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TWO WEEKS LATER, THANKSGIVING Day
September poured coffee, added a slug of flavored cream, and pulled out a chair at the stained glass table. The new clothes dryer hummed in the next room with a load of clean towels. The door stayed closed with the laundry room window open, though. Two weeks’ worth of odor neutralizers eliminated most of the stench, but she’d rather keep it confined to one room. September didn’t mind. She considered it a badge of honor. The roasting turkey had already masked any lingering smell in the rest of the house.
Memories took longer to erase.
The scrabble tap-tap against the stained glass window brought her halfway to her feet. Coffee sloshed, hot on her thigh, and she yelped. The tap-tap came again—the Belinda’s Rose danced in the 68-degree breeze. It sported three bright pink blossoms as if to celebrate the unseasonable Thanksgiving weather in proper style.
“Crap. Get a grip.” September grabbed a towel and dabbed the stain as Macy stared from the top of the refrigerator. He yawned, shifted his weight, and burbled annoyance. He always had to have the last word. “Sorry I disturbed your nap, your highness.” She jumped again when the wall phone rang.
September ignored the phone. The machine on her desk would pick up.
The first week after the Blizzard Murders the phone hadn’t stopped ringing with demands from reporters. The second week, parents of autistic children took turns praising her heroism and cursing her for dooming their kids. The parents and their 178 children found at the Legacy Center, though, stayed strangely silent.
The doorbell made her stomach drop. Nobody was due to arrive for another hour. She had set the new dining table with five places. Side dishes remained to finish, and she’d fix whipped cream later for the warm gingerbread dessert. September checked out the wine bottles on the counter, debating the benefits of an early beverage. Instead, she sighed and hurried to answer the door.
Macy leaped to the floor and dashed ahead. The pet gate had come down after the contractors finished in record time. Everyone in town wanted an excuse to rubber-neck the house, inside and out.
September peeked through the glass, relieved it wasn’t reporters, but still on guard. She sighed, unlocked the deadbolts and cracked the door. “What are you doing here?”
Combs stood on the lowest step. He shifted his weight and fiddled with a brown paper grocery bag. He looked more relaxed out of uniform in the gray windbreaker and jeans. “Wanted to check in.” The lines on his forehead looked deeper, but September guessed she’d gained some crow’s feet, too. He looked around. “Doty pulled off the surveillance?”
“Yeah. I asked.” September blocked Macy with one foot, frowning with exasperation. “Come in before the cat gets out.” She scooped Macy into her arms and draped him like a tawny mane around her shoulders. “Guess you don’t have good news.” She waited until he stepped inside, and then shot the bolts and jiggle-tested the door.
“No sign of Dr. Gerald Baumgarten. Alert’s still up, but he could be out of the country by now. He transferred Legacy Center funds to an offshore account within an hour of his disappearance.”
Lizzie’s son had melted away with the blizzard. “He won’t come after me. No percentage in it.” September sighed, stroking the cat and relishing the purr that relaxed her shoulders better than a masseuse.
One eyebrow went up, questioning. “If you believed that, you wouldn’t be peeking through windows before answering your door.”
“Just because you’re paranoid doesn’t mean they aren’t out to get you.” She smiled to show she was joking. “But I am getting better about that.” Hiding from the maybes and what-ifs just meant you’d be trapped when they found you. Better to keep watch and have your boots ready for the storm clouds.
Macy’s tail stroked her mouth, and she spat out hair before gently moving him to the floor. He raced away up the entry stairs, and she heard the thunder of him clawing a favorite scratch post outside her bedroom door. Now that the pet gates were gone, she needed to add more cat trees to keep him happy throughout the house.
“The offer of a gun still stands.” The paper bag crinkled in his rough hands.
She shuddered, and wondered if a gun was inside the package. “No thanks. I’ve had enough of guns to last me nine lives. And enough funerals.” She walked back to the kitchen to retrieve her coffee cup, and he hesitated before he followed. She didn’t offer him any, didn’t think he’d accept it. Maybe he’d go away.
