Deadly Holidays Part 5

"You're not upset?" Frankie asked.

"No way. Why would I be? Ashley's three now. She needs a brother or sister. It's time we had another baby."

"But what about our bills?"

"What about them? Frankie, this rough patch is going to pa.s.s. Besides, I'm getting a raise starting January 1. It's already been approved."

He smiled down at her with such warmth and tenderness in his eyes, it wrapped around her like a warm blanket. "We're having a baby."

Shawn peered out the round etched window of Billy's attic, watching the cars drive by, splas.h.i.+ng icy slush onto the people who were walking down the sidewalk. He'd been sitting by the window since before dawn. He couldn't sleep. After a night of bad dreams, tossing and turning, he crawled out of the sleeping bag and pup-tent to look out the window and think.

Shawn had a nightmare about his daddy escaping from jail and finding him at the farm. His daddy's face was red as he glared at Shawn with burning, reproachful eyes.

"You betrayed me," Daddy said, as he towered over him with his big hands on his hips. "You told the secret and they locked me away. Then you testified against me, your own father."

Shawn cowered in a corner in the kitchen. There was nowhere to run, and no way to escape the hulking man standing over him. Shawn screamed as his daddy raised his arm to hit him. Shawn pushed at him and ran through the house with his father close behind, getting closer and closer.

Thankfully, he'd awakened, s.h.i.+vering and frightened, but he was okay. His daddy wasn't in the attic. He couldn't hurt him now. That was when the little boy gave up on sleep and moved to the window to look outside.

His tummy growled and he realized he was hungry. Shawn hadn't seen Billy since before Detective Blake arrived to talk with Billy's mom yesterday morning. So that meant no food. Not that he had much of an appet.i.te after Detective Blake left. He hid behind some old boxes the rest of the day, fearing that at any second, Billy's mom would come up the attic stairs and find him.

The familiar creaking of the attic door as it opened startled Shawn. He rushed to hide behind the boxes again. Soon he heard Billy whisper, "Shawn, where are you? I brought you some food."

The mention of food brought Shawn out of hiding in no time. On a tray, Billy had brought a turkey sandwich, some chips and cookies, a half-filled gla.s.s of milk and a bottle of water.

Pretending they were camping, Shawn sat next to Billy in front of the pup-tent and ate the turkey sandwich, was.h.i.+ng it down with milk.

"Sorry about yesterday," Billy began. "After Mr. Stone left, Mommy started crying and said she didn't know what she'd do if anything ever happened to me. She kept hugging me and didn't leave me alone the rest of the day."

"Where is she now?" asked Shawn.

"She's back in the bas.e.m.e.nt cleaning. I heard Daddy say he wanted to start working on the remodeling this weekend." Billy answered, as he munched on one of Shawn's cookies.

"What did Detective Blake want yesterday, Billy?"

Billy thought for a moment and then said, "He said he's trying to find you and that he's your friend. Is he your friend? Because I know you like him. That's why you picked him for the Buddy Program."

"I like Detective Blake very much. But right now, his job is to find me and make me go back home to my mommy. I can't go there because she will hurt me again." Shawn's eyes filled with tears that he wiped away with the back of his sleeve.

"But your mommy is in heaven. So she can't hurt you now," declared Billy with confidence.

Confused, Shawn asked, "What are you talking about?"

"My mommy and daddy were whispering about it at breakfast and didn't think I could hear. But I did," Billy began. "When I asked, they said that your mommy and daddy were in a car accident and now they're in heaven."

"No, Billy. You must have heard them wrong. My daddy is in jail and my mommy is at home waiting for me. She's probably mad because she doesn't know where I am. The madder she gets, the harder she hits. So I hope Detective Blake doesn't find me."

Tim had been unusually quiet all morning. A warning cloud had settled on his features, and each time Megan started a conversation, he'd ask her to repeat herself.

