by Lois Winston
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Books by Mary Kennedy
The Talk Radio Mysteries
Dead Air
Reel Murder
Stay Tuned for Murder
A Deadly Fundraiser (novella)
The Dream Club Mysteries
Nightmares Can Be Murder
Dream a Little Scream
A Premonition of Murder
Young Adult Novels
Crazy Love Diaries (for younger teens)
Love Signs
Ten Cupcake Romance
Only You
The Hollywood Nights Series (for older teens)
Golden Girl
Movie Star
Confessions
Multi-Author Boxed Sets
Sleuthing Women: 10 First-in-Series Mysteries
Sleuthing Women II: 10 Mystery Novellas
Nonfiction and Cookbooks
A Psychologist’s Guide to Dream Interpretation
The Cozy Chicks Kitchen
Teatime with the Cozy Chicks
THE COLOR OF FEAR
A Kelly O’Connell Mystery Novella
By Judy Alter
Kelly O’Connell is back, in a short tale wherein her family lives under the threat of infant Gracie’s kidnapping. The indomitable and outspoken Keisha tells the tale, balancing her need to protect Kelly and her family with her love for new husband, José Thornberry. In her mental search for the kidnapper, Keisha recalls Kelly’s earlier adventures, and familiar faces appear, along with new characters—Clyde, the guard dog, and Cowboy, the homeless man with a heart.
Keisha Speaks Her Mind
Cynthia Grace Shandy. There never was a child so well loved. And I swear I’ve never seen a child bring such joy to a family as that little Gracie. She’s got her mom’s brown hair but without the curls—Mike’s straight hair with one curl on her forehead. Remember that old saw? “And when she was good, she was very good/And when she was bad, she was horrid”? Only even I got to say Gracie is never horrid.
She’s Cynthia Grace for her grandmothers—Cynthia is Kelly’s mom who lives near all of us and has blossomed in ways Kelly never expected—but that’s another story. Grace was Mike’s late mother. Kelly couldn’t see saddling the child with Cynthia for her everyday name, so she’s Gracie.
Kelly’s my boss. She owns Spencer & O’Connell Real Estate in the historic Fairmount District in Fort Worth, Texas. But Kelly’s on an extended vacation to play mama to her baby. Who knows if she’ll ever come back to the office? We meet daily, and I tell her what’s going on, what houses we’ve listed or sold, what house Anthony, our carpenter/construction manager, is renovating. Kelly likes Anthony to take an old Craftsman and restore it—she usually picks the house, but I’m getting pretty good at deciding which ones are possibilities and which have been neglected for too long. What I’m trying to say is I really am running that office without her. And I love it! Shhh. Don’t tell Kelly.
But I got off the subject. I was telling you about how baby Gracie has brought such happiness to the whole family. If I go of a morning to talk business with Kelly, she’ll have Gracie on her tummy, doing her strength exercises, and Mom will be down on the floor cooing and giggling. I might as well talk to the wall. Every once in a while, Kelly will say, “Good,” or “What does Anthony say?” or something, but her attention is clearly not on me or business.
When he comes home of an evening, Mike heads straight for the baby. He’s the captain for the downtown district of the Fort Worth Police Department. After all, we live and work in an inner city neighborhood. Mike sees a lot of stuff I don’t even want to talk about, but he never has got jaded. He picks that baby up, puts her on his lap, and has these serious talks with her about politics or the weather or her sisters, and she just stares at him wide-eyed. Occasionally, her face breaks into a huge grin like he’s the funniest thing she’s ever seen, and then Mike throws back his head and laughs with happiness.
Oh yeah, Gracie’s got two older sisters–much older. Maggie is fifteen, with a new boyfriend and a new learner’s permit to drive. I ain’t sure which one will send Mike Shandy, her stepfather, over the edge first. And then there’s sweet, soft-hearted Em, just twelve. Each girl wanted Gracie to sleep in her room, but Kelly decreed that for the first six months, Gracie will sleep in the upstairs bedroom with her and Mike. Then they’ll decide, though Lord knows what they’ll decide—they haven’t got another bedroom, and they’ve already added on to that house as much as I ‘spect Kelly’s sensibilities to Craftsman architecture will allow.
