Keeping Christmas

by B. J Daniels

  “I’ll let you know when I come up with something,” Chance said and snapped the phone shut.

  Back in the café, he kept an eye on the four-way stop, hoping he was right about Dixie. Of course, that brought up the question of why she was zigzagging across the state, why she was headed his way in the first place. If she even was.

  All he could guess was that Dixie Bonner liked to play games—just like her father.

  As Chance waited for his breakfast, he dumped the contents of the manila envelope Beauregard Bonner had given him out onto the table. Last night he’d looked at the credit card report, convinced like the police and FBI that Dixie was anything but the victim of a kidnapping.

  Disgusted, he hadn’t even bothered to see what else Bonner had provided him. But this morning, as the contents of the envelope spilled onto the table, a photograph fell out and he recalled that Bonner had said all he had was an older photo of Dixie.

  It was a three-by-five, shot by a professional in a studio, and appeared to be Dixie Bonner’s high school graduation photo.

  Strange, Bonner didn’t have a more recent photo of his youngest daughter. Not a snapshot taken at some birthday party, Christmas or family get-together. Chance wondered if that didn’t say a lot about the Bonners and what had been going on with that family since he’d left Texas.

  He stared at the young woman in the photo. Pixielike, her hair was cropped short and dyed a glaring hot pink. At the center of thick black eyeliner were two twinkling blue eyes that radiated a mischief he remembered only too well. Dixie had always been cute. The cheekbones were high and maybe her best feature. Her lips were full and turned up in a devilish grin. A hellion. Just as her father had described her.

  Chance chuckled to himself thinking Dixie probably was Beauregard Bonner’s comeuppance. Maybe there was justice on earth after all.

  “REBECCA? Rebecca.”

  Rebecca Bonner blinked.

  “You haven’t heard a word I’ve said,” Pookie snapped irritably. They were having lunch at Rebecca’s favorite restaurant. She’d hoped that lunch with her friend would improve her mood. So far it had been having the opposite effect.

  “What is going on with you today?” Pookie demanded.

  Rebecca shook her head, realizing this had been a mistake. She should have gone shopping instead, bought something outrageously expensive and skipped lunch. “I think I might be coming down with something.”

  Pookie did an eye-roll. “What is really bothering you? Is it the kids?”

  It wasn’t the kids. Not that Rebecca had really wanted children in the first place. It was just something you did. Like the big house, the expensive car, the clothes and the husband.

  She’d had a nanny from even before she brought Linsey home from the hospital. She gave the kids little thought except when they were screaming like this morning and she had so much on her mind.

  “It’s not the kids.”

  Pookie lifted one perfectly shaped brow. “What’s the bastard done now?”

  “It’s not Oliver, either.” She sipped her strawberry daiquiri.

  “Of course it is.”

  “Have you heard something?” Rebecca asked, her heart starting to pound. Pookie often knew things almost before they happened. That was one reason Rebecca had called her for lunch today. If there was a rumor going around, Rebecca wanted to be the first to hear about it and make sure it got nipped in the bud quickly.

  “I haven’t heard a thing.” Pookie held up three fingers. As if she was ever a Girl Scout. “And I can’t believe I wouldn’t have heard.”

  Rebecca was counting on that. “You’d tell me at once if you did.”

  “Of course.” Pookie looked worried. “Why, have you heard something about Adam?” Adam was her friend’s husband. A balding, pot-bellied, thirtysomething attorney at a top agency in the city who kept Pookie in a style even better than she’d been accustomed to—which said a lot given that Pookie was born to Houston society.

  “Come on, what’s going on with you?” Pookie asked, leaning toward her, grinning. “Give. Who is he?”

  Rebecca shook her head and tried to wave away Pookie’s protests. Pookie would be surprised if Rebecca told her that she hadn’t been with a man other than her husband in months. Her friend went through a lot of men and thought everyone else did, too.

  “Come on. You and I have never kept secrets.”

  Rebecca thought how naive Pookie was. Everyone kept secrets. Even from their best friends if they were smart.