Waiting in the drive-thru line of Jennifer's favorite barbeque restaurant, Megan handed him a Post-It note with their daughter's order written on it. Jennifer was having a serious craving for pulled-pork barbeque and cornbread, and they'd promised pick-up and delivery.

"Is it the B&B?" she asked.

"What?"

"Does the idea of turning our home into a bed and breakfast still bother you?"

"Who said it bothered me?" he asked defensively.

"I did. I can tell it bothers you. What concerns me is that you're not talking to me about it."

Tim moved the car up to the order window and handed a young girl Jennifer's order. She rang it up Tim handed her the cash, then pulled up to the pick-up window, where he retrieved the warm paper bag filled with food and handed it to Megan.

Pulling the car back onto the highway, he headed toward his daughter's house, but soon turned into a small park by a lake and stopped the car.

Tim yanked off his seatbelt and turned toward Megan and said, "Okay, Megan. I admit it. The whole bed and breakfast idea bothers me. I mean we're talking about our home. It's not just a house. It's where we brought up Jennifer, and had more than thirty years of family dinners."

"I know," she said quietly.

"Megan, I'm not sure I'm ready to open my home up to strangers."

"I thought you agreed that turning it into a bed and breakfast would help finance our retirement."

"That's another thing that's bugging me. I'm fifty-freaking-five years old, and not even close to leaving my job as Sheriff. You know more than anyone how hard I had to work to get to where I am. Why are you so eager to turn me out to pasture?"

"Sweetheart, I never said that. I was just thinking about our future."

"Okay. Sorry I got so worked up," Tim said, as he kissed Megan on the cheek. "I love you, Meg. Always have. Always will. Any chance we can table the bed and breakfast discussion for a couple of years?"

Frankie sat in Bea Holden's formal living room, and was having a claustrophobic experience. The elaborate holiday decorations, covering every inch of the room, were closing in on her. Taking a deep breath, she lifted her wrist to check her watch, noting it had been fifteen minutes since she'd arrived and the Holden maid had told her the Mrs. would be right down. She'd seen Arthur Holden's Mercedes in the driveway, and half-expected him to pop into the room in a rage at any moment.

Finally Frankie heard high-heeled footsteps, and Mrs. Bea Holden, wearing a long, flowing red-plaid taffeta s.h.i.+rt with a black velvet top, swept into the room. An ornate necklace of pearls and diamonds circled her neck.

"Cheers!" Mrs. Holden called out, continuing her fake British accent as before. She sat on a chair near Frankie, and poured hot tea from the china teapot into a small gold teacup. She sipped daintily from the cup with her pinky finger extended, then continued, "Before we get started, I simply must thank you for a most delightful evening."

Confused, Frankie said, "I don't understand."

"It seems when my Arthur could not reach his attorney, he called me around midnight to come bail him out of jail. Of course, I told my husband I would be right there, so he'd spend a minimum amount of time in that wretched place. I hung up the receiver, then spent the next seven hours in the most blissful sleep. I finally rescued poor Arthur at nine o'clock this morning." Mrs. Holden said, her mouth quirking with humor.

"Oh," uttered Frankie.

"It was all I could do to hold back my laughter when the guard brought Arthur out, dirty, disheveled, and filled with embarra.s.sment," she said as she smiled comfortably to herself. "In the car on the way home, he tried to tell me some poppyc.o.c.k story, but now that you're here, I'm eager to hear what really happened from you." She set her teacup on the table.

"Well, it was after I'd followed him to..."

"Photos first, dear," Mrs. Holden interrupted, holding out her hand for them, wriggling her fingers.

Frankie opened her file and withdrew the dozen photographs she'd taken. Before giving them to her client, she warned, "Mrs. Holden, some of the photos here may upset you."

"Not likely," the older woman returned in a low voice with her hand outstretched. "Hand them over."

