Deadly Holidays (14 page)

"I just put in the ingredients I found on a card in your mom's cookbook.  Everything's in the chili except the spice.  That's your job, my very hot and spicy man.  You take over from here to add just enough chili pepper and spices."

Lane let her go and lifted the lid to stir the mixture with a wooden spoon.  "I'm going to miss my parents, but I'm glad they're vacationing for the holidays in Florida and avoiding this blizzard. It's really bad out there."

"That reminds me, your dad called this morning.  He and your mom were making some kind of a seafood gumbo.  They're taking it to a party tonight."

Lane sprinkled some chili powder, salt and pepper onto the chili, stirred, then replaced the lid on the crock-pot.  He looked around the room. then asked, "Where's Ashley?"

"She's in the family room with Hunter, watching the Rudolph DVD for the hundredth time," Frankie answered, rolling her eyes as she pulled some hot rolls from the oven.  "Did I tell you I found Ashley with a tube of my red lipstick?  She was going to give Hunter a red nose so he could look like Rudolph.  Fortunately for Hunter, I caught her just in time."

The mental image of Ashley with the lipstick caused a huge laugh to bubble up in his chest, and he laughed out loud.  Frankie tried not to laugh.  But she held out for a moment or so before she was snorting with him.

"I love our life," Lane said, moving toward the door. "I think I need some daughter time."

When Lane reached the hallway that led to the family room, he felt a rush of cold air in an otherwise warm area.  He quickened his pace until he reached the foyer where the front door was wide-open, and swirls of snow dusted the table, mirror and rug. 

"Ashley?"

Looking out the door, Lane saw his little girl, dressed only in a pair of pants and a knit shirt, standing six feet from him, struggling against the wind to stand.  She was looking at something in the distance.  He rushed outside, picked her up, and carried her, kicking and screaming, into the house.  Calling for Frankie, he kicked the door shut with his foot, then carried Ashley, still struggling to get down, close to heat of the roaring blaze in the fireplace.

He set her down, brushing the snow from her hair and clothes.  He said, "Ashley, stop it, right now.  What's gotten into you?"

Tears spurted from her eyes, and ran down her cheeks.  She raced back to the front door and struggled with the doorknob.  Lane, right behind her, picked her up again.  "Ashley, it's too cold for you outside."  He carried her back to the warmth of the fireplace, ignoring her tiny fists beating against his chest.

Hearing the commotion, Frankie came into the room and asked, "What's going on?  Why is it so cold in here?"

Ashley was hysterical by now, sobbing and struggling to get loose from Lane's arms. "Daddy, put me down.  Let me go."

"What's wrong with her?" asked Frankie, suddenly alarmed.  Her intuition told her something was wrong, but her immediate need was to help her little girl.

Still holding the squirming little girl, Lane responded, "I don't know. I found the front door wide open, and I saw Ashley standing outside in the cold." 

Frankie moved closer to them, stroking Ashley's back in an effort to calm her, and realized her clothes were wet from the melting snow. "Lane, her clothes are wet," she said before rushing up the stairs to Ashley's room. From a dresser drawer, she pulled out a pair of flannel pajamas with feet, then grabbed the little girl's thick quilted robe from her bed. 

She rushed downstairs.  She and Lane undressed Ashley to replace her damp clothing with her pajamas, the little girl still struggling to be freed. She kept pointing at the door, saying she had to go.  They managed to get her wet top off and replaced it with the dry flannel pajama top.  Then Frankie pulled at her damp pants while Lane held her.  Throwing the pants to the floor, she put the pajama pants with feet on Ashley, and pinched the snaps closed at the waist.  Then they worked together to get the robe on their child.

 "Ashley," said Frankie.  "Calm down and tell Mommy and Daddy what's wrong."

Ashley gulped hard, hot tears still slipping down her cheeks as she pointed, "Outside.  Outside," she cried.  "Ashley, go outside."

"No, honey, you can't go outside," Frankie said softly.  

"But..."  Ashley broke free and ran to the door, twisting the knob, and crying hysterically. 

Lane picked Ashley up, tucking her head on his chest, and walked back and forth, rubbing her little back, much like he did when she was a baby with colic.  "Shhh, baby-girl," he said comfortingly.  "What's out there that you need so badly?"

Frowning, Frankie looked out the front window. Seeing nothing but the blinding snow, she walked back into the living room.  A flicker of apprehension swept through her.  Where was Hunter?  The Giant Schnauzer never left Ashley's side.  In all the commotion, she hadn't realized he wasn't in the room.

Returning to the foyer, where Lane still comforted Ashley, Frankie stopped him and asked, "Where's Hunter?"

At the mention of his name, Ashley started screaming and wriggling to get out of her father's grip.  She pointed to the door again.  "Outside!  Hunter outside!"

"Hold her," Frankie said to Lane.  She ran to the coat closet and pulled out her coat, scarf and gloves.  Whipping on her coat, she wrapped the scarf around her throat, and with her gloves in hand, rushed out the door.  Lane held onto Ashley and walked to the window to watch.

