Silent Night (12 page)

M
AIN
S
TREET WAS
crowded with people taking part in the events in the beautiful park surrounding City Hall. Lisa didn’t slow until Peggy Jo’s flickering café lights appeared behind a carriage passing down the adjoining side street.

“Since you’re paying for the meal, you should know there’s nothing to talk about,” Miranda said. “Not where your chief and I are concerned.”

“I don’t know all the details yet, but from what little I’ve been able to pull out of Tuck, I know you won’t be packing up to head home anytime soon.” Lisa smiled. “Might as well make a friend while you’re here.” She pulled open the diner door and ushered Miranda inside. “Grab a booth. I need to powder my nose.”

She left Miranda feeling slightly dizzy in the crowd of people milling to and from the counter, sloshing beers onto the floor as they went. Elvis Presley sang a muffled version of “Blue Christmas” somewhere near the restrooms where Lisa’s golden ponytail disappeared down a small hall. Miranda scanned the crowd in search of an empty table. A khaki Stetson caught her eye. She stepped to the side for a better glimpse, half hopeful the owner was Tucker even though she knew he wasn’t likely to venture out again tonight.

It wasn’t.

She didn’t have time to digest why she was so disappointed by that observation before Lisa returned and had her by the arm again, leading her toward a booth in the back. They were seated and had menus in front of them before they could even remove their jackets. Miranda glanced again at the khaki Stetson’s owner, as though maybe his face had changed in the last sixty seconds. She recognized him from the crime scene, but couldn’t remember his name.

Lisa reached for a napkin and sprinkled some salt on it. When she caught Miranda watching her, she smiled. “Keeps the napkin from sticking to the sweaty glass.” She turned her attention to the man in the Stetson. “Cute, isn’t he? That’s Lieutenant Andy Bowen. But a word of warning: Doesn’t matter the temperature, that man’s bed never has a chance to get cold.”

He was handsome, in a pretty-boy way. Not her type at all. He gave a nod to Lisa, followed by a questioning look when he spotted Miranda. Lisa waved him over. Miranda inwardly groaned. How was she expected to find her social graces when the lieutenant was watching her like he half expected her to start stealing the silverware?

Feeling like a third wheel, she only partially listened as Lisa introduced them and Lieutenant Andy Whoever slid into the booth beside the dispatcher.

“Yeah,” he grumbled. “We’ve met. Last time I saw you, you were trying to fuck up our crime scene. No, wait, you had just broken into a church.”

Lisa cleared her throat. “Bygones, all right? We’re all just hungry.”

She smiled at Miranda and blessedly pulled the lieutenant into a conversation that had nothing to do with murder, Tucker, or Miranda. Miranda focused on her menu in hopes of keeping from being pulled into their conversation.

The pair talked to each other mostly, thank God, leaving Miranda to order and devour half her meal without feeling the need to respond with more than a grunt or a shake of her head. Whatever curiosity Lisa had about her apparently didn’t compare to the obvious torch she was carrying for Andy.

“Will you be leaving town soon?”

Miranda looked up from her plate to find Andy staring at her. He’d taken off his hat, his dark blond hair sticking up in the back making his question sound far more innocent than the glare he was shooting in her direction suggested.

She stopped chewing and swallowed, leaning back against the booth to accept whatever challenge he was throwing at her. “Soon enough.”

“Good. We don’t get much crime here. Breaking into the church . . . and that stunt you pulled out at the river . . . I think it’s better for everyone if you just keep on moving.”

“Andy Bowen, you show some manners!” Lisa smacked him across the shoulder. “Your mama wouldn’t be the least bit happy, you talking to a lady like that.”

“Ladies don’t climb ass-end through church windows in the dead of night.”

“It wasn’t ass-end,” Miranda muttered, uncomfortable by the direct animosity but refusing to cow to it. She’d dealt with enough bureaucratic assholes in her line of work to know that one sign of weakness was like blood in the water to men like them.

He mumbled something incoherent and slid out of the booth, his gaze firmly on Lisa, as though he’d already dismissed Miranda from his company. “See ya tomorrow, Lis.”

Intrigued by Lisa’s sighs, Miranda followed her gaze to watch Andy swagger from the diner. Her type or not, she had to admit, his backside was definitely sigh worthy. She turned back around. “I take it that’s not the ex?” Miranda muttered.