So far, the girls have taken turns “babysitting,” but only while Kelly is busy in the kitchen or getting a much-needed nap. They think of it as a privilege—I ain’t predicting how they’ll feel in five years. But those older girls do love their new little sister, and she lights up like a Christmas tree for them.
Yeah, you guessed it. When I see Gracie and then go home to my sweet husband, José, I am full of wanting a baby. José is pretty much okay with whatever I want. For years, I wanted the wedding of my dreams, and I finally had it. Then I’ve wanted to run my own business. Well, with Kelly so besotted with Gracie, I’m doing the next best thing. Babies are on down the line—my time clock ain’t ticking that loud yet.
Before I think more about a baby, I know that Kelly and Mike are going to need me real bad, and I got to be here for them. Oh, you didn’t know? I have the sixth sense, and I’ve got Kelly out of more scrapes than I care to tell you, rescued her when she tangled with everything from a serial killer to a psychopathic televangelist.
ONE
I dressed special carefully that morning. I had a list of things to discuss with Kelly, and then I was taking a client to lunch. You have no idea how grown up those words make me feel. Yes, I’m twenty-eight years old, but I still don’t feel grown up half the time. And me? A high school dropout who lucked first into an alternative school and then into this job as Kelly’s assistant or whatever—yes, me. Taking a client to lunch? The idea tickled me and sent me into giggles. José looked at me as if I’d taken leave of my senses.
I thought I’d take this client to Lili’s Bistro. She was a woman of maybe forty, newly divorced and on her own for the first time in her life. She was looking for a modest home for herself, and, while she knew Fairmount’s few new constructions fit her budget best, she longed for a picturesque Craftsman cottage. I had some ideas for her.
To go to Lili’s, I chose a royal blue squaw skirt—those skirts are my signature piece of clothing, even if most ladies consider them passé by this time. This one has yellow and green zig-zag stripes hidden in the folds of pleats, so that the colors swirl when I walk. A bright yellow loose top and green tips in my short hair, and I was ready. Even drew a wolf whistle from José. ‘Course, he frowned at my shoes—highest yellow sandals I could find. (I keep moccasins under my desk at work.)
Kelly appreciated my outfit too. Well, I think she did. What she asked right off the bat was, “You’re taking who to lunch at Lili’s?”
I assured her that Joyce Ann Johnson was a real live prospect, interested in a small Craftsman cottage. Not a big sale for us, but every sale was important. She nodded in agreement.
“You’re showing her the one on College?” Kelly was still smart as a trap, didn’t miss a thing.
Yes, I was showing that one; no, she didn’t want Anthony. She wanted to do the work herself. Kelly sighed, imagining I suppose another house botched by loving hands. I had more faith than that in Joyce Ann Johnson. When she saw that she was overwhelmed, she’d ask for Anthony. We’d seen it happen before.
I was almost whistling with happiness when I parked in the driveway and approached Kelly’s front door. I’d brought her a stack of mail, and I had a smile contest with Gracie while Kelly leafed through the envelopes. She tossed two right into the trash but the third brought a reaction that I can feel in my soul to this day.
She opened it, scanned a single piece of paper, threw it on the
floor, and screamed, an agonizing long wail that gave me deep chills. Then she grabbed Gracie out of my arms and sank into the couch—later I learned she was afraid of fainting and didn’t want to drop the baby. By then, I was demanding, “What is it? What’s wrong? Tell me? I’ll call Mike.” Gracie, thoroughly upset by the commotion, was crying as though her little heart would break.
Working with Kelly, I’ve learned that my role in such situations it to be calm and do first things first. So I quieted right down when I figured out this was a real crisis and not one of those fake ones the girls can manufacture—you know, “I’ll die if you don’t let me go to this party.”
Gently I took Gracie out of Kelly’s arms and held her close to me, singing to her in soothing terms, all the while pulling out my cell phone and punching Mike’s office number. When he answered, I said, “We need you at home now.” Just then, clouds turned the day dark, hiding what had been a bright day of sunshine. Or was that my imagination?
Bless Mike Shandy. He didn’t ask, just said “Okay.” There was a time he was scornful of my sixth sense but he’s learned to respect it, and he believes me if I say something’s serious.
