feet. “Walk with me.” He checked to make sure he had his cell phone, then detoured by the kitchen where her neat and tidy stacks of mail still stood. Kat followed him silently, not that he gave her a choice, until he headed for the front door.
“It’s raining.”
“I know. Great time for some fresh air.” With that he shoved her out, firmly closing the door behind them. He pulled her to the center of her yard, where they were sheltered from the bulk of the steady rain by a tall old oak tree. “Read this,” he commanded, handing her the letter he’d skimmed earlier in the day.
She gave him a look that threatened a twenty-four-hour hold at a private mental institution if some answers weren’t forthcoming soon, but she accepted the paper from his fingers. Max reached for his cell. “Reicher? Max Crayton. Can you spare another couple of guys? If not I’ll make other arrangements. I want them at Dr. Jannsen’s house. The note may threaten her, not Miriam.”
Kat gave her attention to the letter he wanted her to read, wondering if it was just a means of distracting her. The fact that they were standing in her front yard, getting soaking wet while he made cell phone calls made no sense at all.
Dear Katherine. Irritation flared all over again at Max’s accusations. Of course this Mitch, whoever he was, called her Katherine. Her mother called her Katherine and he knew her mother, right?
I have information which will prove your mother did not kill your father.
Oh, brother. Kat sighed. What was the point? Bad enough she had to go through this every month in person with her mom, but a letter? Max was still on the phone.
The people who offed your father don’t know I have this information, which I got by accident. “Get to the part where you want money,” Kat murmured, forcing herself not to skim ahead and find it. Only it wasn’t there.
There isn’t any safe place for us right now, and especially not your house. I’ll call you and when I do, don’t mention this letter. I’ll say I’ve got something to show you, something you bought. Play along and we’ll set up a meeting. Don’t go to the police. Mitch
“Not a chance of that,” Kat whispered, but a part of her wondered. He hadn’t asked for money. Hadn’t asked for anything. But he would. At their meeting? And what did he mean, especially not her house? Why wasn’t it safe? She glanced at Max, who was in the middle of a second phone call.
“Right. Just the exterminator for tonight. Thanks.”
Exterminator? As in bugs? She didn’t have bugs. “Max.”
“Did you read it?” She nodded. “And?”
“And what? He wants to meet me. He’ll want money and promise information if I produce it. The information will be some pile of crock that he and my mother dreamed up–“
”What if it’s not?”
She frowned. “Not what?”
“Not a crock. Do you remember the accident you had right after we met? You were on your way home from seeing your mother.”
Kat nodded again. What did an old accident have to do with anything now?
“I’d just started investigating, remember?”
She did now, but the sheer impossibility of what he suggested made her want to laugh, not run for cover. Or call for an exterminator.
“Do you still have those files?”
“The notes you collected?” Kat stalled. She had the files. She had every single thing he’d left behind. And she knew exactly where they were. There were two boxes, full of his things, including shirts and sweaters she’d worn out with the wearing, trying to be close to him once more after his death. No way was she digging out those boxes in front of him.
“Any chance you’ve still got that information?”
Kat sighed. No way, except that Max obviously believed this all somehow connected to Lizzie’s abduction. She’d do anything, including dragging her bruised heart over hot coals, to help Lizzie. “I’ve got them.” Her feet turned toward the house, but a gentle hand on her arm stopped her.
His wet fingers slid over her skin, reminding her of the night before, reawakening her body’s unique reaction to him. “There’s more.”
She fought the urge to throw her arms around him and beg for his forgiveness. Nothing in his eyes spoke of that. But he wasn’t angry any more either and that was definitely a step in the right direction. Forcing her attention away from the distraction of his skin against hers, she met his gaze, shadowed in the cloudy dusk.
“Mitch thinks your house is bugged.”
“Mitch thinks my mother didn’t kill my father. My mother thinks Mitch has pretty eyes and therefore is to be trusted above all. Why would anyone bug my house?” When Max could only shake his head, Kat rolled her eyes. “But you believe him?”