“Andy?” Lisa picked up her fork. “More like the one that got away. And now that I’m single, he’s gun-shy.” She took a bite of her meat loaf. “Well, that and he’s terrified of my kids. My little girl thinks she’s in love with him and my son emulates him.”

She dragged her fork through mashed potatoes, painting them with ripples of gravy. “Andy’s dad wasn’t a stick-around kind of guy and he thinks it’s genetic or something.” She smiled, but her eyes didn’t quite light up. “Let’s just say he’s relationship-phobic.”

By the time they finished their dinner, Miranda knew that Lisa was twenty-seven, had lived in Christmas her entire life, and had married her high school sweetheart, only to divorce him seven years later. Her kids were six and three and she’d worked for the police department since graduation. Now she hoped to enroll in the police academy in the spring. She thought of Tucker as her brother and had a major case of the hots for Lieutenant Andy that, to date, hadn’t been satisfied, but she wasn’t about to call it quits on him yet.

For someone who’d claimed to be curious about Miranda, Lisa had been surprisingly forthcoming with personal information and hadn’t asked much at all of her so far. But how long would her luck last?

She checked her watch. It was too early to beg off to go to bed, but maybe there was some other way to make an escape before Lisa realized she still knew as little about her dinner date as she had when they’d sat down.

Miranda wasn’t quick enough.

As the waitress cleared their dishes, Lisa leaned across the table and pinned Miranda to the booth with a demanding stare. “Okay, so I let you eat in peace. Now tell me, what’s your story? You got a family back in . . .”

Miranda toyed with her water glass, debating whether or not to fill in Lisa’s blank. As far as she knew, no one other than Tucker knew who she was or why she was here. The last thing she needed was for word to get back to Father Anatole that the perpetrator of his B and E was from the same place he’d come from. But what did it matter, really? Tucker knew, which meant the rest of the department was going to have access to all her information.

“I have a brother back in Ohio.”

“Oh yeah? You guys close?”

“Used to be. I don’t get to see him as often as I like right now.”

Lisa made a tsking noise. “My family’s meddling might drive me to drink, but I can’t imagine not seeing them every day. You two have a falling out or something?”

Miranda reached for her water and drank half of it. “Something like that.”

It wasn’t exactly a lie. Bobby had refused her visits for months. His pride was so damaged, he couldn’t even look his big sis in the eye anymore—a fact that tore her to pieces. She still sent him weekly letters, but she didn’t know if he even read them.

Lisa let out a long sigh and folded her arms over her chest. “All right, out with it. Why are you in town breaking into churches and making our boss scowl every time we bring you up?”

“Maybe it’s because I was caught wiggling ass-end through the church window?”

Lisa chuckled. “Thought it wasn’t ass-end?”

Miranda felt herself smile.

“And I’m guessing you’re not going to be any more forthcoming with
that
information?”

Exhausted, Miranda released her stress in one long exhale. “I like you. And I appreciate the meal more than you know. But I’m not real talky. I’ve already given my statement to the chief. I’d rather just leave it at that.”

Lisa’s grin faltered a bit, but only momentarily. “Well. Can’t blame a girl for trying. You want dessert?”

Relieved that Lisa seemed able to take a hint, Miranda shook her head and glanced out the frosted window while Lisa ordered herself a bowl of banana pudding with two spoons.

“It’s crazy good,” she said when the waitress disappeared, “and they give you enough to feed a family of four, so you might as well share . . .”

Miranda stopped listening. A flash of black against the white snow had captured her attention and she found herself staring at the back of a frock, her heart pounding and her body breaking into a cold sweat as she watched the man carry on a conversation with a young man at the corner crossing light. She could only see the back of his head, but she knew without doubt it was Father Anatole.

Miranda leaned closer to the glass, trying to get a clear view of the man he was with. But as she pressed her hand to the cold glass, Father Anatole turned and stared right back at her.

She was already heading for the back door as he was stalking toward the diner.

T
HE TAPE MARKED
off every square foot of Walt’s property both on this side of the river and the side where Michael Levi’s car had been found. Four-foot-by-four-foot grid patterns, covering six acres of private property in hopes of finding
anything
they might have missed during snowfall. Today was the first day when the sky was dry and the snow wasn’t fresh, and Tucker meant to take advantage of every second of it.