Mrs. Holden laid the stack of photos in her lap and picked up the first one, which was her husband knocking on his girlfriend's door. "Odd," she said, "I know Arthur's friends and where they live. This house wouldn't fit into one of their garages. Poker night, my a.r.s.e!"

She threw the photo on the coffee table, and then plucked the next one from the stack to view. Frankie braced herself for an explosion when she noticed this was the photo of the buxom twenty-year old love interest thrusting herself into the arms of Arthur Holden.

"Well, this explains a lot," Mrs. Holden began, as Frankie held her breath. "No wonder my husband spends so much for medical treatment for his aching back problem."

She glanced quickly at Frankie, then back at the photo. "Lovely Santa-Helper outfit, don't you think? Wonder where she got it? s.l.u.ts-R-Us?"

Frankie held back a grin, still expecting the woman to explode with rage.

Mrs. Holden threw the photo onto the table, picked up the rest of the stack and began thumbing through each one. When she came to the pictures of Frankie's beaten SUV, she stopped and stared at Frankie. "What in the world happened to your vehicle?"

"Once your husband caught me following him, he came out slugging. In this case, he used a baseball bat to destroy my SUV."

"Well, that b.a.s.t.a.r.d. What was he thinking?" Mrs. Holden arose from her chair, left the room, and returned moments later, dangling a pair of car keys from her index finger.

"Did you happen to notice the brand-new black Mercedes parked in the driveway when you arrived?" she asked with a tone that was cold and exact.

When Frankie nodded, Mrs. Holden handed her the keys.

"I purchased that car with Daddy's money not even two months ago. It's now yours. My attorney will take care of the t.i.tle transfer."

"Oh, Mrs. Holden, I can't accept..."

"But you will because you will not deny me this pleasure. Arthur loves that car, and I cannot wait to tell him it is no longer his to drive."

"I don't know what to say," said Frankie.

"You've done a wonderful joba"quick, resourceful, and effective. You've enabled me to end a mediocre marriage to a man who is about to experience a nuclear-bomb to his finances. I'm so looking forward to it." She said as she withdrew a white envelope from her pocket. "This is a check for your services. I added a bonus for Arthur's arrest and overnight stay in jail. Good show, my dear."

In the Mercedes, which Mrs. Holden insisted she drive home, Frankie turned on the ignition for some heat, then opened the envelope to slide out the check inside. It was written out for three times the amount on the invoice that was still in Frankie's briefcase. She stared, tongue-tied and amazed, until finally tears clouded her eyes and ran down her cheeks and neck.

Slowly she slipped the gear into drive. Once on the road, Frankie pulled her cell phone out of her purse to punch her husband's number.

"Hi, baby. Can you meet me at home in thirty minutes? I have something to show you. We have some celebrating to do, and I know just how I want to do it."

While Jennifer and her mom set gla.s.ses, plates and utensils on the dining room table, Tim glanced at Jennifer's open laptop. Before they arrived with the food, she'd been looking at a local news web page. In the center of the page was Shawn Isaac's elementary school photo, which was a haunting reminder that he hadn't been found.

Tim had been to his office earlier that day to attend the daily briefing Lane gave the deputies before they started their s.h.i.+ft. Many of them looked down when Lane announced Shawn had not been found. The officers who had children were really taking it hard. After all, it could have been one of their own.

Tim's mind wandered back to five years earlier, when Jennifer had been missing. He'd gone through a special kind of h.e.l.l before she was found. There wasn't a day that went by that he didn't thank G.o.d for her return.

Megan called him to the table, and the three sat around Jennifer's dining room table, eating barbeque, pulled-pork sandwiches, baked beans, coleslaw and cornbread.

Jennifer eyed her parents and said, "It looks like you'll be gaining two grandchildren soon."

"I'll be d.a.m.ned," said Tim, his eyes glowing with enjoyment. "So you are carrying twins? I knew it!"

Jennifer's face split into a wide grin. "No, Dad, I'm not having twins," she began. "One of your grandkids will be an infant; the other is five-years-old."

