In The Bleak Midwinter: A Special Agent Constance Mandalay Novel (14 page)

“Lost?”

“That or worse. Maybe pure negligence. Or
even incompetence. I don’t know just yet.”

“Think someone coulda screwed with it on
purpose?”

“I hope not, but I don’t know why anyone
would. It’s not like this is a RICO case where there could be
payoffs or something. It’s a serial killer.”

“True,” Ben grunted.

“Except...”

“‘
Cept what?”

“Something that was in the file is that the
victim is always dumped in the same location.”

“And so this is still an open case why?”

“Apparently the body just shows up. Whoever
is doing it makes it past the surveillance without detection.”

“Bullshit. That’s why your file is screwed
right there. You’ve got a dirty cop on your hands. Maybe Sheriff
Sherlock is your guy.”

“I would think that too, except all four
agents prior to me have been on the stake outs as well. I can’t see
all of them being complicit in this, and why cover up for a small
town sheriff if they were?”

“Yeah, I see your point. But then you’ve got
that effed up case file...” he offered.

“I know...” her voice trailed off.

“You talk ta’ any of the other
investigators?”

“Not yet. I left a message for one of the
previous agents,” she told him. “Hopefully I can find out more when
he calls me back.”

“That’d be good,” Ben agreed. “Just be
careful. You never know, and if you uncover somethin’ somebody
doesn’t want found out…”

“I’ll be on my guard.”

“I’m not kiddin’ here. Especially since you
don’t have any backup.”

“I’m a better shot than you are, remember?”
she chided.

“I’m serious, Constance.”

“I know you are… Believe me. I’ll be
careful.”

She heard him breathing on the other end of
the line as a heavy silence fell between them.

Eventually, he cleared his throat and said,
“So...I assume you’ll be in Podunkville for Christmas then?”

Constance sighed and watched as her breath
condensed in a thick cloud then instantly disappeared. “Unless
there’s a miracle, I’m afraid so. I’m sorry. I know we had
plans.”

“S’okay...” he told her. “It’s the job.”

The whoosh of weather-stripping against a
metal threshold sounded in Constance’s free ear, and she looked up
to see Sheriff Carmichael trundling through the opening and then
down the short flight of stairs. He glanced at her and pointed
toward the diagonally-parked police cruiser that was nosed in at
the curb several feet away from her own vehicle.

“The sheriff just came out; I need to go,”
she told Ben.

“Okay. Don’t worry about Christmas. We’ll
celebrate when ya’ get home.”

“I’ll hold you to that,” she replied.

“Won’t be too hard,” he countered.
“Remember... Be careful.”

“I will. I’ll try to call later. Bye.”

“Sounds good. Bye.”

She slipped the cell phone into her pocket
then pulled her glove back onto her bare hand. As she walked over
to the passenger side of the sheriff’s department cruiser, she
thought about her relationship with Ben. It had been a tumultuous
on-again, off-again ride that spanned several years now. The length
of the breaks varied, but somehow they always came back together,
so it was obvious that they cared for one another.

That much was evident in the words they
exchanged.

And in the time they spent together.

And the sex… The oh-my-God-sex that was
better than she had ever expected it could be, what with him being
fifteen years her senior. She’d dated men half his age who couldn’t
keep up with him, so there definitely weren’t any complaints there.
At least not from her, and he always seemed more than
satisfied.

Then she wondered silently why even with all
that, neither of them ever seemed to be able to bring themselves to
say to the other, “I love you.”

Under the circumstances, who knew? But maybe
that was a good thing.

C
HAPTER
11

“AFTERNOON
, Martha,” Sheriff
Carmichael greeted the woman as she drew herself up from her chair
and made her way over to the front desk. Then he asked, “How is she
today?”

Constance glanced around the clean but small
lobby area. The squat, somewhat new sign at the entrance to the
semicircular drive read Holly-Oak Assisted Living Facility. Inside,
the building itself looked more like what her grandparents use to
call a “rest home.”

Holly-Oak was obviously well maintained, but
from an architectural standpoint it had definitely been around a
while. Of course, that seemed to be an ongoing theme in Hulis, as
with many other small towns where time itself seemed to be on an
extended holiday. It also hadn’t escaped her notice that a funeral
home was located directly across the street, well within view from
any of the facility’s front windows; in her way of thinking, not
exactly the most comforting vista for the residents. In fact, it
brought the old adage, “location, location, location,” right to the
forefront of her thoughts.

“Afternoon, Skip.” The woman returned the
sheriff’s greeting, then answered, “She’s Merrie,” punctuating the
words with a shrug, as if that simple statement and gesture said it
all.

Given the knowing nod the sheriff offered in
response, for the two of them, apparently it did.

“So, how’s Kathy?” Martha asked as Sheriff
Carmichael signed the visitor’s register. From her posture it was
readily apparent that she was ignoring the fact that Constance was
even present. There was also an audible tension in her voice that
more than indicated the pleasantries, while sincere, were for some
unknown reason forced.

“Feisty as ever,” he replied. “I stopped
tryin’ to keep up with her a long time ago.”

She nodded. “Smart man. And the girls?”

“Fine, fine. Doing fine,” he replied. “Cyn
came home on break Friday.”

“This is her last year at Mizzou, isn’t
it?”

“Supposed to be,” he grunted. “But she takes
after her mother, so she’s making noise about going after her
Masters.”

“Good for her.”

“So, Martha,” Carmichael said, shifting the
subject toward the inevitable as he wagged a thumb at Constance.
“I’m sure you know why we’re here. This is Special Agent Mandalay
from...”

“I know, I know,” she replied before he could
finish. “I’ve been expecting you all morning. Then I got the call
from Stella not fifteen minutes ago.”