Fighting the pounding wind, Frankie called out, "Hunter!  Here, Hunter!"  Not getting a response, she moved further into the yard toward what she thought was the driveway.  How could she tell with all the snow?  The freezing snow crept into her shoes, pelted her face, and clung to her eyelashes and hair.  Where was Hunter?  At times she could only see a few feet in front of her face, but she kept calling for her dog and moving forward. Seconds turned into minutes, her skin was numbing, her toes tingling with pain.  Realizing she was not dressed for searching, she headed inside for her snowsuit and gear.

Once inside, she realized Ashley was clinging to the window, and Lane waited for her in the foyer. 

"I came in for my snowsuit, and then I'm going back out," she stated as she tore off her coat and scarf.

"No, you're not," said Lane.

For the first time, she really looked at him.  He was wearing his snowsuit and was pulling his ski mask over his head.  His ski goggles stuck out of one pocket; his gloves out of the other.

"Hunter's out there in the cold.  I have to find him," she said.

Lane pulled her into the hallway where Ashley couldn't hear them.  "Damn it, Frankie.  Did you forget you're pregnant?  I haven't, and I'm the one going outside to look for Hunter.  If I there's any visibility at all, I'll fire up the ATV and drive it to search for him."

"But, Lane..." she began

"No arguments," he said firmly, his jaw clenched, his eyes slightly narrowed.  "You're not the only one who loves Hunter.  I love him as much as you and Ashley do.  He's a member of our family.  I'll find him.  But your job now is to go in the other room and comfort our little girl.  She thinks it's her fault Hunter ran away."

"Oh, my God.  Why would Ashley think that?"

"Because she was the one who opened the door and let him out."

 
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The swath of windswept snow continued, spreading its artic cold and snow-drifting danger across the area, making for treacherous travel conditions along its path.  The blowing snow, low visibilities, and diving temperatures were a hazardous threat to anyone in its way.

His journey toward the downtown area had been difficult, as heavy snowfall shifted the landscape dramatically, burying landmarks, erasing tracks and trails, and making exposure to the storm that much more dangerous.

When Blake arrived in the downtown area, he found it as deserted as a ghost town. Holiday shopping had been cut to a standstill.  Shops were closed, and the only reminders of the holidays were the flashing, shimmering lights behind frost-swirled windows.  Bracing himself, another hard gust of wind knocked into Blake, threatening to topple the ATV over, and him with it.  Power poles swayed, the lines swinging with the rhythm of the wind.

Turning his face away from a bitter blast, Blake stopped the ATV in the middle of the snow-clogged street and thought.

Worst-case scenario, Shawn's body was frozen somewhere after being exposed to the bitterly cold elements for days.  Another, equally bad situation was that Shawn was alive, but trapped in the home of a sexual predator, experiencing a living nightmare. Blake brushed these thoughts from his mind as he shook his head.  Both scenarios were too much for him to consider, and he would not accept them.  Blake had to find him, and he was running out of time and light.

He planned to retrace Shawn's steps from the courthouse one more time.  Blake knew that Shawn had walked through the downtown area after the hearing, because Betty Murphy, who owns Murphy's Fantasy Florist Shop, called the hotline to report she saw a small boy of Shawn's description pass her shop close to noon that day. 

Blake drove the ATV to the end of Main Street, which intersected with Washington.  Blake realized if he turned left, the road would lead him outside of town to Route 41.  If he turned right; he'd still be in the residential area that stretched for at least two to three square miles.

Blake turned right and tried to make his way as flakes pelted his snowsuit and glided across his ski goggles.  He drove in the middle of the street to avoid tree limbs and large rocks hidden by the snow.  Blake stopped at Oak Street and looked down the line of houses, most with curls of smoke escaping their chimneys.  Thinking about Shawn's file, he remembered there was no one on Oak Street that Shawn knew.

Pushing on to the next street, he glanced at the sign and realized he was already at Elm Street, where Shawn's friend, Billy, lived.  Stopping the ATV, he twisted around in his seat to look back.  From the courthouse to this street was a long walk, but it was not impossible to think that Shawn had made it this far.  In addition, after years of being delivered to his babysitter’s house every day, it was highly probable Shawn knew the landmarks that led to Elm Street. 

Blake’s mind raced back to the day he had talked to Billy Collins.  The boy was anxious, clinging to his mother, as he answered Blake's questions, and not once did Billy meet his eyes.  If the kid knew anything about Shawn's whereabouts, he was about to spill his guts, because Blake wasn't going to leave his house until he did.

 
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On the sofa near the fireplace, Jennifer watched as her dad poked at the fire, then walked around the Victorian house lighting candles.  They'd lost electricity an hour before, and for the second time in thirty minutes, Megan tucked the quilt around Jennifer's round belly and down her legs to keep her warm. "Mom, please stop fussing over me," Jennifer muttered, as Megan pulled the quilt over her exposed toes.

"All moms fuss over their daughters.  Why should I be the exception?" Sitting down beside her, Megan took her hand and said, "Honey, do you remember that blizzard we had when you were twelve?"