A Cold Christmas (24 page)

She'd known something was going on with her mom and dad for a long time. She didn't think Mandy knew. Mandy was so busy looking at herself in the mirror and talking to her friends about going to Stanford that Jo could puke. Nothing else entered Mandy's head these days. Jo would be glad when she left. At least Jo wouldn't have to hear about it all the time.

She wished she could talk to Zach. Not that he could tell her what to do, but at least he'd be someone to be with and tell things to. She was worried about him. He was acting all spaced and weirded out.

Mrs. Wakefield lived on Cedar Street. From the end of the block, Jo could see her dad's car parked in front. What would happen if she just went right up to the door and knocked?

For one thing, her dad would be really mad at her. And what if they were—you know, in bed or something? She crossed the street and rode up on the sidewalk, then decided she wasn't the one doing anything wrong and went right out into the street just like she had every right to do. A better idea popped to mind. She pedaled to the far end of the block and left the bicycle propped against a tree trunk. Going through backyards from house to house, she got to the Wakefield house and hid in the bushes by the front porch.

The stupid bushes were dusty and had sharp things that pricked her jacket and stuck her right through the legs of her jeans. She felt cramped and cold, and she was going to sneeze. How long could she stay here? Her nose was starting to run and she couldn't find a tissue. What were they doing in there anyway? Never mind that, she wasn't sure she wanted to know.

Just when she thought she couldn't stay another second, the door opened. Scooting farther back, she pasted herself against the house. Her father and Mrs. Wakefield stood in the doorway. Over his shoulder— Jo gasped. Mrs. Wakefield's face was all purple and yellowish green. Like somebody had beat her up. Dad? No. He wouldn't do that. He wouldn't!

Jo bit her lip and crouched down as she peered through the shrubbery and watched her dad walk, slow and kind of dejected, like he was really tired or discouraged, out to his car.

When he drove away, Jo stayed where she was a little longer, just in case Mrs. Wakefield was watching out a window or something, and then set off after her bicycle.

She started pedaling. Everything was going wrong in her life. Zach was looking over his shoulder all the time like something was chasing him. Mom was all tight and snappy. Mandy was dreamy about leaving for California. Dad was unhappy all the time. She couldn't talk to Mandy or her mom and especially not her dad, but maybe she could talk to Zach.

She rode all the way to his house. When she asked for Zach his mother smiled at her. “Hi, Jo. He's up in his room. Go on up.”

He was sitting at his computer with his back to her. She came up behind him and whispered, “Hi.”

He jumped twenty feet in the air, looked like he wanted to punch her, and tapped a key on the keyboard to make what was on the screen disappear. “Don't sneak up on me,” he hissed.

“You want to go to my house and play Scream on my computer?”

“Can't. I have to go see a guy.”

“Who?”

“A guy.”

“I could come with you.”

He turned on her. “You can't.”

She took a small step back. “Why not?”

“You can't tell anybody, either.” He glared at her. “I mean it, Jo. Nobody. Not ever.” He waited to make sure she got it. “Promise?”

She didn't like this; he was acting really nuts. But she nodded. “How you going to get there?”

“Walk.”

“You're supposed to stay off your sprained ankle.”

“It's not that far.”

He prodded her ahead of him and closed the bedroom door as he came out. When they were outside, he told her he'd see her later. She got on her bike, and he took off down Hollis Street on his crutches. He'd wiped out the stuff on his computer screen pretty fast, but not so fast she hadn't seen it.

The name Porter Kane and an address.

With her bicycle, she had no trouble getting there before he did; all she had to do was be careful he didn't see her. That meant stashing her bike a block away against the side of a garage and hoofing it back to Kane's.

There wasn't much place to hide at his house. No trees or shrubbery or anything close enough to the front porch and the door so she could see. She had to settle for crouching down near the front tire on the far side of the minivan in the driveway. She had to wait forever.

Almost ten minutes passed before Zach came hobbling up on his crutches. He climbed onto the porch and knocked on the door.

Mr. Kane or somebody opened it. “What you want, kid?”