She’d be polite because Combs had been supportive, but his presence made her uncomfortable and wary. “I’m sorry I missed your mom’s funeral.” She was, but the words sounded stiff. Hell, she’d not been welcome at Pam’s memorial service. Eugene tried to be cordial, but couldn’t help blaming her for his wife’s death. After all, she blamed herself.
“You would have been welcome. Aunt Ethel asked about you.” His smile took ten years off his face. He looked sincere.
She was grateful for the kind gesture, and wanted to believe him. It was more than her family had offered. She’d tried to visit April in the hospital and been turned away.
“None of this was your fault. You’ve got to stop blaming yourself.” He set the paper bag on the table, and cracked his knuckles. “I thought you’d want to know. Lizzie came out of the coma.”
Tears pricked. “Thank you.” She had no love lost for the woman, and cared not a whit if she’d ever see her again. She’d scrubbed the spot on the slate floor until she’d erased the blood reminder, but a death in her home would have left a stain she couldn’t have lived with. She sat down and motioned him to a chair. “What about Pike? He’ll stand trial with Lizzie?”
“Eventually. I think they’ll want to try them together.” Combs pulled out a chair on the other side of the glass table. “The court wants bad guys fully recovered before they sentence them to death. You got to love the Texas judicial system.” He snorted. “The lawyers will have a field day. Both sides want you to testify. NeuroRealm, of course, denies any connection.”
She wasn’t surprised. “It was extra-label use and April signed a waiver. So did the others. Suing NeuroRealm makes as much sense as you taking aspirin to cure cancer and yelling foul when it didn’t work.”
He glowered. “Give me a break. Pottinger worked for them, they had to know.” He sucked in a big breath and blew it out to calm himself, and forced a tight smile. “Preaching to the choir, right? But they say the drug is FDA-approved for Alzheimer’s patients.”
“Yes, Teddy said the drug sounded familiar. His wife Molly took Damenia for a while.”
“Well, NeuroRealm won’t pull Damenia from the market just because Lizzie went bat-shit crazy and gave it to kids and made them nuts.” He looked stricken. “Sorry. How is Steven?”
“Stabilized, I think. I hope. I’m really out of the loop on Steven.” September propped her chin in one hand and stared into the cold coffee. “His father has custody, of course, until April’s situation is resolved. Steven’s in a mental treatment facility.”
“Poor kid. He’s the big loser in all this.”
“Yes, but the doctors say there’s hope. They’re weaning Steven off the drug little by little to try and avoid the side effects of cold turkey withdrawal.” She rubbed her face. “Steven won’t be prosecuted for shooting Lizzie. He’s just a child, and he was under the influence of medication. Besides, they’ve got enough real bad guys to prosecute without the bad PR of targeting a child that’s more a victim than anyone.”
“I keep thinking about my own kids.” Combs looked haunted for a moment and then shook it off. “Parents will do anything for their kids.”
September agreed. “The drug does work wonders in some cases. With all the publicity, parents are clamoring for clinical trials. More research might eliminate the side effects.” She prayed that would be the case. But it would be years before they’d figure all that out, and in the meantime some parents would continue to jump off the ledge without further tests. At least it would be more difficult with all the extra scrutiny. “It could be a long time before anyone knows what damage Steven has suffered, or if it’s reversible.”
“But you think kids might benefit down the road from this craziness?” He looked incredulous. “Sounds like wishful thinking. But Mom would like that. Crises bring families together.”
“Maybe it does in your family.” She snorted. “Doug Childress wants nothing to do with any of us, and especially me. April will have to stand trial for Pottinger’s death. She insists Steven had nothing to do with it. I want to believe her. We’ll probably never know, unless Steven someday is able to tell us.” She really didn’t want to know. She sipped coffee. “Actually, you’re right in a way. This did bring April and her ex back together.”
Combs looked surprised.
