Cry in the Night (13 page)

Davy kept looking in the bed of the truck behind them. “I’ve got the best outhouse ever, Mom. Me and Timmy are going to win.” He leaned over and spoke to the baby. “Are you going to root for me, Olivia?”

“I’m sure you’ll win,” Bree said, glancing into the backseat of the truck at her son and Olivia.

Kade had the outhouse strapped down to the bed. The skis they’d mounted it on used to be her favorite cross-country skis, but Kade had promised her a new pair. They’d painted it a bright red. Across the top of the door in blue paint, Davy had written MATTHEWS PRIDE. Samson rode in the back beside it and wore a smug expression.

Kade’s adoption of Dave wasn’t final yet, but the boy couldn’t wait to announce to the world that his name was Dave Matthews and had been calling himself by that name since school started.

Olivia fussed a bit, but the infant’s eyes were still closed. Davy guided her hand to her mouth, and she settled her fist there and quieted. Davy’s grin held triumph.

“You’re really good with her,” Bree said.

“She’s cool,” Davy said, watching her.

Kade parked by the open snowy field where other children gathered with their families. Bree saw outhouses painted every shade of the rainbow lining up along Main Street, which was closed to through traffic today. One particularly handsome one boasted a black-and-white checkerboard design.

“Let’s go, let’s go,” Davy chanted, bouncing up and down on the seat.

“Hold your horses,” Kade said, laughing. He pulled up his collar and jerked the flaps on his hat down over his ears and got out, then unlatched the back door. Davy leaped from the truck and ran around the back.

Bree climbed into the back, then tucked the cover around Olivia and climbed out with the infant. She recognized Kade’s boss, Gary Landorf, who wore a judge’s badge. He’d gone a little grayer since the last time she’d seen him.

Gary noticed her and moved in her direction. Kade stiffened at his boss’s approach, and Bree glanced up at him, but he said nothing.

“I might as well check you in,” Gary said. “The outhouse meets all the specs?”

“Yes,” Kade said. “Made only of wood and cardboard.” He lowered the tailgate, then leaped into the back of the truck, where he opened the outhouse door. “Got a toilet seat and a roll of toilet paper inside.”

Gary lifted the seat and grinned when a jack-in-the-box dog popped up. He marked a couple of ticks on the paper he carried on a clipboard. “Best of luck to you,” he said, touching Davy’s hair before moving on to the next entrant.

Kade scooted the outhouse to the edge of the tailgate, then leaped to the snowy ground. “I’d better wait until Donovan gets here to help get it out,” he said.

Davy began to wave. “There they are!” He ran through the crowd to Naomi and Donovan, who were approaching with the children.

“Everything okay at work?” Bree asked quickly before the O’Reilly family could reach them.

“Just the usual,” Kade said, not looking at her.

She frowned, but there was no time for more probing, because their friends had reached the truck. Timmy’s face was flushed with excitement. So was Emily’s. Even their toddler in Naomi’s arms was looking around wide-eyed and smiling. Bree smiled at Matthew, and he ducked his head into his mother’s neck.

“Let’s get this bad boy down,” Donovan said. His color was high too, and his blue eyes sparkled with excitement.

Samson jumped out of the way and came to stand beside Bree. Bree and Naomi exchanged amused glances as their husbands hauled the outhouse to the starting line. “They’re more excited than the boys,” Bree said.

Naomi shifted Matthew to the other arm. “I don’t think Donovan slept a wink last night. Which meant I didn’t get much sleep either. Hey, Timmy left his sled in your garage the last time he was there. You mind if we stop over and get it when we leave?”

“Nope, it’s unlocked. Help yourself.”

The sheriff striding through the crowd caught her attention. “Mason, over here!” she called.

He made his way to her. “I thought you’d be here somewhere,” he said. “I was watching for you.”

“Any word on Pia’s death? Or Florence’s?” Bree found she both dreaded and longed for the answer.

Mason shook his head. “I’ve talked to all their neighbors. No one saw anything.”

Bree tightened her grip on the baby carrier. “Do you think Olivia is in danger?”

Mason’s gaze bored into her. “Don’t take any chances, Bree. It’s a possibility we can’t ignore. It’s a weird situation.”

“I’ve wondered about a black-market baby ring.”

He raised his brows. “The missing babies from the res?”

She nodded and told him about finding some news stories about babies being stolen and adopted. “What if Florence cared for the babies as they were being funneled to their new parents?”

“And Pia helped?”

“That’s what I wondered.”

“I’ll see what I can find out,” he said. “Maybe you should run for sheriff in the next election cycle, Bree.”

“Not a chance.” Bree caught sight of her son, and pride filled her chest. “The race is starting.”

Ten children were lined up with five outhouses, one child on each side. Each structure had a push bar on both sides so two children could maneuver it down the snowy street. Boys and girls hopped up and down with excitement as they waited for the starting whistle.

Gary waved a flag in the air. “We’re about to get started,” he called. “Remember the rules—you’ll each have your turn and you’ll be timed. Whichever outhouse gets to the finish line fifty feet down there”—he turned and pointed to the line in the street—“in the fastest time wins the race. And the prize this year is a Newfoundland puppy. One for each racer.”

Naomi and Bree stared at one another. “Do you know how big they get?” Naomi whispered. “I hope our boys don’t win.”

“But they’re so sweet,” Bree said.

“And the size of a black bear,” Naomi said. “What were they thinking?”

Samson whined at their feet. “You’d like a new puppy, wouldn’t you, boy?” Bree asked, resting her hand on his head. “But he’d swallow you up by the time he was six months old.”

