“But, Skip…” the deputy started.
“Stand down,” he repeated, cutting him off.
Deputy Broderick hesitated for a moment, then lowered his weapon and slid it into his belt holster. Constance tossed her gaze back and forth between the two of them.
“Hands behind your head,” she ordered the deputy.
“Do what she says,” Skip told him.
Mandalay divided her attentions between them while he complied.
“There,” Sheriff Carmichael said, directing himself to her. “How about you put yours away too.”
Constance carefully stepped back and turned so that they were both in her line of sight. “Where’s Deputy Johnson?” she demanded.
Skip snorted. “If I had to guess, he’s sitting at a desk back at the office where I sent him about nine last night. Probably has his feet up while he’s drinking a hot cup of coffee,” he replied.
“The office?” she spat. “He was supposed to be watchi-”
He cut her off. “No need in all of us freezing our asses off, young lady.”
“But you were supposed to be watching the outside of the house.”
“We were. Did you see anyone come in?”
“That’s not the-”
“Dammit, Constance,” he retorted, cutting her off again. “Just put your damn pistol away and I’ll give you whatever answers I have. I promise.”
She mulled it over, staring back at both of them as a rising surge of wind whipped her hair around her face. It moaned dolefully through the trees before tapering off to nothing.
“Why should I believe that? You haven’t exactly been forthcoming with me so far.”
“I think you just saw my reason for that.”
She continued to stare at him but didn’t reply.
After several heartbeats he appealed, “We really don’t have a whole lot of time. Merrie is going to be waiting.”
Every ounce of training Constance had told her to cuff them both, then call the Missouri Highway Patrol for backup, then her SAC, and then just sit on this until it could all be sorted out. She’d been lied to, physically attacked, and on the wrong end of a gun, and those were just the high points. She was sure there could be plenty more charges filed without even cracking the spine on a law book.
But that was her training. Her instinct was telling her something completely different. It was being entirely contradictory, and she couldn’t follow both of them. Not simultaneously. She had to make a choice between brain and gut. She knew it was a coin toss. She also knew there was much more at stake than who got the ball.
Going with her brain would be the safe bet. But then there was that little girl, trudging half-dressed through the snow, and somehow she knew that’s what this was really all about. Following her gut might well be the option that would bring some sense to all of this.
“Constance, if you want answers, put the gun away. But I’m telling you now, I don’t have time for this. No matter what, in about one minute I’m going to walk to my car and go do what I have to do. You can either come with me, or you can shoot me. Honestly, I’m kinda hoping for option number one.”
“What is it you have to do, Skip?”
“Come with me and you’ll see.”
She stared back at him and sighed. This was crazy. She needed to just arrest him and his deputy and be done with it. That would be proper procedure. Then again, it would have also been proper procedure for the bureau to send her up here with backup and a complete file on this case to begin with. There was nothing SOP about any of this.
“I must be insane…” she finally muttered.
Against her better judgment, Constance slowly and carefully held her arms out to the sides and then just as carefully slipped the Sig Sauer back into her belt rig.
“That’s better,” the sheriff grunted, lowering his hands and touching his fingertips to his bloody lip, then pulling them away and giving them a quick inspection. “Lovely,” he mumbled, then looked at her and asked. “How’s your head?”
“It hurts like hell,” Constance said, looking at him in earnest. “Tell me what’s going on, Skip…”
He pointed off in the direction the little girl had gone. She looked and saw the trail through the snow, but no sign of Merrie.
“I should probably just show you,” he said, then started ambling across the yard toward the street. There was an obvious pained hitch in his gait. As he passed her he added, “Come on. My car is just around the corner.”
THREE blocks from the house on Evergreen Lane, Sheriff Carmichael lazily cranked the steering wheel and brought the cruiser into a wide arc around the corner. He and Constance had been riding in relative silence for the small handful of minutes it had taken to traverse the distance, neither of them speaking a word. The only real sounds to join them were the tires against snowy pavement and the drone of warm air pushing out of the vents.
The heat felt good to Constance. Although both the tense excitement and the physical altercation had set her blood moving, she still felt frozen to the core. Too much time immobile in that deep-freeze of a house had taken a toll.
While she had brushed off before climbing into the cruiser, she hadn’t been able to free herself of all the snow she had picked up while rolling about on the ground. Now, here in the warmth of the car, it was melting. Her hair was damp, even downright wet in some spots. So were the knees and seat of her jeans. She desperately wanted to strip down and soak in a hot bath. She especially wanted to get out of the Kevlar vest. But neither of those things would be happening anytime soon, and she knew it.
Skip finally broke the silence. “Almost there.”
Spinning the steering wheel, he took the cruiser through another languid turn. As he straightened the vehicle and continued rolling forward, the headlights fell in a bright swath across a small figure standing motionless in the middle of the street. He slowed more and angled off to the side. Eventually they came to a halt next to the curb several yards in front of the little girl.
He cranked the shift lever into park and then flipped on the light bar. A swath of red and blue flickered into the night, falling across the still motionless figure standing in the street. Each strobe highlighted the blood, dirt, and wounds that marred her. Carmichael reached to the dash and poked a button. A clunk sounded behind them as the trunk release popped.
With a quick glance at the digital clock on the console he grunted, “We’re running a bit late.”
“What do you mean?” Constance asked.
“I don’t have much by way of an explanation,” he said, looking over at her. “I just know that this is exactly where I found her in nineteen seventy-five. And it’s where I’ve found her every Christmas morning for the past eight years. But I’m usually here a bit earlier. It’s better that way.”
“Why?”
“She doesn’t have much time.”
“What’s happening here?” Constance whispered.
“I don’t know,” he replied. “I’ve been hopin’ for eight years now that someone could tell me… ” He paused for a moment, then said, “You can get out if you want, but stay next to the car. Don’t go near her. I’m serious.”
“Why?”
“Because she’s my responsibility. That’s all I have time to explain right now.”
With that, he climbed out of the vehicle and walked around to the back where he lifted the trunk lid. A moment later he slammed it closed and trundled back around, a blanket tucked under his arm.
Constance popped her door and stepped out onto the street after he had passed. Questions were dancing on the end of her tongue, but when she opened her mouth, the music stopped and she couldn’t seem to give them voice. Instead she wandered a few steps forward and stood next to the front of the cruiser as she’d been instructed, watching as Sheriff Carmichael knelt down on the snowy pavement and wrapped the blanket around the little girl. The child continued to stare blankly into space as he bundled her in the thick fabric. Hooking his arms around and hugging her close so that her head lay against his shoulder, he hefted her up, then stood. The weariness of both age and exhaustion were apparent in his struggle as he rose to his feet. The lingering pain of Constance’s hammer-handed punch was still showing in his gait as he turned and began walking back to the car.