“Yep. Childress splits his time between Steven in the psych wing and April in ICU. Mom says they’re talking again. Instead of fighting over him, they’re determined to get Steven help and plan for his future.”
“That’s got to be a relief.”
She glared at him. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?” But it was a relief that Steven was taken care of. And that he was no longer her responsibility. And that made her feel guilty as hell.
Combs spoke softly. “I know what happened in Chicago.”
Deep breath. She didn’t want his sympathy, didn’t need this, let the past stay buried. “Lizzie’s a liar.” She looked away. April should never have told anyone. They’d had a pact.
“Lizzie didn’t need to say anything. Nobody believes her rants anyway. But cops talk.” He leaned forward over the table. “When you were on the run, questions were asked. Uncle Stan has connections all over the country, even the Chicago Special Victims Unit.”
She inhaled sharply. “Jeff, that’s private.” She glanced at her watch. “I’ve still got mashed potatoes and creamed corn to fix.” She pushed away from the table and stood.“What happened in Chicago wasn’t your fault, either.” Combs leaned back in the chair, not going anywhere until he’d had his say. “You were a kid when you got pregnant. April helped you out of a tight spot.”
“Let it go, Jeff.” She felt heat flood her cheeks.
“It should have been a happy ending.”
“Well, it wasn’t.” She strode to the stained glass window, and put her hands against the cool surface to stop their trembling. The sun played hide and seek with clouds and created dark hideaways beneath scraggly overgrowth. The garden needed an overhaul. Maybe a flame thrower. “This is none of your business.” She crossed her arms to cut short the conversation. “Maybe I do need that gun to keep out obnoxious visitors.”
“September, look at me.” When she did, he smiled and held up his hands in a what can you do? gesture. “Doesn’t take a rocket scientist. I’m just saying others might notice and ask questions. April and Doug both have blue eyes. Steven’s eyes are green. Like yours.” He cocked his head sideways. “That’s a hell of a secret to keep.”
She stared at him. “Are you quoting your high school science to make a point? Check your genetics, Jeff. That eye color stuff doesn’t prove anything.”
“No. But April’s medical history does. She had never been pregnant. But you already know that.”
She crossed her arms. “Everyone has secrets. I hear tell you’ve got some doozies.” She felt satisfaction when he flinched.
“Yes, I know what it feels like to be a target.” He took another calming breath. “I know it’s not my business. But I like you. You shouldn’t blame yourself. Most rape victims that get pregnant—”
“I don’t want to hear this.”
“It wasn’t your fault.”
“Children of rape are reminders of the worst moments of your life—and that’s not fair to the kid. Not fair to anyone. It wasn’t Steven’s fault, either,” she cried. “Look, I know I’m a terrible person. Because I can’t love him. And April could. Damn you!” She rounded on him and flung the words like stones. “You can’t say anything. Doug can’t know. When April is indicted for Pottinger’s death, Doug Childress is all Steven will have left.” She shuddered. “His biological father is still out there somewhere. I lost myself for a lot of years hiding away from that scumbag. But Steven doesn’t need to know that. God knows what Doug would do if he knew.”
“You saved your son. You’re not a terrible person. But I won’t tell anyone. It’s not my secret to tell.”
She relaxed just a little. “That’s it? That’s why you’re here?”
He stared at his hands. “I’m here because you caught Mom’s killer. I never said thank you, and today’s the day for it.” Combs cleared his throat. “I’m here because Doty pulled surveillance. I’m here because I like you and don’t want you to hurt anymore—that includes beating yourself up.” He hesitated and poked the paper bag on the table. “And I’m here because I got nowhere else to be.”
Despite herself she was touched and a little sad. “What about your family?”
He shrugged. “Kids are with my wife. I’m still suspended until further notice, and honestly, not sure I want to go back. Anyway, I’ll go over to Uncle Stan’s tonight for dessert. I don’t feel too much like celebrating this year. Nobody does.” He cracked his knuckles again. “You understand. We don’t have to explain anything to each other. Right?”
