A VIEW TO A CHILL Read online

  * * *

  Outside, the cold just about knocked me over. Followed by the ice. I slip-slided my way to Mrs. Boyes's, glad I had bundled up. If I crashed, at least my layers would prevent the fall from hurting too much. On Mrs. Boyes's porch, I glanced in the front window, noted the empty room and the placement of the tree. The tree fueled my anger. Anger forestalled my flu symptoms. Shoving my finger into her buzzer, I rang long, then with repeated jabs.

  Nothing.

  I pounded on the door. "I know y'all are in there," I hollered, cupping my hand over my mouth and aiming my voice at the glass. "I demand to see Pearl."

  Grabbing the doorknob, I rattled it. "I've no patience for this today."

  I stomped to the steps, knelt, and lifted the poinsettia pot, looking for Mrs. Boyes's key. No key. Everyone knew Mrs. Boyes kept her key under that pot. Rage surged through me. First the tree, then the car, and now the key.

  I kicked the door with my boot and hammered with my fist. "You know that deputy who was just here? Did you see him while y'all were slinking around my yard? I'll get the law back here. I'm giving you to the count of five before I dial 9-1-1. And if you're really related to Mrs. Boyes, you'd know my uncle is sheriff."

  A light flipped on in the kitchen.

  Figured.

  A woman answered the door. Brunette with short hair.

  That I wasn't expecting.

  "Who're you?" she said.

  "You're kidding me, right?" I said. "Because I know you don't live here. You've got no business asking me who I am. Who're you?"

  "Martha Mae's niece."

  "Miss Martha Mae doesn't have a niece." I narrowed my eyes.

  She narrowed hers back. "She damn well does. It's me."

  "Then you can tell me your name. I've known Mrs. Boyes my whole life and she's never once mentioned a niece."

  "It's Krys. I'm here for Christmas."

  "Isn't that nice? Bless your heart." I scanned her slim body, looking for odd lumps that might indicate a weapon. If this were only summer. Krys wore a bulky sweater that halfway covered her jeans. No way to tell. "Krys, get out of my way. I need to talk to Pearl."

  "Who's Pearl?" she said.

  "Who's Pearl? The woman apparently taking care of Mrs. Boyes's alleged back condition. When she's supposed to be helping me get over the flu. Now if I find Pearl's caring for Miss Martha Mae, I'll mosey back home. But if something's happened to her, you're in for it."

  "Am I?" she arched a brow. She placed a hand on the frame, blocking my passage.

  "Don't mess with me," I snarled. "I'm infecting you with influenza as we speak. And it's the stomach kind. If you were smart, you'd get out of my way."

  "If you were smart, you'd go home."

  "No one's ever accused me of being a brain surgeon." I placed a hand on my hip. "But they do accuse me of being fearless." Also, foolhardy, but I wasn't going to add that. "I'm not leaving."

  "Fine." She dropped her hand from the door frame. "I'll show you where they are."

  I followed her inside. My eyes cut to the dark dining room entrance to my left then to the blinking tree pushed against the window. "Why'd you move the tree?"

  Krys shrugged and waved a hand toward the hall. "They're in the bedroom. Naturally."

  "You lead the way. Since you're the niece and all." I didn't trust her. And I didn't know where the nephew had gone.

  She rolled her eyes and strode toward the hall.

  "So, after all these years, Miss Martha Mae has a visit from her niece and a nephew." On the same day as the Forks County Savings and Loan was robbed. But I kept that part to myself. At the hall entrance, I hung back to peek into the kitchen. My eyes gravitated toward the back porch. Mrs. Boyes's star lights that had hung from the rafters now lit the floor and her trees had been knocked over. "What happened out there?"

  She glanced over her shoulder. "Wind, I suppose."

  "When'd you get here? I didn't see you earlier."

  "Got here this morning."

  "Didn't see you. Saw the nephew. Looks too old to be your brother. Where'd he go?"

  "He's out," she said, skipping the family tree.

  "Kind of surprising, since the roads are a sheet of black ice."

  Krys shrugged and pointed to the door on the far right. "They're in there."

  "Go on in," I said. "You best announce me."

  "I don't think it's necessary." She reached beneath her sweater and pulled out a pistol. "Since y'all know each other so well, no introductions are needed."