“Yeah, not surprised. She’s got a big mouth,
just like her mother.”

Constance reached in to her jacket to extract
her credentials, but the woman stopped her. “Don’t bother. You’re
with Skip, that’s all I need to know…or want to know, for that
matter.” Her voice held more than a hint of disgust as she almost
spat the comment.

“I’d like to speak with Merrie, if that’s
possible,” Constance said, leaving her badge case stowed in its
pocket and slowly pulling back her hand.

“When are you people going to leave that poor
girl alone?” the woman demanded. “Don’t you think she’s been
through enough?”

“Calm down, Martha,” the sheriff said. “She’s
just doin’ her job. You know that.”

“I thought her job was to find whoever is
doing this killing,” she replied, directing herself solely at him.
“I don’t know how dredging up the past for that poor girl every
year is going to do that.”

“I know, Martha, I know...” he soothed.

She scowled at Constance for a moment, then
snorted in disgust as she turned away from the counter and headed
back toward her desk. “She’s in her room, Skip,” she called over
her shoulder. “Just keep an eye on the time. You know as well as
anyone what day it is.”

“What does she mean by that?” Constance
asked.

“I’ll tell you later,” Sheriff Carmichael
said as he stepped back and pointed toward a door off the side of
the lobby, indicating that she should go first. “It’s this
way.”

Mandalay gave him a puzzled look. “Shouldn’t
we wait? You did contact her state-appointed advocate, correct? I
assumed that was the call you were making earlier.”

“Nope. She doesn’t have one.”

“If she has diminished faculties as you’ve
said, then she definitely should.”

“Special Agent Mandalay,” he replied, a mix
of bemusement and disingenuous formality in his words. “In case it
has escaped your attention, this whole damn town is Merrie
Callahan’s advocate. We’d all pretty much adopted her even before
her parents were killed in that accident. Believe me, if you get
your toes anywhere near the line, they’re gonna get broken, I don’t
give a damn who you work for.

“I’ll do whatever it takes to protect our
little girl...so will anyone else here in Hulis. And just so you
know, that’s not a threat, sugar; it’s a promise.”

THE
carved, wooden sign on the door
looked like one you would pick out from the pages of a personalized
gifts catalog—the kind that had overpriced trinkets made to appear
worth the cost because of the custom engraving. It was definitely
too perfect to have been handmade. The router work had almost
certainly been done by a programmed machine in a factory where they
churned out fancy name plaques by the hundreds each hour. In a
deeply recessed outline font it read simply, MERRIE’S ROOM.

The door itself was only partially closed,
with a gap of just a few inches left between it and the jamb.
Through the sliver of an opening, the keyboard-heavy, pop music
beat of a song floated on the air, although it was barely
recognizable through the scratchy hiss of static that overlaid the
notes.

Sheriff Carmichael tilted his head and
listened closely for several seconds, then turned to Constance and
said, “
Love Will Keep Us Together
.”

“Excuse me?”

“The song,” he said, gesturing at the door.
“
Love Will Keep Us Together.
The Captain and Tennille.”

“Oh...” Constance replied, nodding. “I
thought I’d heard it before.”

He shot her a half grin. “I guess you
probably aren’t quite old enough to remember it, but they were on
the Top Forty that year.”

She nodded but remained silent.

The sheriff reached out, hesitated, then gave
a light, tentative knock on the surface of the door. After several
seconds had passed with no answer, he cleared his throat then
rapped his knuckles against it a bit harder and called out,
“Merrie?”

A moment later the volume on the music ramped
sharply downward, and a slightly frightened sounding woman’s voice
answered, “Who is it?”

“Merrie,” Sheriff Carmichael called out again
as he began slowly pushing the door open with his palm. “It’s
Deputy Skip, from the sheriff’s department.”

“Deputy?” Constance asked softly.

“It’s nineteen seventy-five in here,” he
answered.

“What?”

He didn’t get the chance to explain further.
The sound of frantic footsteps was already coming from the other
side of the door, and it was suddenly ripped fully open from
within. A woman roughly Constance’s height all but tackled the
sheriff in a tight hug, her demeanor having suddenly shifted from
fear to excitement.

Her hair was a shoulder-length shag of
chestnut, streaked ever so slightly with a few strands of gray. She
was pretty but definitely looked close to her chronological age,
even if she wasn’t dressed to reflect it. It was hard to miss that
she was clad in a long sleeve, knee-length pleated dress. It was
dark blue with a stark white collar, and looked like an adult-sized
version of something straight out of a seriously retro clothing
catalog for children.

“Deputy Skip!” she said, joy rampant in her
voice as she continued to hug him tightly. “I knew you’d come to
see me today. You always do. I told Miss Martha you would, but I
don’t think she believed me.”

“Oh, I’m sure she believed you, Merrie,” he
replied, giving her a grandfatherly squeeze. “You know how Miss
Martha is.”

“Unpleasant,” she announced as she released
her grip on him and stepped back.

“Listen to you,” he chuckled.

Just as one would expect of a ten-year-old
child, she widened her eyes and rolled them as she cocked her head
to the side and muttered a long, drawn out, “It’s true.”

He winked. “You’re right, it is. Just don’t
tell her I said that.”

She giggled at their shared secret.

“So, Merrie,” Carmichael continued, gesturing
to Special Agent Mandalay. “This is my friend, Miss Constance. I
was telling her about some of the people here in town, and she
thought that you sounded so interesting that she asked if she could
meet you.”

Merrie glanced at her but held her position
close to the sheriff. After a moment she said, “Umm... Hi.”

“Hi,” Mandalay replied with a smile. “I like
your dress.”