Bowen approached him dressed to the waist in bright yellow, waterproof fishermen’s waders. The sight of him made Tucker chuckle.

“I look like a giant condom,” Bowen growled. “I’m not looking forward to this.”

“Sorry, but I need you to lead the others in the river. Don’t trust anyone else.”

Bowen looked pleased by that, but quickly returned to his normal scowl. “We only got three nets so I’m just taking Franks and Goiter with me.”

“Big enough to scrape the bottom?”

“Better be. If that shit gets higher than my hips, I’m not going to be happy.”

“All right. Get started. Send the others to me for assignment on your way up.”

Tucker watched Andy disappear up the trail toward the men still taping off the last of the area closest to Walt’s house. The old man sat in his rocking chair on his porch, puffing on his pipe and obviously pissed off that his territory had now become police domain.

“Bear with us, Walt!” he hollered, following Andy’s trail. “We should be out of your hair by sundown.”

“Better be!”

“Tucker, wait!”

The feminine voice turned him around and stopped him dead in his tracks. Miranda. What the hell was she doing here? He marched back down the path, his temper boiling as she shut the door to her car and jogged toward him.

“What the—”

“I ran into Lisa at the coffee shop and she said you’d come here to do a grid search of the crime scene. I . . . I want to help, Tucker.”

He felt the muscle in his jaw tick and unclenched his teeth. “You’re. Not. A. Cop. Why do I feel like I’m constantly reminding you of that?”

She pointed up the hill. “You’re short on manpower. I can help.”

He didn’t want her anywhere near this damned scene. “We already have our teams.”

“Then I’ll be on yours. Please, Tucker? You told me last night that I was going about my search for the truth all wrong. Well, I’m taking your advice. This is legal. I’m a fresh set of eyes, not to mention I know better than any of those men what happened here.”

He studied her for a moment and contemplated tossing her over his shoulder and throwing her back in her car.

“I either look around with you now, or I break the law and do it later. You know I will. There’s not as much snow today. It’s the best—”

“I know it’s the best time for it, damn it. That’s why we’re here.”

Maybe he could send her to the river with Andy. Would serve her right to spend the day wet and cold.

His luck, she’d catch cold and his conscience would have him taking care of her again. No thank you. She’d burned her bridges with him and he wasn’t about to build a new one.

“If I’m with you,” she continued, “you could keep an eye on me.”

“Goddamn it.” He stormed away, hoping like hell she wouldn’t follow, but of course she did. He led her to his cruiser, opened the trunk, and handed her the ski pants he kept in there. “Put these on. May not be any snow today but the wind chill will knock you on your ass when we hit the shade. And I swear to God, if you so much as stray two inches from my side, your ass will be back in your car faster than you can say your own name. Got it?”

She grinned at him like a fool and, like an equally big fool, he felt his walls soften. Damn her to hell. She wanted to save her brother, which he admired and respected. But damned if she wasn’t the biggest pain in his ass.

“Scout’s honor.”

Like he could believe she’d ever been a Girl Scout. “Let’s go. And I mean it, Miranda—”

“Not one toe out of line.” She looked up at him from her bent position as she tugged the too-big ski pants over her jeans. She had to roll them three times to keep from tripping on them. “Thank you, Tucker. It means a lot that you’re letting me be useful.”

“Just don’t make me regret it.” He waited for her to finish zipping up, then led her to the group of cops still awaiting their assignments. “Here’s what we’re going to do . . .”

B
IG MISTAKE
. B
IG
, big mistake. Miranda was freezing, and four hours into their search, they still hadn’t found a single thing that the snow hadn’t washed away. She leaned against Tucker’s cruiser, cupping the thermos of coffee he’d given her in her cold hands. Her gloves had been worthless, too worn to protect her from the biting wind, and she wouldn’t be surprised if her fingers turned black and snapped off before she left.

The sun would go down in another four hours or so, which meant the day ahead was still long. Lunch hadn’t helped the grumbles passing between the men, and while she didn’t exactly have a fondness for Lieutenant Bowen, she couldn’t help but feel sorry for him and his soaked men. They looked utterly dismal as they huddled over the hot bowls of soup Lisa had brought them.