  Dammit. Of all the times to be right.

  I lifted my hands. "You held up the bank? You and the nephew?"

  "I don't believe I said any such thing." She unzipped my jacket, ran her hands down my sides, and pulled my phone from my coat pocket. "If you thought we robbed the bank, why'd you come in here? You are a stupid woman."

  Also, a sick one. I hoped she picked up a good amount of germs, patting me down. She knelt, feeling inside my boots.

  "You had something to do with the bank," I said. "Maybe you technically didn't rob it. Driver?"

  Her eyes flicked up, giving her away.

  "Left them high and dry? That's some honor among thieves. They got lucky with the weather. Otherwise, the FBI would have taken over. Now you're on the run, and you don't even have the money. You know the deputy your partners took hostage? He's mine." I gritted my teeth. "Where is he?"

  "I don't know what you're talking about." She jerked to standing and motioned with the gun. "Go. Bathroom's inside."

  I planted my feet, stared her in the eye. "If y'all hurt a hair on that deputy's head, I'll get you. All y'all. Every single last one."

  "Kind of hard to do that now isn't it?" Her brows rose with her smirk. "I heard he barreled right in that bank, just like you did this house. Got yourself in the same predicament, didn't you?"

  18 Maizie Albright

  #HarkYouHeraldAngelAndListenUp

  * * *

  I returned to the artist's house, fighting panic. The patrol car had parked there. They must have spoken to the police. Was an arrest made or not?

  At the kitchen door, a bright spotlight blinded me. Shielding my eyes, I couldn't squint past colored lights backlit by a stark, white beam. Inside the door, rows of Christmas lights stretched across the frame. Someone had positioned a lamp just behind the door to beam through the squares of glass. The glare reminded me of professional camera lighting. Bright, stark, and hot. The artist might use something similar for her portrait painting. What was she doing beaming it at the door now?

  Backing from the door, I carefully picked my way through the piles of junk and carefully stepped my way across the icy drive. More lights blared through the window and door. Old fashioned Christmas lights had been wrapped around the porch and across the entrance at knee height. Like holiday lighting for elves.

  I stepped into the grass and checked my watch. It'd been a little over an hour since I'd last talked to Casey. Someone had been busy. And now I couldn't get back in the house.

  Circling between the two houses, I glanced into the bedroom window. Christmas lights shone above a bed where it looked like someone slept. She didn't look well protected, not like the kitchen and front porch. An air conditioner unit stood under the window. Climbing on top, I reached to knock on the glass. Just before my knuckle rapped, I stopped. Some instinct caused me to focus on the window itself. I cocked my head, adjusted my focus, and spotted the thin wire stretched across the inside window frame.

  Tripwire? For an alarm?

  I hoped nothing else. As Nash often warned his more redneck clients, injury-inducing and potentially lethal booby traps were illegal. You can defend your home, but a Home Alone mousetrap isn't self-defense in the eyes of the law. If an intruder was hurt or died, the homeowner went to jail. And would likely get sued.

  It's the threat of a lawsuit that usually makes the client change their mind about buying a security system instead of creating their own.

  At the back of the house,
I hopped the fence and tiptoed across the perimeter. Someone had lined the cement slab running along the side of the house with empty cans filled with coins and nails. A landmine field of noise. Christmas lights hung in tight rows in the back windows. Barricading the windows with lighting.

  Their safety measures looked festive. In fact, the house had gone from Grinch cave to Whoville home in one evening.

  Whether it would deter Jay or Krystal from a break-in, I wasn't sure. Maybe they'd already been arrested. It was the season of hope. Although finding "Home Alone meets Whoville" next door didn't give me much comfort.

  Anyway, it looked like visitors weren't welcomed at the artist's house.

  I jogged toward Martha Mae's house. Hoarse shouting and pounding stopped me. I listened to the rising anger. A new voice. A woman's. But the strength of her fury didn't match the strength of her voice. Hurrying toward the corner of the house, I crouched, then poked my head around the corner.

  A girl — or tiny woman, hard to tell by her size and the amount of clothing she had on — pounded and kicked Martha Mae's door.

