He raced down the remaining stairs and stopped at the basement door. “Rrr-ruff.”
“Silly dog.” I passed him. Should I make fettucine Alfredo, which sounded really good on a cold night like this, or warm up a Lean Cuisine for dinner? I caught a glimpse of the elliptical machine in the living room out of the corner of my eye and guiltily decided on Lean Cuisine. I hadn’t used the elliptical since before Christmas. Well, no one can keep up with an exercise plan during the holidays. Nolan stayed by the door and scratched at it with one paw.
“Is Dexter down there?” I asked him. I opened the door, but it was dark. “Dexter?”
No answer. Nolan stood on the top step and barked, and I wondered if maybe we had mice. Not again. We’d been positively overrun by them a couple of winters back when it got really cold, and Les had called an exterminator. Kendall had cried about the poor cute mice and called Les a mouse murderer. She’d offered to catch them herself and release them in the wild. Les hadn’t thought much of that plan and had paid the exterminator extra to get here sooner. Kendall hadn’t talked to either of us for two weeks. I hoped we didn’t have to go through all that again. Leaving the door cracked, I returned to the fridge and was getting out a Lean Cuisine when I decided it would be better to heat up the rest of the pizza. I didn’t want it to go to waste.
I set the oven to preheat, positioned the remaining three slices of pizza on the rack, and was looking for James’s phone number when I heard a strange noise. A bump. Like someone knocking against a table or chair. I started.
“Dexter? Are you home?” I could see the garage door was locked, so I left the kitchen and crossed the living room to check the front door. Locked. I peered out the window but saw nothing but snow turning the yard into a jumble of white shapes. Nolan had gone with me, but now he trotted back to the basement door. I followed him, tightening the belt on my robe.
I eyed the door uneasily. Scenes from slasher movies I’d stupidly gone to see played in my mind. There was always a scene where the babysitter goes into the basement, even though there are reports of a serial killer on the loose, or the teenaged couple sneak into the basement to make out, even though escaped convicts are in the area. The last thought brought a memory to mind, and I yanked open the door, suddenly more mad than scared.
“Dexter, I’m coming down. If you’ve got a girl down there, you’re grounded until you graduate.” Six months ago, Kendall had gone downstairs to play Wii and stumbled over Dexter and a girl (whose name I had deliberately blocked) “going at it” on the couch. She’d said they were naked, but they both had clothes on by the time I got downstairs. Thank heavens! It was the first time I’d really, really wanted Les back in a long time. Chewing out your teenaged son for “going at it” with a naked girl in the basement is a father’s job. I’d stumbled through a talk where I think I’d said “too young” at least a dozen times and worked in “respect” and “consequences” and “your sister has to sit on that sofa” a few times each. I don’t know which of us was the most embarrassed, although I think it was me.
I hurried down the stairs, feeling clumsy in the bear slippers. Nolan beat me down. “I’m at the bottom of the stairs now,” I warned, not wanting to take naked teenagers by surprise. I didn’t even want to think about my baby boy naked with a girl, never mind see it in the flesh. I didn’t hear anything. No sounds of people dressing, which I took as a good sign.
“I’m turning on the lights now.” I flicked the switch. The lights sprang on. No naked teens. No anything, actually. The game room with its sofa, beanbag chairs, Ping-Pong table, and wide-screen TV was empty. “Nolan, you silly dog, there’s no one here,” I said, almost light-headed with relief. Nolan arfed at me and wagged his tail.
Then I thought about the guest room. The guest room with its queen-sized bed. Surely Dexter couldn’t be shameless enough to … I hurried down the short hall, not bothering with any warnings now, and flung open the bedroom door. It smacked into the wall, and I winced. Enough light from the other room filtered in so I could tell there was no one here. Unless they were hiding in the closet, and that was just silly.
Letting my breath out in a long whew, I smoothed the rumpled coverlet on the bed and decided to answer the call of nature before going back to the kitchen. Stepping into the three-quarter bath in the hall, I put out my hand for the light switch and touched someone’s face.
29
It took Charlie and Dan almost twenty-five minutes to trudge the half mile to the exit, with Dan walking in front to shield Charlie from the worst of the wind. No cars had passed since they’d been walking, and a cell phone call to the state police hadn’t given hope of rescue anytime soon.