Confused, Megan asked, "What are you talking about, Jennifer?"

"As soon as Shawn Isaac is found, he will become Blake's and my son."

"Now, Jennifer, I know you think a lot of this little boy," Tim began. "But just because both his parents are dead doesn't mean you'll be able to adopt him. Adopting isn't easy. I know people who have waited years to adopt a child."

"I just don't want you to set yourself up for disappointment and heartache," added Megan. "Just focus on that little one you're about to give birth to."

Jennifer cleared her throat and said, "Eve Isaac came to see me a few weeks ago. She told me she had a premonition that she wouldn't live through her estranged husband's domestic battery hearing."

"Oh, my G.o.d. That's terrible," said a shocked Megan.

"Why did she tell you this? I mean, you and Eve Isaac weren't close friends," Tim remarked.

"Eve asked Blake and me to take Shawn after her death. She'd already seen an attorney and had all the legal papers taken care of," said Jennifer. "I promised Eve if anything happened to her that we'd take custody of Shawn and raise him as our own."

Megan put her hand on Jennifer's shoulder and said, "It's admirable you want to keep this promise. But have you really thought this through? You'll soon have an infant to care for. Do you really want to take on the responsibility of a five-year-old, too?"

Jennifer slammed her napkin on the table, her eyes filled with anger. "Seriously, Mom? Do I really want to adopt this little boy? Yes! Do you hear me? Yes! I love Shawn and so does Blake. He is the most amazing little boy. Blake and I can give him all the love, support, family and home that he could ever wish for. Shawn is going to be our son, and our baby's big brother. Nothing is going to change that."

Megan wrapped her arms around her daughter, drawing her as close as she could a pregnant woman who was nine months along. "Hush, Darling. It's going to be alright. Shawn will be found and brought home to you."

Unless we don't find him alive, Tim thought, as he quickly rose from the table and hugged them goodbye. He grabbed his coat and headed outside to his car to think. This was the third day Shawn was missing. How likely was it that they'd find him alive?

The county prosecutor's office holiday party was one the staff looked forward to all year. Held at Anne and Michael Brandt's home, the event was formal and the evening included a c.o.c.ktail party, with a lavish meat and seafood dinner.

Dressed in an elegant black velvet c.o.c.ktail dress that hugged her curves, Anne looked beautiful. But then, thought Michael, Anne was beautiful, with shoulder-length, auburn hair with streaks of gold, and the pale, soft skin he loved to touch. Earlier as she'd straightened his tie, l.u.s.t hit him so hard his knees weakened, and it took impressive control on his part to not carry her to their bed right then and make love to her.

Anne went through the motions of having a good time, but Michael knew her heart wasn't in it. Her perpetually bright smile didn't fool him. There was sadness in her eyes that he hadn't seen in a long, long time. Something was wrong. And Anne being Anne, she was holding whatever was bothering her deep inside.

Michael watched her as she stood near the gaily decorated Christmas tree talking with the mayor, who was telling one of his usual, long-winded stories. Anne nodded as if she were listening, but her eyes wandered the room until they settled on their children, Michael Jr. and Melissa, who were sitting on either side of Harley on the staircase, stroking the dog's soft fur.

She bit her lip to stifle a smile, making Michael realize that she longed to join them. Setting his champagne gla.s.s on a nearby table, he started across the room to save her from the mayor, when he noticed she'd pulled out her cell phone. Since when does Anne carry around her cell phone? She'd never been one of those people whose cell was super-glued to her hip. In fact, half the time, she didn't even know where it was. Why would she accept a call during a holiday party?

Anne lifted a finger to excuse herself, and headed toward the back of the house. Hands in his pockets, Michael slipped into the hallway to follow her. Finding her peering out the kitchen window as she talked on her cell phone, he eavesdropped as he leaned against the doorframe.

"Listen, I can't talk long. It's Michael's holiday office party and I have to go back," said Anne.