  “I told you about my pilates instructor.” Pookie pretended to pout.

  “There isn’t anyone,” she said, feeling even worse. Not even Oliver. Except for that one night. He’d acted so strangely that night. She brushed the memory away, hating to remember his attempts at lovemaking. They’d never made love that she could recall. Intimacy at their house was more like a corporate takeover.

  “Oliver’s been acting…strange,” Rebecca confided, seeing no harm in the obvious.

  Pookie lifted a brow as if to ask how she could tell. “Well, if it isn’t another woman…”

  “He’s involved in some kind of deal at work. I’m sure that’s all it is. He has this thing about winning.” That, she knew, was his form of orgasmic release. He had never seemed that interested in sex. Or maybe it was just her he wasn’t interested in.

  Pookie narrowed her eyes, studying her. “There isn’t a man? Come on, I saw that look in your eye.”

  Rebecca groaned, knowing her friend would keep after her until she gave her something. “I was thinking about Chance Walker,” she said, and braced herself for her friend’s reaction.

  WHEN HIS FOOD arrived—his usual—a slab of bone-in ham, two eggs over easy, hash browns and whole-wheat toast with blackberry jam, Chance placed the picture next to his plate, studying it periodically as he ate.

  If he was right and the photograph was taken eleven years ago, who knew how much Dixie Bonner had changed. She was probably more outrageous than ever.

  He shook his head as he thought about the kid he’d known. Would he even recognize her now?

  “Girlfriend?” the waitress asked, moving for a better look at the photo.

  “Not hardly. Actually, it’s a case I’m working on. Any chance you’ve seen her? She’d be eleven years older than when this was taken.”

  Lydia, an older, stocky woman, shook her head. “Sorry. And believe me I would have remembered the hair if it was still that color.”

  “I have a feeling this one has tried it all,” he said, looking at Dixie’s photo.

  “You sound like you know her.”

  “Used to, when she was twelve,” he said with an amused shake of his head. “She was hell on wheels back then. I just assumed she would grow up and be more like her sister.”

  Lydia raised a brow.

  “I dated her older sister.” It surprised him the regret he heard in his voice. Not that he hadn’t married Rebecca. Just that things had ended so badly.

  “First love?”

  “I guess it was. She went away to college back east and met someone…” Someone more appropriate. “I hear she has three kids now and her husband is a hotshot attorney in Houston.”

  Lydia put a hand on his shoulder. “Honey, something tells me you are better off without her.”

  Chance laughed. “I have no doubt about that.”

  “Want the rest of that ham wrapped up for Beauregard?” she asked as she cleared his table.

  “Please.” He put everything back in the manila envelope, including Dixie’s picture, finished his coffee and took the envelope and foil-wrapped ham out to the pickup.

  Beauregard devoured the ham in one bite and waited for more as Chance started the pickup. “Sorry, bud, that’s it until dinner.”

  Taking out the map of Montana, he stared at the jagged line he’d drawn on it last night as he’d traced Dixie Bonner’s route.

  Dixie hadn’t come to him, so that meant he’d have to go to her. If he was right, there was a
definite pattern to her movements. She was headed his way. All he could figure was that she didn’t want anyone to know it.

  Chance found that pretty humorous since someone obviously knew and had gone to some trouble to break into his office to take his answering machine tape. He wondered what message she’d left and why it was important to whoever was apparently looking for her.

  He planned to ask her when he saw her.

  There was also the remote possibility that she really had been kidnapped, that the kidnapper had foolishly left eight messages on his machine. But that brought up the question of why call him? Also, what kidnapper would leave eight messages on his machine?

  He figured no matter what was going on, Dixie wouldn’t have left her location or where she was headed on his answering machine. And neither would her kidnappers.

  Chance swore and headed down the lake and eventually into town, figuring she should be here today if she continued her traveling pattern. The day was brilliant, the sky a deep blue, the mountains glistening white, the sun blinding overhead.

  He glanced in his rearview mirror and saw a light-colored panel van pull out behind him.