“We’ve got half a dozen motorists stranded on that stretch,” the helpful officer said, “and we’re trying to get to you as soon as possible. We’ve got a plow making its way down from Fort Collins and another going west on 34 out of Greeley, but it’s slow going. Sit tight and stay warm. Don’t panic.”
Dan had told them what mile marker they were at and said they were planning to walk to the exit. The cop had sounded dubious about their cross-country hike but mentioned there was a small convenience store with one gas pump at the exit. “I doubt old Fred’s there, though; he usually closes up when the first snowflake falls. Cantankerous old goat.”
Now, shivering with cold despite her heavy coat and boots, Charlie surveyed the featureless white landscape. Blowing snow made it difficult to see more than ten feet in front of her face. When the wind shifted direction for a few seconds, she thought she saw a small building, its outlines blurred by accumulated snow. She pointed. “There. That must be it.”
They headed west down a slope that might have been an access road and reached the convenience store ten minutes later. It was disappointingly dark, with no sign of life. Its single gas pump was almost hidden by a drift. Luckily, the front of the building was out of the wind’s path, and the drifts had piled against the rear of the building, leaving Charlie and Dan access to the door. Charlie rattled it. Locked. Making a visor of her hand, she leaned against the window and scoped out the interior. Rows of canned or boxed foods, refrigerator cases, counter and cash register, coffeemaker. And a sign that spoke to her: RESTROOMS.
“Ideas?” she asked Dan.
“I don’t think we’re likely to get an invitation,” he said, drawing a gadget from his pocket that appeared to be a Swiss Army knife on steroids. Snow crusted on his eyebrows, and Charlie wondered if hers were similarly icy. With surprisingly deft fingers, he located the gadget he wanted, scored the glass around the lock with it, and tapped the glass inward.
Charlie’s eyes widened. “You carry a glass cutter with you?”
“Habit.”
Habit? Charlie asked herself. She didn’t know many priests or pastors in the habit of carrying any tool more exotic than a corkscrew to a parish dinner, certainly not knives and glass cutters.
“Never know when it might come in handy,” Dan added, reaching through the hole to unlock the door. He pushed it open and they stepped in, closing it behind them. The stillness and quiet were like a warm blanket after the wind’s fury. Charlie took only a moment to savor the peace before scuttling to the bathroom. When she emerged, fluorescent bulbs sputtered overhead, illuminating short aisles of chips and Wonder bread, Band-Aids and magazines. Dan stood with his back to her, fiddling with the coffee machine. Even though a warm beverage had some appeal, Charlie headed past him and liberated a Pepsi from one of the refrigerator cases. She hesitated.
“I feel weird about this. Is this stealing?”
“We’ll leave money to cover what we eat and to pay for having the door fixed,” Dan said. He turned toward her as he spoke, and she found something incredibly comforting in the breadth of his shoulders and his calm expression. “It’s an emergency. No one would begrudge us hospitality in such a situation.”
Charlie wasn’t quite as convinced about the store owner’s generosity, but she twisted the cap on the Pepsi and took a lon
g drink. “Much better,” she declared, crossing to Dan. He directed a stream of hot water into a foam cup and plunked a tea bag into it. “No coffee?”
“This is quicker.”
“It’s cold in here.”
“Heat’s turned off.”
Looking around for something to plug the hole they’d cut in the glass, Charlie found a sponge and cleaning rag in a utility closet and stuffed them in. “Better,” she muttered, still cold enough to keep her jacket zipped all the way up. “How long do you think we’ll be here?”
Shrugging, Dan wandered the aisles, idly eyeing the merchandise and sipping his tea. “A few hours at least.” He plucked something from a shelf. “Want a Hostess Fruit Pie?”
Charlie’s eyes lit up. “Cherry? I haven’t had one of those since I was a kid.” She remembered bouncing in the old truck down the dirt road leading from Grandy and Gramps’s farm in rural Washington to Emerson’s General Store on a Saturday afternoon and being allowed to pick out one treat. She’d usually gone for a cherry fruit pie, although she liked Ding-Dongs, too. Her Gramps would stand there, shaking his head, a faint smile on his lips, unable to understand how she could want the processed pie when Grandy’s pies were justly famed across three counties.