  Pulling back, I leaned my head against the house and stared at the moonless sky. Now what? New people kept popping up in my simple case to retrieve a bank-robbing, cop-kidnapping granddaughter (unless she'd become a nun). I held my face in my mittened hands and sighed. My breath warmed my face for a few seconds. Dropping my hands, my skin turned damp, cold, and miserable.

  Just like my day. And now, night.

  The light in the Christmas tree window grew brighter. The pounding stopped. Followed by the clicks and squeaks of a door unlocking and opening.

  I peeked. The tiny woman entered the house. The woman who could be Krystal had let her in.

  Sucktastic. Another body for the garden hole of doom.

  I had lost my Christmas hope. Where was my Hallmark Channel angel when I needed one?

  19 Cherry Tucker

  Krys didn't know this wasn't my first time to be duct-taped. First time to share that experience with Pearl and my neighbor, though. Not that I enjoyed being duct-taped. In previous escapades, I'd been hogtied in various degrees by an assortment of nefarious characters. Criminals loved duct tape. And that was the sort of luck I ran. Maybe more due to my nature than luck, but that was neither here nor there.

  The fact was, it took more than duct tape to get this artist down.

  Not only had Pearl's ankles, wrists, and mouth been taped, she'd also been strapped to Martha Mae's toilet seat. Seeing me, Pearl's ruddy complexion had paled.

  "Casey's safe," I'd said. "I know everything. The police are aware of the situation. It's all under control."

  Pearl's eyes told me she knew a fibber when she saw one.

  "Time for you to shut your mouth." Krys ripped off a piece of tape and slapped it over my mouth. "The police aren't aware of anything. I talked to them myself."

  Lord, I thought. Jake Fells didn't know Pearl. Kind of surprising, since Pearl's mouth was bigger than mine. Why didn't Uncle Will send an older deputy over? One who actually knew citizens? And could spot a liar?

  Mrs. Boyes lay in the bathtub — also taped — with an ugly welt around her neck and another on her forehead. Her skin was pasty, and eyes closed. Unconscious. And if she didn't have a bad back now, she'd have one later, lying in a heap in a cold bathtub.

  That sumbitch Santa. Strangled this sweet woman who couldn't bake worth a darn but gave out cookies and fruitcake every Christmas all the same.

  I thought I might explode with anger. Heat poured off me, making my skin sticky and hair slick.

  Out of places to stash bodies in the master bath, Krys forced me to sit on the sink. Threw my coat and winter accessories in a corner. She taped my wrists before taping them to the underside of the sink faucet. Pulled off my boots to tape my ankles together. Unfortunately, found the pocketknife I'd slipped in my boot, too. Ran tape back and forth over my thighs until I was attached to the single sink counter.

  I'll tell you one thing, sitting in a sink basin is not comfortable in the least. But thank you, Lord, for giving me a skinny derriere despite my previous feelings on that subject.

  "Try anything," said Krys, "And I'll shoot your grandma. You see the woman in the tub? That's what happens when you piss me off."

  Pearl's eyes widened. She turned toward me, blinking rapidly.

  I couldn't retort with the tape over my mouth, but I mentally flung a few well-chosen words at Krys. Waited until she closed the door and began working my wrists and ankles. All I needed was to jerk up and away. Or find a sharp corner to rub the tape against. However, I hadn't been taped to a faucet in my earlier duct tape experiences. Leaning back, I wiggled an elbow and succeeded in turning on the water, drenching the seat of my pants. Took another minute to knock the water off.

  I was no longer hot.

  Pearl snorted. Glad she still had a sense of humor. Still, I cut my eyes at her and gave her a good eye roll. She motioned with her chin at the cabinet behind me.

  I scooted sideways as best I could, and after a series of misses, my right elbow bumped the bottom of the mirror. The magnet unlatched. I bent over my legs, my arms straining behind me. Leaned right and jerked up, smacking the mirror. Feeling like my arms might pull from their sockets, I flattened over my legs. The mirror swung open thirty degrees, brushing the top of my back. I nudged it farther with my right shoulder. Leaning sideways as far as possible, I pulled up behind the mirror.

  I cranked my neck to see behind me. Rows of medication, ointments, powders, and lotions. I turned to see the other side. Barber scissors, nail files, manicure scissors, and other helpful items stood in a small plastic cup.