“I might. It’s too soon to tell.”
“What do you want me to do?”
“Watch what you say. We’ll go in, you get me the files, and then fix us something to eat. I’ll turn on some music, and then we’ll eat and I’ll let you know. Okay?”
She told herself it meant a lot that he was asking for her assistance, like it was important to
him. When she followed him into the house, she couldn’t shake a shivery feeling that they were indeed being watched. Ignoring the fact that little puddles collected under her feet wherever she stood, she gestured to the couch, but Max followed her into the spare bedroom. Kat bit down on her lip and opened the closet door. Two boxes sat alone on the floor, loudly labeled, “Max”. She tried to ignore the heat flushing her cheeks as she handed him the one she knew was just filled with photos. It didn’t have the files. But it wasn’t as incriminating as the one she carried, either. It was packed just as carefully. The files Max wanted were on the bottom. Under shirts and sweaters folded around photos in which he wore each item of clothing. Max headed back to the living room.
Kat sprang into action. “I’ll be right there,” she called after him, and strode to the empty bed. If she upended the box, the files would then be on the top. She could remove them, repack the box and Max would never know.
Except he was right behind her. Kat swore softly, startled when his hand snaked out to finger one of his old shirts. “You kept all this stuff?”
“I–Yes, I did.” She played a futile game of tug-o-war with the shirt until it slid off the bed, dropping its hidden picture to the floor. Max was not only stronger than she, he was quicker too. Still holding the box she’d given him, he picked up the framed photograph and handed it back after just a glance at his younger, smiling self.
Kat plucked up the file folders. “Here,” she stuttered and shoved him out of the door. She put her shaking hands up to her hot cheeks and sucked in a deep breath. Then she realized he could return at any moment. One shirt, one photograph, not so bad. Twenty shirts, twenty photos. . . She jammed the box back over the pile, not caring that it wasn’t neat. The lid didn’t quite fit, but she shoved the whole mess back into the closet and then carefully closed first the closet door and then the bedroom door behind her on her way out to the living room.
Max still had the file folders in his hand, but he’d opened the other box anyway. Photos of Lizzie were in the top of that one–a huge threat not twelve hours ago. Now she shared gladly. Max, however, didn’t want her joining him in his stroll down memory lane. “Dinner?” he reminded with only a quick glance.
Kat nodded and backed away, tears welling up in her eyes. Why hadn’t Miriam told him? For that matter, why hadn’t she? She’d known immediately because he’d asked what she was doing in his niece’s bedroom. If she were honest, she’d admit shock at seeing him had stolen every thought of Lizzie from her mind. By the time she’d seen him again, at her house late that night, Lizzie was already gone. She quickly sliced green peppers, onions and mushrooms and set them to simmer. Chicken followed, in a separate pan. When she risked a glance back into the living room, Max still hadn’t touched the files.
Max hadn’t touched the files because he was too busy reliving Lizzie’s life with new eyes. Now that he knew the truth, he couldn’t believe he hadn’t seen it before. Kat was written all over her daughter. . .his daughter. In Lizzie’s flirtatious grin. In her whoop of delight when something wonderful caught her fancy. Even in her pout. Max closed his eyes, seeing both Kat’s bedroom closet, so tidily organized, and Lizzie’s wall of baseball caps. If you swapped one cap out for another, Lizard knew in an instant. Max knew, he’d tried it. Once. She just gave him that queer smile that he’d give anything to see again and immediately switched them back. Just like her mother. Kat used to love jigsaw puzzles. But only the first time. The second time she did the same puzzle, it took her one quarter of the time and she felt none of the joy of accomplishment. Lizzie was just like her. Why hadn’t he seen it? How could he have been so blind?
With a smothered groan, he pushed away the box of photos and opened the two pitifully thin file folders. He couldn’t even begin to understand what Kat’s father’s murder had to do with Lizzie’s kidnappers, but with Kat’s help, if there was an answer, they’d find it. First, though, he had to find a connection. Something. Anything.