“You were out on Falcon Road.”

“Yeah, so?”

“It was you,” Zach said. “You took it.”

“Whata' you talking about?”

“You had his tobacco in your jacket pocket. I smelled it.”

“Anybody can buy tobacco.” The door started closing.

“Anybody who is at the place where a pouch of it disappears, along with a lot of money? You think the cops might like to hear about that?”

A hand grabbed Zack's arm and jerked him inside.

Jo waited.

It got dark, and still Zach didn't come back out. She didn't know what to do. She had promised him she wouldn't ever tell.

She didn't like this. Something really bad was going on.

She waited.

She pulled in a breath with a big sigh and blew it out. Maybe this guy who had Zach was the killer.

Even very much aware that Zack might hate her if she broke her promise, she had to tell somebody. If she told Zach's mom, Mrs. James would freak. Mrs. James was just that kind. If she told her own mom she'd get, I'm sure it's nothing, don't worry about it, or I'm sure it's nothing but we need to tell his mother, or we need to tell his mother right away. The first wouldn't help and the other two would take too long.

Jo breathed in and out on another sigh, got on her bike and rode to the police station. She told everything to the pretty woman police chief, except she didn't mention the name Porter Kane.

“I'm sure Zach's fine, but I'll check it out. What's the address?”

Jo made a big deal acting like she was embarrassed because she wasn't exactly sure where the house was. “But I can show you,” she said.

No way was she just going home without knowing Zach was all right.

Chief Wren got in the back of a squad car and Jo sat in the front next to a cop named Officer Demarco so she could show him where to go.

33

Zach got dragged inside and tossed on the couch. Kane backed up to an overstuffed chair and lowered his butt on it, sitting hunched over with his forearms on his knees.

“You got something to say about cops, kid?”

Ignoring his heart slamming away in his chest, Zach straightened, leaned back, and rested one hand on the couch arm. “No,” he said. “I'll never tell the cops.”

“Doesn't matter. You got no proof.”

“First off,” Zach said, “I got E-mail set to go to Baines at eight o'clock tonight. That's when the post office closes.”

“What do I care when the post office closes?”

“The E-mail says you have his money.”

Kane squinted his eyes into narrow slits.

“Cops might need proof,” Zach said, “but Baines won't. He'll come for it. If you don't hand it over, he'll hurt you so bad you'll wish you'd never seen the stuff.”

Kane leaned back, hands behind his head like he was halfway amused, but Zach could tell he was listening. “That's what you came to tell me?”

“No, sir. I came to tell you that you have to give it back.”

Kane made an explosive noise that was half snort, half barking laugh. “Assuming I stole anything, which I didn't, why would I go and do a damn fool thing like that?”

“If I get home before eight, I'll delete the message. Nobody will ever hear anything about the money. Not Baines, not the cops. If I don't get home, if something … happens to me, Baines will know at eight o'clock that you took his money.”

Kane stared at him and made a rasping sound by rubbing a knuckle over the stubble on his jaw. “How you think this giving back is supposed to work?”

“We'll take the money to the post office and send it overnight mail.”

“You think you got everything figured out, don't you?”

“Except how you knew the money was there.”

Kane's teeth appeared in a wolfish grin. “Word gets around. You need money? Ask Baines, he'll lend it to you. Fellow like that has to have it coming and going. Understand?”

“Not really,” Zach said.

“Kept an eye on the place. People comin' and goin'. Gotta be always takin' it or bringin' it back. Your dad, he was bringin' it back. And there it was, sittin' there for anybody smart enough to be in the right place at the right time.”

Kane's face got a hard feral look. “And you're thinkin' I'll give it back?”

“Yes, sir, I hope so.” Zach's heart was starting to leap around again, but this time because
it was going to work!
They'd package the money, get it to the post office, and Baines would no longer be waiting to ambush Zach and Dad wouldn't be in trouble. Everything would be just the way—

Kane's head went up, like a dog who hears something suspicious. He stood and looked out the window. “It's the cops! You lyin' little shit!”