  Jackpot.

  I scooted back, then turned, knocking my shoulder into the shelf. Pill bottles rained over me. The plastic cup fell, spilling its contents on the sink, then rolled to the floor. Behind the open mirror, I couldn't see Pearl. I hoped she was mentally congratulating me on retrieving various cutting instruments.

  Of course, I had no way of picking them up.

  Round two.

  I wiggled inside my wet jeans. The duct tape strap was stuck to my jeans, but I could move my thighs beneath them. Couldn't pull up my knees, though. I sucked in my stomach and backed into the faucet. Pinched my fingers. Twisted right and left. Working my fingers down the back of my pants, I pushed at the waistband. Water dripped down my back. Chills wracked my body, but I ignored them. Slowly I pulled down the jeans. Twisted and wriggled. For once the flu worked in my favor. I'd already lost weight. My jeans were loose, and my hips slipped free.

  If Luke ever complained about my lack of booty, I'd use this as an example of a benefit.

  Oh Lord, Luke.

  The pit closed around me. Tears welled. Snot pooled in my nose. I sniffed it back.

  Come on, Cherry. This is not a time to lose focus. Tuckers don’t cry, we get even. Breathe. Remember Pearl and Mrs. Boyes are still here. Casey's next door with the lunatic nephew running around and the movie star PI is nowhere to be found.

  My back scraped against the faucet. My fingers clawed at the denim. My shoulders hit the cabinet shelving. More bottles and tubes flew, showering the sink and floor. My hips lifted above the faucet. I had to lean back, using the cabinet to carry my weight. My thighs slid free, and a moment later, my feet climbed into the sink.

  I twisted hard, trying to rip the tape on the faucet. Worked my wrists back and forth, loosening and rolling the tape. The cool air bit into my bare legs. Chills ran up my back, and sweat poured off my temples. Too intent to stop, I ignored the pain in my shoulders and arms. The rolled band of tape reached the apex of the faucet's curve and slid off in a series of jerks.

  For a moment, I breathed in short puffs, then wiggled my hips through the circle of my arms. Brought them round, turned, and found the scissors. Poked them through the tape in my feet until I could rip them apart. Then scrambled out of the sink. And fell on the floor.

  With my wrists still bound, I used my fingers to pull off the tape
from my mouth.

  Gasping, I looked up at Pearl. "How's that?"

  Her eyebrows shot up, then lowered. She nodded toward her taped hands.

  "I need you to hold the scissors as tight as you can, so I can rip the tape on my hands first."

  Pearl shrugged.

  I shoved the scissors between her fingers. She squeezed. I pushed my duct tape binds against the blades, sawing. She dropped the scissors. We tried again.

  I didn't want to worry Pearl, but my energy level was in serious trouble. If I were a video game, it'd be flashing red. The inside of my head felt like an ocean breaking on a shore. Black dots danced before my eyes. The room spun.

  The scissor blade pierced the tape. I ripped my wrists apart. Dropping to all fours, I ducked my head and panted. Above me, Pearl wiggled and grunted. Tried to kick me with her taped ankles.

  "Just a tic," I said. "Give me a second or I'm going to lose all the Gatorade you made me drink."

  Pearl stomped her feet. I cranked my head. She was staring at the door and grunting.

  Someone was in the bedroom.

  My wet pants were still taped to the sink. The cabinet mirror hung open. Miss Martha Mae's toiletries and medicines littered the floor.

  Pants-less, I crawled across the floor. Rose to shaky knees and locked the bathroom door. Leaned my back against the door.

  "One minute," I said to Pearl. And passed out.

  20 Maizie Albright

  #DoYouHearWhatIHear #YouDon’tWantToHearWhatIHear

  * * *

  Soon after the tiny, angry woman entered Martha Mae's home — If the day had gone differently, I might guess her to be an overlarge elf. Her coat had a deer head silhouette painted on the back. Ornaments hung from his antlers. — Jay exited.

  After trying Nash unsuccessfully, I hung up. My finger had pressed the numbers nine and one when the sound of a door closing sent shivers down my spine. After the last burst of noise, the eerie snick sounded foreboding. I snapped the phone shut and clutched it. From my squat against the side of the house, I peered around the corner.