Quickly peeling off the wrapper, she sank her teeth into the still-familiar pastry that was too thick and too sugar-crusted and felt the too-sweet cherry goo ooze into her mouth. “Oh, yum,” she said, closing her eyes.
Dan laughed and opened a container of beef jerky. There were no chairs, so they settled with their backs against the counter that supported the coffee machine since it was the farthest away from the refrigerator cases and the doors. They sat with shoulders touching, knees drawn up, and munched in silence for a few minutes, listening to the wind whip at the building. Water drip-dripped from the hot water spout into the spillover tray. The warmth and the food were enough to make Charlie drowsy.
“I could use a nap.”
Dan patted his shoulder. “I’ve been told I make a good pillow.”
“Really? Who told you that?” Charlie studied his craggy face with interest, suddenly feeling less sleepy.
Dan hesitated only a moment. “My wife.”
Charlie stifled the urge to screech, “Your what?” sensing that Dan’s confidence marked a turning point in their relationship. “I didn’t know you were married,” she said after a moment.
“No reason you should,” Dan said, sliding her a sideways look.
“In a galaxy far, far away,” Charlie murmured, letting her eyelids sink to half-mast. Who knew slogging through knee-deep snow in a blizzard was so exhausting? Her head drifted toward Dan’s shoulder. “What was she like?”
“Passionate,” Dan said, his voice level and impersonal, “about all sorts of things, about life. Kind. Loved animals and children.”
“Do you—?”
“No.”
Charlie couldn’t tell if he was sorry about not having kids or not. “I was married once, too,” she offered. “His name was Brad. He was a fighter pilot through and through: brash, brave, a touch arrogant. We got married as young lieutenants. It lasted a little over two years, until each of us figured out we didn’t really want brash, brave, and a touch arrogant in our partners.”
Dan chuckled, his shoulder shaking under Charlie’s head.
“Why did you split up?” she asked.
“We didn’t. Rilla died.”
Charlie sat up and stared at his profile. “Oh, Dan. I’m so sorry.”
“It was a long time ago.”
“Before you were a priest?”
“Long before.” He turned to look at her, his eyes their usual serene blue, his face disturbingly close. “It seems like another lifetime.”
Charlie felt flustered by the intensity of his gaze, off balance. She wanted to ask what he’d done before becoming a priest, how Rilla died, whether he’d had any serious relationships since, but something about the intimacy of being snowed in, of their enforced togetherness, made her wary of inviting more revelations. “That fruit pie made me thirsty,” she said, getting up awkwardly and stamping a foot that had fallen asleep. “I need some water.”
“Get me one, too, while you’re up.”
“Sure.” With a lurching gait, wincing at the prickles in her foot, she headed for one of the refrigerator cases. When she was halfway there, a door at the rear of the store burst open, letting in a blast of wind, a drift of snow, and a man with a shotgun.
30
“Aaah! Eee-yow!” I ran screaming from the bathroom, looking for something, anything to use as a weapon. My slippers made me clumsy, and I stumbled into the Ping-Pong table. Grabbing a paddle, I looked around for the phone. The kids rarely put it back on its base, and it wasn’t there now. Could I make it to the stairs?
A man’s figure, arms upraised, came out of the hall. “Don’t—” he started.
Nolan danced between us, barking furiously. “Bite him, Nolie,” I yelled, swinging the Ping-Pong paddle in what I hoped was a threatening way. I wished I had a baseball bat or, better yet, my gun, which Charlie insisted on keeping locked in the office safe. Even my Taser would give me a better chance, but Charlie had insisted on locking that up, too, after I tased her by accident. I couldn’t believe a little electrocution made her so testy.
“Gigi.”
I screamed again.
“For God’s sake, Gigi, stop that screeching. And shut that dog up. Jesus!”
It dawned on me that the intruder hadn’t moved and that he was saying my name. I lowered the paddle. “Les?”
He stepped into the light. “Of course it’s me,” he said irritably.
Of course? Where did he get off thinking he could just sneak into my house? I asked him that, my voice scratchy from screaming.
