3 Requiem at Christmas (14 page)

Juliet said this to convince herself. She wanted to dig up
her old connections at the NSA about as much as she wanted to disinter a graveyard,
but some things wouldn’t stay buried—not in these circumstances. The
submergence of her wishes was necessary. She placed the call. She hadn’t
forgotten the number
nor
any of the series of digits
that she spoke into the phone. They were a routing code, but a computer
somewhere was comparing her voiceprint to the one on record and deciding whom
she should talk to.

“Juliet?”

The voice belonged to David Merton. Not her favorite man,
but competent and honest and middling important.
Unless he
had been promoted.
She could have done worse. That he answered
immediately and didn’t route her through secretaries and security suggested
that he had been expecting a call.

“So, are you perhaps looking for an information-tech drain
happening around Las Vegas? Maybe one that another agency has been
baby-sitting?” she asked.

There was a second of silence.

“Vegas or Tahoe?”

“Body in Tahoe, thief from Vegas—though I
suspect that Christopher Columbus and company are still in town and actively looking
for their lost treasure.”

“You have something physical?” The voice was almost excited.

“Oh, I think so. It’s small and square and wanted for
computers everywhere. It was also on its way to China.”

“I’ll have someone there in four hours. Don’t pass it on to
locals or the federal boys. If there are questions, refer them to me.” He
didn’t ask for her location. The phone would provide that. She could go
anywhere in the world or probably off of it and her phone would guide her old
masters to her. It was
her
leash.

“I wasn’t planning on it.”

She disconnected and popped the chip which she put back in
her lipstick case.

“Want some breakfast?” she asked Raphael after she had
everything stowed back in her purse. “I would love some pancakes.”

He didn’t look at his watch or question her choice of meals.

“Room service?
Your place or mine?”
he asked.

“You have better etchings, but I have extra ammunition.”

“Your room it is.”

“I don’t think we’ll mention any of this to Captain Denver
just yet.
Or maybe ever.
It’s a decision a little
above my pay grade.
And his.
And my keepers don’t want
this thing going anywhere. Do you mind being a silent accomplice?”

“The angry captain and Cain’s boss aren’t all that charming,
so you’ll get no arguments from me.”

Juliet finally smiled. It was small and wry, but it was a
smile.

“Was it very hard to call them?” Raphael asked.

“Yes. I hate being reminded that I am still on a chain, but
sometimes you hold your nose and do what you have to do. There really is such a
thing as national security.
Even if a lot of villains have
been using that as an excuse for all kinds of reprehensible behavior.”

“You’re talking to the choir and also a veteran
nose-holder,” Raphael said, moving toward the door. “Let’s be on our way before
Denver arrives. He’ll eventually see the security tapes and want to talk to us
about this visit.”

“Yes, but I think someone will chat with him long before he
gets around to yelling at us. It is one of the few retirement benefits that
came with this job. I don’t have to explain things to outsiders if I don’t want
to.”

“Right now, that might be better than a dental plan.”

Esteban called just as they were finishing their meal.
Joshua Holtz had had an accident by the lake on his way back to the inn. It was
a strange accident because he had somehow managed to twist his head around
backward while crashing his car—but Captain Denver wasn’t questioning the
logistics. Not yet. That was the coroner’s job after all.

Juliet was betting that after the coroner had been spoken
to, he wouldn’t question the oddity of the broken neck either.

“He was a bad man,” Juliet said to Raphael when she hung up
the phone. “I know this.”

“Just like the original,” Raphael agreed.
“But
still a human.”

“And it offends me that the explorer will probably get away
with killing him because he is of some use to someone who has the power to make
things like this go away.” She held up a hand. “I know that this is just the
realities of the situation and being offended helps no one—not even myself. I
just don’t like it when the evil prosper.”

“He may not prosper long,” Raphael said consolingly. “Not if
he’s crossed his handlers.”

“We can live in hope.” She picked up her coffee cup. “So,
I’m thinking of starting home as soon as I’ve gotten some sleep and have wrapped
up things here with my people. Skiing has somehow lost its charm and I don’t
really need to see the finalists in the bagpipe championship.”

“I believe that Esteban is also ready to return to his bone
collection. He said that he wished to construct a Saint Nicholas and Robert the
Bruce as soon as possible.”

Juliet chuckled.

“Given my feeling about the holiday, I might just buy his
Santa Claus.”

Raphael shook his head.