It wasn’t ten minutes before he burst in the door, followed by José who apparently hadn’t made it home to bed after his shift as night neighborhood patrolman. If he’d been playing poker with the off duty cops at the station, I’d have his hide. But this wasn’t the time for that. Kelly was still sitting on the couch, frozen like a statue, her arms still curved as though she held the baby.
“Kelly!” Mike got the barest of responses. He hesitated a moment and then slapped Kelly in the face—oh, it was a light slap, just enough to bring her back around—to hysteria.
“Mike,” she screamed, “go get the girls out of school. Someone really really hates us.” She clung to him so hard he couldn’t have gotten the girls if he’d meant to.
The terror in her voice was so real I thought I could reach out and grab it away from her. But I couldn’t. I was powerless. Get ahold of yourself, Keisha Thornberry. You are not powerless.
“Kelly, calm down. Tell me what’s going on.” Mike was soft-spoken, patient. Did he really grasp how awful this was or did he think he had two hysterical females on his hands?
She pointed wordlessly at the almost-forgotten threat message that lay on the floor. Mike took one look and then glanced at José, who said, “Evidence kit coming up.”
When they had protected the paper in plastic, Mike read it aloud, and I got my first chance to hear what it said.
In block letters, neatly hand printed, it warned: “Enjoy that baby while you have her. She won’t be with you long.” No signature, no explanation of why Gracie was the target, nothing except those chilling words.
Did those words mean she’d be somewhere else, with someone else, or did they mean she’d be dead? The idea of a dread disease flitted through my mind, and I sent a silent prayer to God to put his white light of protection around Gracie. Dear Lord, keep her safe from disease, from fear and pain, and from evil people who would harm her.
Mike sat on the couch, and pulled Kelly into his lap. “Did you ever think this is someone’s poor idea of a joke? Not really a threat at all.” He spoke softly, smoothing her hair away from her face, talking as he would to a child whose feelings have been hurt.
Kelly began to come around to herself. “We can’t take that chance,” she said firmly. “We have to take precautions—for all of us. Whoever wrote that could use anyone, say one of the girls, to get at Gracie.”
Frankly, I was glad to see my old Kelly returning, but I knew even then that my part in all of this would be keep this family safe—and I didn’t mean just the baby.
“Who would threaten Gracie?” Kelly asked. “My baby—why is anyone else interested in her?”
I had my answer. It came to mind immediately. “Because someone feels you wronged them in the past. And someone who feels you’ve robbed them of the chance to have a child.”
All three—José, Kelly and Mike—stared at me in amazement, but I knew what I said was true.
The silence was long, but eventually Mike spoke. “I believe you’ve at least pointed us in a direction to investigate.”
He was probably biting his tongue to keep from saying something accusatory to Kelly, like, “I knew your investigations and involvement in police matters would come home to bite us someday.” I didn’t begrudge him the “at least” qualifier in his statement, but I was glad he held his tongue about the long-standing conflict between my favorite couple. He was a by-the-book policeman, and he thought Kelly should keep out of police matters; she didn’t believe the police acted fast enough and thought she could go places and get information they couldn’t. The latest example was her daring and spectacular rescue of me from kidnappers on the morning before my wedding. But that’s another story. Now, she would never believe the police acted fast enough.
“Shouldn’t we call the police?” she asked earnestly, reaching for her phone.
Mike’s answer was wry. “You already did.”
José looked uncomfortable, but I knew he wouldn’t leave us now—it would be like deserting before an enemy attack.
Kelly had been looking thoughtful, but she suddenly stood up and pulled out her phone again. Before Mike could reach for it, she said with sudden energy, “I’m calling Sheila. She and I have been having coffee together some mornings and letting the babies play. If anyone has insight, she might.”
Sheila is the daughter of our late, lamented diva Lorna McDavid, who was a recluse until Kelly and I drew her out of her shell and her run-down but wonderful Craftsman house. Miss Lorna had been looking for her daughter for years, and Sheila came to use looking for her mother. We were a big part of getting them together. Sheila was then married to televangelist Bruce Hollister, a crook if I ever saw one, and pregnant with his baby, the result of a spousal rape. Today, Sheila is married to Hollister’s former lawyer, David Kennemer, and the mother of a beautiful baby girl. But freeing Sheila from Hollister’s clutches wasn’t easy, and we lost Miss Lorna over it. I still miss that cranky old woman.