“It used to be my house, too, Gigi,” he said. “Remember? I paid for it. I’ve still got my keys.”
“Well, it’s mine now, and you have no business sneaking around in the basement, scaring me to death. What are you doing here, anyway?”
“I need a place to stay,” he said. When he stood under one of the track lights, I could see his face was grayish, and dark circles even my Stila concealer wouldn’t have hidden made his eyes look sunken. His shirt was untucked, hanging over his paunch. He looked much worse than when I’d caught up with him in Aspen. I stomped on a spurt of sympathy.
“Not here. Kendall and Dexter—”
“The kids don’t have to know,” he said quickly. “I’ll stay down here. It’s only for a day or two, until I can get hold of some cash and get out of Colorado. Someone’s after me, Gigi.” He looked out the window as if a serial killer with an ax might be crouched in our garden.
I leaned sideways and let down the blinds. You never know. “No.” I put enough force into my voice that Nolan growled. “You can’t move back in here. It will confuse the kids.” It would confuse me, too, but I didn’t say that.
“I’m not talking about moving in! I’m talking about camping out for a couple of days. Do you have to make a federal case out of everything? In case you haven’t noticed, there’s a goddamn blizzard raging out there. Do you want your children’s father to freeze to death?”
I bit my lip. I didn’t want Les staying here, but I could hardly kick him out into a blizzard. “Well, I guess … for one night…”
He smiled, and some of the old confidence returned to his face. “That’s my Gigi.” He moved toward me, arms open wide. “Hey, we had fun the other night in Aspen, didn’t we? Got the old fires going again pretty good. Since the kids aren’t here, maybe we could—”
I smacked him across the face with the Ping-Pong paddle. The force of it tingled up my arms. It felt good.
He jumped back, his hand going to his face. “Ow! What’d you do that for?”
“For thinking you can waltz back in here and I’ll fall into your arms.”
“Well, that’s what happened in Aspen.” He waggled his eyebrows suggestively. “You haven’t been getting an
y, have you? C’mon, babe, we always had great chemistry—”
Heat surged through me, and I knew it wasn’t a hot flash; it was anger. I was mad, mad, mad at Les Goldman for the way he’d treated me. I lunged toward him, swinging the paddle, and connected with his ear. I hadn’t known how much anger was bottled up inside me, but now it burst out like floodwaters punching through a levee. Before he could move, I struck again, whapping the tip of his nose, and then a fourth time, getting the bald spot on top of his head as he ducked. “Hi-yaa!” I think I yelled like they do in those martial arts movies. That felt good, too.
Les backed up, arms covering his face. “Okay, okay, I get it: no nookie.”
I glared at him, pffing a lock of hair off my forehead with an upward breath. Now that I’d gotten it out of my system, I felt lighter, freer. I wished Albertine could have been here to see me get my mad on. “You are lower than a slug’s belly, Les Goldman,” I told him. “You cheated on me with Heather-Anne, and then you cheated on her with me. I’m going upstairs to change. You’d better be here when I get back. Then we’re going to talk, and you’re going to tell me everything you know about Heather-Anne’s death and—”
I stopped because he didn’t seem to be paying attention. His brow crinkled and he tilted his head up, sniffing. “What’s that? Smells like fire.”
I sniffed, too, and noticed Nolan doing the same. It came to me in a flash. “My pizza!”
I dashed upstairs and burst into the kitchen in time to see smoke escaping from around the oven door. Would it be smarter to open the door and fling some water in, or keep it closed and hope the fire didn’t spread? My eyes watering from the smoke, I fanned it away from my face and was reaching to turn the oven off when the smoke detectors began to shrill. Nolan, who had followed me up, started yapping fit to beat the band, and the din gave me a headache. Flinging open a couple of windows, I dragged a kitchen chair over and climbed on it, reaching up to shut down the smoke alarm. I punched buttons randomly but couldn’t get the thing to stop. My arms ached and I felt tottery on the chair and I had had enough. I ripped the detector off the ceiling and slammed it onto the tile floor. The battery bounced out and the alarm gave one last chirp and died. The silence was heavenly, but I ruined it by slumping onto the chair and breaking into tears.
3 Swift Run Page 18