“Perhaps we can work on your shriveled spirits.” She raised
a brow. “There is a charming Victorian bed and breakfast in Ben Lomond that
does a full Dickensian feast on Christmas Eve. It may not be too late to get
reservations.”

He meant not too late for the famous Raphael James to get a
reservation. Juliet looked at Raphael and considered the offer. Part of her
wondered why he made it. The rest of her didn’t want to question it. She had found
a friend. She should just enjoy it.

“You know, I might like that. It would be nice to pour some
healing waters on the holiday. Um … do I have to wear hoopskirts and a corset?”

“Dressing the part is encouraged but not mandatory. And the
dress you have on now is beautiful.”

“Okay. If you can get a reservation, we’ll go eat plum
pudding.”

*
 
*
 
*

The man who knocked on her door just before two a.m. had
masses of red hair and a pugnacious face that could have come off a portrait of
Henry VIII. But he also had the proper ID and knew the right verbal exchanges
so Juliet let him in to the room.

Raphael excused himself after checking that it was what she
wanted. It was handy that they could do that without exchanging words because
she didn’t want Raphael featuring too heavily in the official report. She would
describe him as a friend who was keeping her company and hope that the
wheelchair again misled opinion.

The man’s name—he said—was Thomas Herbert and he did his
best to smile and put her at ease. But it was an exercise that moved his lips
only so it wasn’t a great success. Juliet recognized him for what we was—a
troubleshooter. He seated himself so he faced her full on. If he was curious
about her medieval garb or why she was entertaining men in wheelchairs in the
middle of the night, he said nothing.

“You have something for me?” The voice was crisp.

“Yes.” She opened the end table and handed him the chip,
still resting in its candy wrapper.

“I’m authorized to debrief you if you would prefer that to
speaking with Mr. Merton on the phone. He did ask me to gather your informal
impressions of the people involved. He says you have superlative instincts.”
The voice gave no indication that he believed or disbelieved these statements.

“How kind of him to say so.”
It
amused Juliet to say this because she knew David would hear this. While David
Merton had many stellar characteristics, kindness was not chief among them, nor
did he wish it to be. “Do you have a recording device?”

“Yes.” Since he didn’t move to switch anything on, that
meant he was already recording and she was more than ever glad that Raphael had
said nothing.

Juliet took a long breath and made herself focus. She wanted
to keep things short and on point and then to get to bed. She had been serious
about wanting to leave Tahoe as soon as possible.

“This concerns the death of two brothers, Jeremiah and
Joshua Holtz, and a shady businessman called Christopher Columbus who may be a
federal asset—when he isn’t committing industrial espionage. Or other kinds of
espionage….”

Her cabin had the abandoned look of a place that has been
left waiting, getting colder and lonelier every day. It reminded her about some
poem that talked about hell being as cold as a great lord’s kitchen without a
fire in it—or something like that.

But a match to the kindling stacked in the stove and Marley
rubbing on her ankles soon made it home again.

Juliet blessed the quiet as she unpacked, carefully hanging
her velvet dress and tucking away her gold shoes. They were her one happy souvenir.

She had given the chocolates to Garret in exchange for her
cat. He had loved them, but she had the feeling that he had been a little sad
to see Marley leave. Perhaps a feline was in his near future.
Maybe for Christmas.
The local cat rescue always had cats
that needed good homes.

After she had made a cup of tea, Juliet went into her studio
and stared with pleasure at her supply of canvasses, some filled, most not.
They rested against the walls, blank and waiting like her earthenware pots,
stained so many colors by the brushes she stored in them. Tomorrow she would
set down in ink and paint some of the things she had seen while away—the
mountains, the lake maybe.
But not the blizzard and the
things hiding in it.
That wasn’t something she wanted looking back at
her, and the images in her head were not anything that appealed to her
commercial market. It was art strictly for art’s sake.

The old crank phone clanged. Seven rings meant the call was
for her and coming from somewhere in the compound. The choices of caller were
limited because most of her neighbors were still away.

“Hello,” she said hoping it was the right person on the end
of the line.

“We’re in luck. We’ll be eating goose and plum pudding
tomorrow night.” Raphael sounded happy and she found that she also felt lighter
for hearing his voice and knowing that she would be seeing him soon.

“I’ll brush up
my
bah
, humbug
.”

“
And God bless us,
every one
.”

Juliet hung up her phone. She was smiling.

About
the Author

Melanie Jackson is the author of over 60 novels. If you enjoyed this
story, please visit Melanie’s author web site at
www.melaniejackson.com
.

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