*   *   *

Demarco started to get out of the squad car. A shotgun boomed. The windshield crazed. Screaming, Jo opened the car door, jumped out, and tore down the road.

He sprinted after her. The shotgun scattered dirt at her heels. He tackled her. They fell, his body shielding hers. Susan got on the radio and told Hazel to get all available officers at this vicinity immediately.

The shotgun boomed again.

34

Using the car door as a shield, Susan fired at the window on the side of the house where the sniper was shooting from. The shotgun thundered. Buckshot rattled along the road like sleet.

She fired back. He sent off another shot. Dirt exploded at her feet. Wind blew particles in her face like a handful of sand, filling one eye. Tears welled up, blurring her vision.

Sirens wailed. One squad car pulled in behind Demarco's and one ahead. Blue-uniformed officers spilled out, moonlight shining on eager faces. Probably everybody who wasn't out sick. They worried her. She didn't want any wild-man heroics that would get someone killed.

Spreading out across the front seat, she murmured into the car radio to keep the sniper occupied.

When the shotgun barrel appeared in the window, shots smashed into the frame and all around it. In a running crouch, she made her way to Demarco.

He lay still, one shoulder black with blood. Jo made mewling noises and struggled to get away from him. Susan touched a fingertip to the corner of his jaw. Her hands were so cold, she couldn't feel anything.

“Not dead,” he muttered.

Taking a firm grip on Jo's arm, she told him, “Ease off.”

A sharp intake of breath as he released his hold and shifted his weight. Susan pulled Jo out. Forcing the girl to stay crouched and shielding her with her own body, Susan, under the
crack crack crack
of handguns, ran Jo from the middle of the road toward the squad parked nose to nose with Demarco's.

White grabbed Jo and shoved her in. He handed Susan a Kevlar vest. “Ambulance on the way,” he said.

In three minutes, the ambulance swerved in behind the squad car. Paramedics jumped out. From the rear, they grabbed a gurney.

“Keep him busy,” Susan murmured into the radio.

Under the barrage of shots, the paramedics ran to the center of the road, dragging a gurney with a squeaky wheel. They lifted Demarco, buckled him on, and raced back, slowing only slightly when they reached the back of the ambulance. They tucked him inside and took off.

With the radio, she told Crenshaw, Marshall, and Ellis to go around to the rear. “At my signal, make a lot of noise. Break down the door if you have to.”

She told Adler and White to come with her.

“Remember,” she said into the radio, “this may be a hostage situation, so be careful what you shoot. And, guys, let's not shoot each other.”

What she wouldn't give for five experienced cops. She held the 9-mm handgun ready as she approached the porch. Heart thudding loud enough to almost cover the creak of the boards, she went up the steps, eyes on the door. Nothing happened inside the house as far as she could tell.

Motioning Adler to go to the left of the door and White to get behind her, she cautiously moved up to the right side of the door. Standing against the wall, as far back as possible, she reached out and gently tried the knob. Unlocked. She pushed it open.

As it swung in, a round hole splintered the wood, and the thunder of the shotgun made her ears pop. With the aftermath of noise crackling in her ears, she murmured “Now” into the radio.

Adrenaline kicked up, she went low through the splintered door, gun ready. She heard the noise as Crenshaw, Marshall, and Ellis came in the back. The living room was empty.

Expecting another shotgun blast, she peered around the doorjamb into a kitchen. Ceiling light on. Empty. Formica-topped table, four chrome chairs, white-painted cabinets.

When the shotgun roared again, her heart leaped into her throat. “Stay put,” she muttered to Adler, and motioned White to follow her.

Back against the wall, she eased along the hallway to a stairway leading to the basement. She took a quick glance as she ran past. She waited for the shot. When none came, she moved slowly to the open door beyond the stairway. No sound from inside. She peered around the jamb and went in fast and low, gun ready. The room was empty.

There was a closed door across from the basement stairway. She stood to one side and listened. No sound. She called, “Police. Put down your weapon! Come out with your hands on your head!”