  “YOU WERE THINKING about Chance Walker?” Pookie cried, then ducked her head as several of the nearby diners frowned over at her. “Why?” she asked in a hushed whisper. “It wasn’t like you were ever serious about him. Marrying him would have been social suicide.”

  Rebecca nodded. All true. She hadn’t even considered marrying Chance. But what she hadn’t told Pookie was that she’d thought he would stay around Houston. She would have had an affair with him in a heartbeat.

  She’d never dreamed Chance would go to Montana to work for the summer and not return to Texas. One of the secrets she’d never told Pookie was about the breakup. Pookie had always assumed that Rebecca had broken it off with Chance because she’d met Oliver and he was the better catch hands down.

  What Pookie didn’t know and never would was that Chance had been the one to break off their relationship. He’d figured out that she’d never planned to marry him. Oliver knew she’d been dumped and had never let her forget it. The bastard.

  So even if Chance had stayed around Houston, she doubted he would have been up for an affair. Just the thought made her angry and upset.

  And now her sister was in Montana.

  With Chance?

  The thought killed her appetite.

  “Why are you even thinking about Chance at this late date?” Pookie demanded quietly.

  “I wasn’t. It’s just that I think Daddy is in Montana and it made me think of Chance.” At least she assumed that was the “son of a bitch” Oliver had been referring to, and Oliver had said something about Dixie.

  Pookie started to say something, then stopped as she looked past Rebecca and smiled. “Well, he’s not in Montana anymore,” she said under her breath as Rebecca heard someone approach the table from behind her.

  IN HIS REARVIEW mirror Chance watched the van coming up the road behind him. The two-lane highway ran along the lake, over the dam, then headed south to Townsend where his office was located. This time of year, the road got little traffic with most of the places on the lake closed up for the winter.

  Chance slowed to give the driver of the van the opportunity to pass. The van slowed, as well, staying right with him, and confirming his suspicions.

  As the road began to snake around the north end of the lake, Chance sped up. The van sped up, too, the driver doing his best to stay with him, even taking some dangerous curves too fast, leaving little doubt that the driver was determined not to lose him.

  Fortunately this morning there was no other traffic on the road. As Chance came around a corner with a nice wide deep ditch on each side, he braked, coming to a stop, blocking both lanes.

  The van came flying around the corner. The driver hit his brakes but clearly realized there was no way he could stop on the snow-packed road and aimed the van for the ditch.

  Chance pulled his pickup over to the side of the road and, taking the shotgun from the rack behind the pickup seat, jumped out to bound down into the snowy ditch to jerk open the driver’s side door.

  He shoved the shotgun in the man’s face. “Why the hell are you following me?”

  “Easy,” the man cried, throwing his hands up. “I’m a private eye. Just like you.”

  Chance swore at the man’s thick Texas drawl. “Who the hell are you?”

  “Let me reach into my jacket…”

  “No way.” Chance reached in and withdrew the man’s wallet—and a 9 mm pistol. He chucked the pistol over the top of the van where it disappeared in the deep snow. The wallet he flipped open to the man’s ID. J. B. Jamison, Private Investigator, Houston Texas.

  “Who hired you?” Chance asked as he tossed the wallet into the back of the empty van. Not that he didn’t already know the answer.

  “Bonner. Beauregard Bonner.”

  “What the hell did he hire you to do?” Chance demanded. “Follow me?”

  “Find his daughter and take her back to Texas.”

  Chance was still pointing the shotgun at the man. “And that has what to do with me?”

  “Bonner told us she might contact you.”

  So that was it. Beauregard was covering his bets. Setting Chance up because he thought Dixie would come to him. But lacking faith that Chance could get Dixie back to Texas. Now why was that?

  “So you broke into my office and stole my answering machine tape,” Chance accused.

  The man looked genuinely surprised. “No. I was just tailing you, hoping you’d lead me to Ms. Bonner. That’s all.”

  “Roll up your pant legs,” Chance ordered. “Whoever broke into my office scraped his leg on my desk.”