Gary gave all the entries a number. Timmy and Davy would go last. Bree nearly groaned. She wanted it over for the boys. They came to stand out of the way while the first outhouse made its run.

The two girls were off at the blare of Gary’s whistle. The girls were about twelve, but they lacked good coordination of their efforts. At one point they had the outhouse sideways on its toboggan and heading for a tree. With everyone screaming instructions, they managed to get their outhouse turned. They took nearly two minutes to reach the finish line, not nearly well enough to place. Their crestfallen faces made Bree’s heart hurt.

The next three teams did better. Two ten-year-old boys finished at just under sixteen seconds, which was going to be the time for their boys to beat. “You’re up, Davy,” Bree said. “I mean Dave,” she added when Davy sent a scowl her direction. She’d never remember.

The boys sprang to their outhouse. Their faces flushed, they wore identical expressions of determination. Davy glanced over his shoulder at his mother, and she gave him a thumbs-up. He grinned, then turned his attention back to the judge.

Gary blew the whistle. The boys strained a bit to get the outhouse moving, then it slid forward easily. Samson ran alongside, barking his encouragement, while Bree and Kade yelled at the top of their lungs. She kept an eye on the sweep of the second hand. Close, so close to winning.

Then the outhouse slid over the line at sixteen seconds on the dot. They’d barely missed beating the other boys. Bree considered it a win, since Davy and Timmy were only eight. “Great job!” she called, but Davy’s face looked dejected.

She watched Kade hoist her son onto his shoulders in triumph. Davy’s scowl changed to a cheeky grin atop Kade’s broad shoulders. Bree’s gaze lingered on her handsome husband. Was there anything more attractive than a man who shouldered a responsibility that wasn’t his?

Quinn shivered when a stream of cold air blew down his neck from his open window. He wore a dark brown wig over his short hair. He had a fake beard on as well. The leather doo-rag and jacket plus boots completed the biker look. He’d always heard it said if you want to be disguised, be blatant about it. This was about as blatant as possible.

The pavement was surprisingly clear of snow, but high piles left from the snowplows reached nearly to the eaves of the garages along the streets that he passed.

Maybe he should have stayed away, just in case, but where better to hide than in plain view among a throng of people? After being ignored after umpteen calls to his partner’s cell phone, Quinn planned a face-to-face visit in town to see what was going on.

Folks out for the Heikinpaiva Festival crowded the streets. The Finnish winter festival had always been his favorite time of year. Parka-clad spectators watched as artists created ice sculptures near the old wishing well. He saw a lifelike ice statue of a dog. It couldn’t be any dog but Samson.

Quinn parked and got out. His mouth watered at the scent of
pulla
on the cold air. Tonight there would be a Finnish smorgasbord of all kinds of delicacies. His favorite was the smoked lake trout and the
leipajuustoa
, or squeaky cheese. But he wouldn’t dare show his face to that.

He kept his gaze on the sidewalk though he wanted to gawk at the familiar sights: men lining up for the wife-carrying contest, bathers in Speedos ready for their polar bear plunge, the partygoers raising their glasses of cold
kalia
.

Someone shouted, “
Talven selka poikki!
” and pounded on his back. The words rolled off his own tongue before he realized how they might give him away as he returned the greeting that meant, “Winter’s back is broken.”

Luckily, whoever he’d just talked to hadn’t thought anything of a biker knowing Finnish. The man continued on his rolling course down the sidewalk. He’d definitely had too much
kalia
.

Quinn quickened his pace. He passed so many familiar faces, but he kept his expression impassive behind his sunglasses. As he hoped, no one gave him a second look as he blended in with other biker types. The sun turned the ice and snow into a glittering playland. The brilliant light made him glad he wore the glasses.

Ahead of him, the crowd broke, and the sun shone onto red curls under a knit cap. Quinn recognized the walk instantly. The tilt of the head, the pointed chin as she glanced up and laughed at the man who walked next to her. A young boy clung to her other hand, and his gaze focused on the boy. Alive. He still couldn’t take it in.

He realized he’d come to a stop when someone jostled him. He stepped out of the flow and around the corner away from her. His heart was pounding. If she’d turned her head to see him . . . But no, she’d never expect to see him and wouldn’t recognize him in this getup. He was safe.

Fumbling in his pocket, he couldn’t get his packet of pipe tobacco out. Swearing, he tore off his glove and drove his hand into his pocket for it. His hands shook. He grabbed a pinch, stuffed his pipe, and lit it. The first pull of the aromatic vanilla and maple Cavendish blend soothed him immediately.

The smoke curled around his head, and he leaned against the block building and surveyed the waves of humanity moving around him. Nicholls’ Finnish Imports was across the street. From here, he could look in the window at the sweaters and Finnish items for sale. This town was too familiar for his peace of mind. The coffee shop, his favorite café, the library where he’d gone for story hour.

Sweat broke out on his forehead, and nausea churned in his belly. He took one last pull on his pipe, then tapped the contents into the snow. He stepped out into the crowd again.

And came face-to-face with her. She was still laughing. That’s how he remembered her. Laughing with the joy of life. Something nudged his leg, and he looked down. Her dog pressed against his calf and whined. Samson knew Quinn.

Wheeling, Quinn ran for his truck. He hadn’t seen his partner anyway.

The scent of the pipe tobacco brought back memories. Bree inhaled it, tasting the vanilla and maple sugar. Rob had smoked that same tobacco, and she hadn’t smelled it in years. Samson nudged her leg, and she looked down. He was staring at the biker who’d been in front of her a minute ago. He whined, clearly wanting to follow the man.