Kat called that dinner was ready ten minutes later. The time was enough for him to review the few notes he’d gathered years before, mostly on the known, undisputed facts of the case. At 9:57 on the evening of Saturday, May 19, Kat’s mother called the police to report a stabbing. When the police arrived five minutes later, the prominent psychiatrist was dead, his wife was hysterical, their nine-year-old daughter was sound asleep on the couch, and blood literally dripped from the knife in Ellen’s hand.
Chapter Ten
Max left the table once during dinner, heading outside, returning just seconds later. When Kat sent him a question with her eyes, he just smiled and gave his head a slight shake. It was strange and unnerving, being inside her own house, having dinner at her own dining room table, not having the freedom to speak. He’d turned music on before he’d come to the table, possibly as a cover, but he only praised her cooking and wondered if she’d heard a weather report. Certainly not the conversation she wanted to have.
When she could no longer even pretend to eat, she took her virtually untouched plate into the kitchen and came back with a pen and a pad of paper. She wrote ‘what’ before Max covered her hand with his own, giving his head an almost imperceptible shake. Not write? Her eyes widened and she saw acknowledgment in his. Max suspected not just audio snooping, but video as well. Under his large palm, her hand trembled. He gave it a reassuring squeeze.
He cleared his throat and pushed his plate away, still not releasing her hand. “Got any ice cream?”
Ice cream? He wanted ice cream? “I—No.”
“Then let’s go out.”
Kat ran for her purse. Finally, seated across from him in a cozy booth at the back of a diner chosen because of its proximity to her house, she nailed him. “What’s going on?” He hadn’t allowed any conversation in her car, either.
“I’m waiting for a kit. Then I’ll be able to determine what, if any, surveillance equipment they’ve — “
”Who?”
“I don’t know.”
“Why would they monitor me?”
He shrugged.
“This is crazy, Max.”
“Just because I haven’t found the connection yet, doesn’t mean it doesn’t exist.”
“Sometimes coincidences are just that.”
“Sometimes,” he agreed calmly. “Not this time.”
How could he be so damn calm? “How do you know?”
“I just do. I’ll find the connection, but I need your help. Mitch is a completely unknown, integral piece at the moment. Let’s start at the beginning.”
“The beginning? Of the time line? Yesterday?” The questions popped out like staccato bursts from a machine gun. Kat clenched her hands together and closed her eyes.
Max covered her hands with one of his own. She hated to admit how much the contact soothed her frazzled nerves. “We’ve got the answer, baby. Somewhere, between the two of us, and we’ll find it. When we do, we’ll find the one’s who….“
She didn’t wait for his voice to trail off. Her eyes flashed open. “She’s alive, Max. We’re going to find her.”
For once he didn’t argue, but her impassioned speech hadn’t done a thing to convince him either. “What happened the night your father died? What do you remember?”
She felt a long-forgotten pang but shoved it away. There wasn’t time. “We had dinner. Watched TV. A cop woke me up.”
“What about your mother?”
“She was wild. Screaming, ‘What have I done?’, over and over. Blood was everywhere. On everything.” A tremor sounded in her voice and she cleared it. Focus! “The policeman who woke me up wanted me out of the room, but I fought him. I wanted to get to Mom. She had a knife—a nasty wicked looking thing, and she wouldn’t let it go. She didn’t let it go until three of them pulled guns on her.” Her voice was calm now, like she was reciting history lesson, not the event that tore her world apart. That was good. “Watching Mom freak out, and the cops pull the guns on her. . .it was surreal. I felt like I couldn’t get my m
ind to concentrate fully, to take it all in. There should have been something I could do, but it all happened too fast. The policeman finally upended me, took me upstairs to my room. He wouldn’t let me come out until Aunt Nell got there.”
“Your father’s sister,” Max clarified.
“She always hated Mom.” Kat gave a little smile. “Guess she had good reason to.”
“You’ve read the police and court reports.”
It wasn’t a question but she answered anyway. “More times than I care to remember.”