She nodded. “True, that.”
He sniffed the air with appreciation and his stomach growled. “But you’ve got guests coming, so I’ll get out of your hair.” He stood.
She laughed ruefully. “Mom finally agreed to let me host Thanksgiving this year, but nobody feels like gathering. Too many unanswered questions, too much suspicion and blame. It’ll take a long time to sort out all the crappiocca, if ever.” She shrugged. “But I already had the turkey, and it was a shame to let it go to waste.” Galloping thumps sounded overhead, and September pointed at the ceiling. “Besides, Macy loves turkey. He once stole a frozen bird out of the fridge and I had to serve a lame bird after he amputated a drumstick.”
“No way.” Combs chuckled.
“Way.” She smiled back. “Don’t get between Macy and dinner. Anyhow, it’s too much for one person. I invited Humphrey and Anita from the radio station, and Teddy and maybe his wife if she’s having a good day. There’s plenty. I could set another place. ” She hugged herself and said softly, “Sometimes you have to find your own family.” Something banged into the kitchen door. “There’s the rest of my family now.”
Combs wrinkled his brow in puzzlement, and watched when she hurried to the door and grabbed the handle without reaching for the deadbolt. “You don’t have it locked?”
September grinned. “Like I said, I’m getting better about that. But I’ve got extra security now.” The door banged again, and she timed the next bump with the doorknob twist.
Shadow burst into the room.
The dog stopped short in the doorway and stared at Combs. The missing tip of his left ear lent him a rakish expression. His hackles began to rise until September stroked his brow and spoke with soft authority. “Shadow, settle. It’s okay.” He looked into her face with adoration. His tail waved.
“Steven’s service dog, right?” Combs stood still when Shadow came close to politely sniff-inspect his pants. He backed away, wagging his approval.
September pushed the door closed and hip-bumped it to latch. She didn’t bother with the lock since the back garden had been securely fenced. The ‘beware of dog’ signs kept strangers at bay, especially when they saw Shadow’s size. His recent experience made him more cautious, but he was far from a guard dog. But nobody had to know that.
“I guess Steven will need him now more than ever.”
She shook her head. “Doug doesn’t want him around. It’s his decision. He’s Steven’s father.” Her hard look brooked no argument, and she smiled. “I’ll just have to put up with the goofy baby dog, won’t I?” She rubbed Shadow’s undamaged ear, and shrugged. “Sometimes your family chooses you.”
As if on cue, Macy thundered down the kitchen stairs. He spun around the landing with his Mickey clutched firmly in his jaws. But when he saw Shadow, the cat dropped the toy, hissed, and sprang atop the table.
Shadow woofed, tail waving, and grabbed up the toy. He pranced around the room, daring the cat to play keep-away with the stolen Mickey.
“Shadow, enough. Macy is the boss of you.” September’s voice was stern. She traded the Mickey for a dog chew, and tucked the toy inside Macy’s favorite cupboard hideaway. She couldn’t help being tickled at Shadow’s antics. And the pup knew it. Shadow grinned, and began to gnaw his rawhide treat.
“He’s big.” Combs eyed the dog with a dubious expression. “I dunno about the cat being the boss.”
“Believe me; Macy puts him in his place.” Curiosity finally got the better of her. She nodded at Combs’s paper bag. “What is that?”
He looked sheepish. “In case I got invited to dinner. Can’t blame a guy for hoping. It’s a house warming gift. Don’t worry, it’s nothing pricy. Just a joke replacement for that rude coffee mug you liked so much.”
“Really?” She looked at him with wary suspicion. Nothing could come close to replacing the #1-Bitch mug from Chris.
“I couldn’t find a duplicate.” He suddenly acted nervous. “The fancy wrapping was pretty dang pricy, too.” He handed her the grocery sack.
She gingerly looked inside, and pulled out the thermos-size mug. September read the printed legend out loud. “Son-Of-A-Peach.”
Jeff Combs was a wise-ass. She liked that in a person.