Tucker stepped away from them to join her and she forced a smile. No way in hell was she going to let him know how miserable
she
was. He’d barely said two words to her since they’d started as it was.

“Have I been a good girl so far?”

“Day’s not over yet, unless you’re giving in.”

“Not a chance.”

“Was afraid of that.” He jutted his chin toward the river. “We’ll be starting over there as soon as lunch is over. Don’t think that side will take more than an hour or two to comb.”

Thank God. She watched Bowen paw through a pile on the ground. “Don’t suppose they found anything in those nets? Makes sense that anything helpful might have washed into the river with the snow melt.”

“They’re digging through their catch now. Everything from shoe laces to trash in there, though. Not holding out much hope of anything obviously belonging to our victim or killer.”

At least he was talking to her now. She didn’t want him to stop. “You never know. Should I help them?”

“Think you’re going to find something obvious that they won’t see? Hoping for a rosary or something?”

She gave a one-shouldered shrug. “Again, you never know.”

“Pretty sure if they find something so blatantly out of place, they’ll let me know. You ready to get started again?”

No. She really just wanted to climb back into Bobby’s Range Rover and blast the heat. But if he was up to more, so was she. Tonight, she’d soak in a nice hot bath and sleep for a week. But for now, she was part of the team. Being useful. A new burst of energy filled her.

“Let’s go.” She set her thermos on the hood of his car and followed him past the men toward a wooden bridge that would lead them to the other side of the river.

“We found the victim’s car here,” Tucker said, gesturing to the shore. “And bits of blood there.” He pointed to a pile of rocks. “But the rest of the area still needs combing. It’s only an acre on this side, but I want to walk the road off the property as well. It leads in from a side road connected to town, and was likely our killer’s getaway path.”

“Looks well worn. This a common spot?”

“Make-out point for teens. I’ve been told they used to do it on the other side, but Walt put a stop to that. Can’t imagine he’s any more thrilled having them on this side of the river, either.”

“Maybe there were teens here making out that night? Maybe someone saw something? You haven’t released the story yet, so it’s possible someone would come forward if you did.”

“Don’t have to release a story for someone to tell me if they saw something like a murder.”

“Yeah, but they could have seen a car or something. Maybe they saw Anatole lurking about or—”

“Stop it.” The glare he shot her felt like a slap. “Stop using his name like he’s been convicted already. I have to remain objective, Miranda. I have to do my job right. I’m not discounting him, but I can’t let a killer go free because I become as obsessive as you over one suspect. Can you understand that?”

No, she couldn’t. There
was
no one else to suspect. It was Anatole. But she wouldn’t push her luck. She needed Tucker to keep letting her help with the case, and today was a small step in that direction.

“All right. If you promise to keep an open mind about Anatole, I’ll be a little quieter about him. Deal?”

He was obviously losing his patience. Instead of answering her, he turned his back on her and made his way down the river’s shore. She followed in silence, afraid anything else she might say would set them back again.

Whiskey. She was going to have whiskey while she soaked in bubbles and hot water.

She passed the pile of rocks near where he’d said they’d found the victim’s car and bent to knock them around a bit, looking for anything that looked like it didn’t belong. Something gold flashed atop the thin layer of snow that remained beneath the river rocks.

“Tucker?”

“What?”

“There’s something here.”

Even though she wore gloves, she was terrified to touch it, terrified anything she did now would contaminate whatever it was. Tucker squatted beside her and used his gloved hand to pluck the gold from the ground. It was a pendant. Scratched up and old. Not gold, as she’d thought, but rusted.

“What does it say?” she asked, shaking more from the possibility of a discovery than from the weather.

“It’s worn. Can’t read it.” He ran his thumb over the emblem covering the small square of metal. “Looks like the word
orphanage
down here at the bottom. Can you see that?”

He held it out so she could see, and indeed, it appeared he was right. As he dropped it into a baggie and sealed it, her hopes soared. Maybe today hadn’t been a total waste after all.

“Don’t do it, Miranda,” Tucker said, grabbing her hand and helping her stand.

“Don’t do what?”

“Get that look on your face that tells me you’re pinning all your hopes on this. This thing could belong to anyone. Make-out point, remember?”

And just like that, her hope deflated like a pathetic, three-day-old birthday balloon.