“That’s a dead end,” Mike said. “Hollister is in prison, and if he’d go after any baby, he’s go after Sheila’s.”
I studied Mike. If I had thought he was treating this threat lightly, I was wrong. I saw it on his face—he’d been casual, to calm Kelly, but now he was staring at the infant he held on his lap. This was his daughter, the child he, long a bachelor, never thought he’d have. Oh, sure, he had Maggie and Em, who adored him—and it was mutual—but I suppose there’s something about being there the child’s whole life, like he intended to be with Gracie. She was returning his look with a solemn stare that seemed to almost demand, “Tell me what’s going on.”
“I have to talk to Sheila,” Kelly said and flounced out of the room. Really, that’s what she did, she flounced. She was back in ten minutes to report that Don had talked to the Alamo Heights police and Bruce Hollister was safely in a minimum-security facility. You know, for white collar criminals who aren’t likely to escape or get violent. Frankly, I thought the man was batshit crazy, and they should re-open Alcatraz just for him. But I couldn’t say this—among other things this was not a good time.
But I’d recently had a lesson on people in prison conspiring with people outside the walls, and I wasn’t anxious to repeat it.
The four of us kicked around ideas about how to keep Gracie and the whole family safe. Some of the ideas were extreme to the point of being ludicrous. Like not leave Kelly and Gracie home alone—our lives would stop if we had to babysit Kelly, and she’d hate us within the first forty-eight hours. We couldn’t exactly all move into the Shandy home, though I’d move José into the guest house in a flash if I thought it would help. I had done that once before, and it hadn’t done much good.
Gracie fussed a bit, napped a bit, and took her bottle ravenously, but she was not quite herself. Kelly made that point loud and clear, “See? She knows something’
s going on. She may not realize she’s in danger, but she knows you all are upset, and she’s not as happy as usual. The most important thing is the atmosphere we raise this child in, and it must not be one of fear.”
I didn’t want to counter Kelly, upset as she was, but it seemed to me keeping that precious child safe with her family was most important. I ‘ve learned though when to keep quiet with Kelly—and this was one of those times.
Finally, Mike announced in authoritarian tones that the house was already well fortified.
“We have a state-of-the-art alarm system in the house and guest house, we have those heavy bars to put across outside doors at night, we each have guns, the entire Fort Worth police department will leap to attention as one unit should we but lift the phone. I will not, however, ask them to take the manpower to post a guard on the strength of one, flimsy threat.” And with that he stood and announced he was going to bring us all lunch from the Neighborhood Grill.
“Cheeseburgers and curly fries all around?” We agreed.
“While I’m gone, I’d like each of you to think of three practical things we can and should do.”
I thought Mike’s challenge was to prove that there wasn’t much more to do, but I set my mind to thinking because I felt this dark shadow hovering over all of us. Kelly felt it too—I could tell by her tight face and stiff movements.
We threw out ideas as we munched our burgers. Mine was that Gracie needed Vitamin D from sunshine and could not be kept in the house all day every day, so Kelly would have to call me when she wanted to walk, take Gracie on errands, etc.
I added that I finally needed to get the concealed handgun license everyone had talked about forever. José could take me to lessons—but, hey! I could go by myself.
By the time we came up with workable suggestions, Kelly was again holding Gracie and looking scared but momentarily okay. We decided of course that all alarm systems in the house must be armed and at the ready all the time, whether someone was home or not. Those Katie-bar-the-door thick boards that Mike had installed on the doors would be in place at night. Kelly would not take Gracie off the property alone—in fact, it would be best if someone was with her even in the fenced yard. The girls, Maddie and Em, would have to be taught again to be alert for strangers, unusual circumstances—they’d been through it before, and they knew the drill but they wouldn’t like it. There would be no family outings to the zoo, restaurants, or anything similar. And no company, except for Kelly and Mike’s close circle, which included me and José thank goodness, along with Claire Guthrie and her daughters (none of their boyfriends), Anthony, his sons, and his daughter Teresa and her husband, Joe. And of course, Kelly’s mom Cynthia and her companion, Otto. Most of these people had at one time or another introduced someone new who posed a threat, like Cynthia and Ralphie who turned out to be a serial killer. The rules would be explained, Mike said, when I pointed out Cynthia’s indiscretion, and I wished him luck.
