If Chrysie was the missing psychologist, it would explain her Texas accent and the way she knew so much about handling the boys. It would also explain why she could be a stay-at-home mom. She could still be making it on the one-twenty if she’d lived as cheaply the past three years as she was now.
He should be feeling at least a hint of excitement at the possibility of arresting a fugitive practically in his backyard. Instead he felt more as if he’d taken a punch to the gut. His muscles tightened as he picked up the phone and dialed information for the phone number for the Houston Police Department. With any luck, he’d find the listing was a mistake and that Dr. Cassandra Harwell had been located months ago.
He had a very strong hunch that this was not his lucky day.
DETECTIVE JUAN HERNANDEZ hung up the phone and lumbered down the hall to his new partner’s office. Her door was open, so he walked in. Angela Martina was sitting at her desk, her breasts pushing ever so slightly against the soft cotton of her yellow blouse as she shuffled through the photos of last night’s shooting on the east side of town.
“Lousy photos,” she said. “I may have to start taking my own.”
He looked at the photo she’d just thrown to her desk. It looked fine to him. “I just got a call from a sheriff in Aohkii, Montana,” he said.
She didn’t bother to look up. “What’s his problem?”
“He was calling about Cassandra Harwell.” He knew that would get her attention. Jonathan Harwell and Angela’s older sister had been partners in a law firm before he was murdered.
Angela tossed the photo she was holding back to the desk and stared at Juan from beneath her mascara-coated lashes. “Has Cassandra been spotted in Montana?”
“Probably not. Said he had some strangers in town and he was checking them against known felons.”
“I don’t guess the strangers are a woman with two small children?”
“He said there were some children. He’d check and see if they matched the ages of the Harwell kids.”
“Did he give you a description of the woman?”
“No, only said she didn’t much favor the online photo of Cassandra Harwell.”
“So why did he call?”
“You know those Montana guys. What else they got to do up there besides cozy up to a sheep?” He laughed at his own joke. Angela didn’t.
“What did you tell him?” she asked.
“To check out the kids. If the woman had two girls that looked anywhere near the ages of the Harwell kids, he should get us a set of fingerprints from the woman and keep an eye on her until we checked them out.”
“Did he agree to cooperate?”
“Yeah. Said no problem. He seems on top of things, but I don’t look for anything to come of this. I can’t see Cassandra in Montana. More likely she’s down in Mexico somewhere. No reason to be freezing her ass off up there.”
Angela drummed her bright red nails on her desk. “If it’s Cassandra, someone from the department will need to go up there and fly her back. Frankly I would love to see some snow. It’s hard to get in the mood for Christmas shopping when I’m still running the air conditioner.”
“Well, don’t make any plane reservations just yet. This is a really long shot.”
“Just keep me posted.” Angela turned her gaze back to the photos.
Juan lingered. “You want to get some breakfast and then go question the usual suspects on the east side?”
“Not if we have to go to that greasy hole-in-the-wall where we went last time.”
“They make good breakfast tacos.”
“I want a bagel. And give me a few minutes. I have to make a phone call before we go.”
He started to drop into the straight-backed chair near her desk to wait.
“A private phone call.”
He grinned and left, though he’d love to hang around and listen. Angela was single and the hottest number on the force. He could imagine what a private phone call from her would sound like. Not that he’d ever get one. She’d made it clear she didn’t date police officers. He guessed that meant she wouldn’t sleep with him either.
He walked back to his office, once again thinking about the sheriff’s call. Be one great boon if it was Cassandra Harwell who’d shown up in Aohkii, Montana. He was as eager as ever to get his hands on the murdering bitch—for reasons that had nothing to do with her husband’s death.
JENNY GATHERED a handful of snow and hurled it in her mother’s direction. The snowball splattered against the leg of Chrysie’s jeans. “Okay, kid, you’re going to get it now.”
Jenny took off running, her boots sinking in the snow with each step. Chrysie caught her easily, grabbed her around the waist and swung her around while Jenny squealed excitedly.
Mandy came running over. “Swing me, too, Mommy.”
“As soon as I catch my breath.” She took a huge gulp of the cold air, marveling again at how gloriously beautiful the world looked covered in white. Last night’s snowfall had been the heaviest of the season and had left the entire mountainside glistening.
It was one more reason she’d love to stay in Aohkii. Actually, she’d love to stay almost anywhere. Constantly moving from one town to another was hard on her and even worse on the girls.
Every town they settled in seemed to have its drawbacks. At least it had seemed that way until she’d arrived in Aohkii one sunny afternoon two months ago. She’d only planned to stop for lunch, but when she’d heard some young mothers at a nearby table talking about the excellent preschool program at the Methodist church, her interest had been piqued.
And then when she’d followed up on the waitress’s suggestion that she contact the Millers about renting their cabin, she’d felt it was meant to be, had even dared to hope they could make a real life here.
But now she had Sheriff Josh McCain to deal with. If his questions and interest in her persisted, she’d have no choice but to run again. Her heart constricted at the thought of tearing her innocent daughters away from this place that seemed so perfect.
She picked up Mandy and spun her around until she grew so dizzy she had to lean against the trunk of a towering tree for support. Mandy needed no recuperation.
“Look, Mommy. I’m making snow angels,” she announced as she flopped around in the snow like an injured bird.
“That’s not how you do it.” Jenny fell to her back and started demonstrating the correct way—not that Mandy was looking at her. Mandy had already given up on snow angels and was standing and brushing the snow from her bright red parka. She wandered a few feet away, then came back and grabbed Chrysie’s hand. “Come see this, Mommy.”
“Yes. The spruce tree looks very pretty covered in snow.”
“It’s not a ’pruce tree. It’s a Christmas tree.”
“I guess it could be.”
“Can we have it for our tree? Can we, please? I love it.”
Jenny jumped up from the snow and came over to voice her protest. “It’s not tall enough to be a Christmas tree.”
“They don’t have to be tall, do they, Mommy?”