  Jamison didn’t look happy about it, but he pulled up one pant leg, then the other. No sign he’d been the one to get hung up on the desk.

  “Get out.”

  Jamison looked out at the deep snow, then at Chance and the shotgun. “I didn’t break into your office. There is no reason to—”

  “Out.” Chance stepped back so the Texas P.I. could get out of the van. The man stepped gingerly into the deep snow. He wore loafers and slacks, although he’d been smart enough to get himself a down coat.

  Chance quickly frisked the man, found no other weapon and ordered Jamison to walk out a dozen yards, through the snow and trees, from the van.

  While the man’s back was turned, Chance threw the van’s keys into the snow and searched the van.

  No answering machine tape. But what Chance did find shocked him. In the back of the van was everything a man would need to hog-tie and bind a woman to transport her back to Texas.

  He felt sick as he left J. B. Jamison cursing him to hell beside the road and drove off. That bastard Bonner hadn’t mentioned he put another P.I. on the case let alone that he’d sent the man to bring Dixie back to Texas.

  Chance’s job was to find Dixie. Period.

  Under most circumstances, Chance would have quit right there. But after what he’d seen in the back of Jamison’s van, he was afraid for Dixie Bonner and even more anxious to find her.

  Chapter Four

  Rebecca froze as she felt her father come up to her table from behind her.

  “Well, look who it is,” Pookie gushed. “My favorite man. I hope you’re planning to join us.” Pookie had the irritating habit of flirting with older men. Especially the ones with money and few had more money than Daddy. Her friend rose demurely to plant a kiss on Beauregard’s check.

  “You are a sinful woman,” Daddy said to Pookie, but clearly enjoyed the attention. “Rebecca,” he said with a nod as he stepped around to face her. She hadn’t moved, hadn’t said a word.

  She and her father rarely spoke. He never seemed to know what to say to her. He could talk for hours with Dixie. But then, Dixie was his favorite, no matter what he said. Oh, he tried to make Rebecca feel loved. That was the problem. He tried too hard, as if it didn’t come naturally the way it did with Dixie
.

  “What brings you into town?” Rebecca asked as sweetly as she could while pasting a smile on her face. “Are you meeting someone?” she added, looking around the restaurant expectantly, all the time hoping he was.

  “Samantha, honey, could you excuse us for a moment?”

  Pookie gave Rebecca a curious look. “Of course. I’ll just go powder my nose.”

  Beauregard Bonner took a seat across from his daughter and she saw that he was upset. She braced herself, afraid suddenly of what he was going to tell her.

  “Have you seen your sister?” he asked.

  She blinked, so taken off guard that she wasn’t even sure she’d heard him correctly. “I beg your pardon?”

  “Your sister. Dixie. You might remember her from last Christmas? No, that’s right, you went back east for Christmas.”

  She didn’t like his tone. “I remember my sister,” she said coldly. He always blamed her that she and Dixie weren’t closer. She was the oldest, he’d say, as if that made a difference.

  “I believe you missed Christmas, as well,” she shot back. “Jamaica, wasn’t it? What was her name? Carmella? Lupita? I lose track.”

  Her father didn’t seem to hear. He was trying to get the waiter’s attention, no doubt for a drink.

  She couldn’t care less about last Christmas. Or the one before it. They’d never been that kind of family. They might have been, if her mother had lived. But she hadn’t.

  “What has Dixie done now?” She tried to sound bored by this conversation, but her heart was pounding. What had Dixie done?

  “Have you talked to her lately?” he asked.

  She frowned. “No, Daddy, I haven’t. How about you?”

  “She’s…missing.”

  Rebecca laughed, politely of course, since they were in one of Houston’s most elite restaurants. Another reason she really didn’t want to have a discussion about her sister here, now.

  “She’s always…missing. I really don’t see what that has to do with me.” Rebecca picked up her bag from the chair next to her and started to rise. “I’m sorry, Daddy, but I really must get going. Please give my apologies to Pookie.”