Mistletoe and Murder

Chapter Nine

Romana leaned on the intercom button, counted to five and leaned on it again. As a rule, she found the theater where Jacob lived delightfully atmospheric, but tonight it felt plain old spooky. Even the little cherubs floating high on the ceiling seemed to be leering at her.

She checked her watch. He went on duty at nine. His truck was in the alley. The hood was hot, so he’d been out, but he was here now, and she was going to see him.

Finally, he responded. “Mick?”

Romana stepped in front of the camera. “No, it’s me. I can’t find Fitz. We were supposed to go shopping after she finished work, but she didn’t show. She always shows, Jacob, or calls to say why she can’t. It’s one of her best qualities. She never leaves me hanging.”

He said nothing, and she was just cranky enough to consider smashing the monitor.

“I’ve had a bad day, Knight,” she warned. “Please don’t choose tonight to go all moody and withdrawn on me.”

Five seconds passed, then ten. Romana zeroed in on the stairwell door. She was yanking on the handle when the elevator opened and Jacob emerged.

He strode right over to her, took her by the arms, jerked her up on her toes and kissed her. At least it resembled a kiss. In some ways, it felt more like an assault on her senses, but there was heat behind it and under that a measure of desperation that confused and unnerved her.

“What?” She dragged her mouth free. “Did something else happen?”

“Phone call.” Trapping her chin between his fingers and thumb, he examined her face.

“Uh, Jacob.” Closing her fingers around his wrist, Romana gave a subtle tug. “I wasn’t outside long enough to get frostbite if that’s what’s worrying you.”

Then she remembered what he’d said, and her heart jittered. “Did you hear from Fitz?”

“I heard from Critch.” Setting his forehead against hers, he closed his eyes. “He wanted me to think you might be dead, that he might have killed you. O’Keefe and I have half the Cincinnati force out searching for you. I checked the alley where you nailed Critch myself.”

Half the force? It was difficult to think past that, more difficult still to keep from wrapping herself around him. “You could have tried my cell phone. It’s always on.”

“Is it always charged?”

“Your point.” Then, recalling her reasons for being there, she snagged the sides of his jacket. “Jacob, I can’t find Fitz.” She shook him so hard his hair brushed her cheek. “I have to find her.”

“We’ll find her.” Jacob ran reassuring hands along her arms. “If Critch has her, we’ll get her back.”

Romana’s heart beat so fast it made her feel lightheaded. “He’ll hurt her, I know he will. If he hurt your neighbor, he’ll hurt Fitz.”

“Unless he doesn’t have her. Romana, she might have gone out with someone, spent the night with him.”

Romana had already considered the possibility. “I couldn’t get hold of Patrick,” she allowed. “And Fitz does have a thing for him.”

“What about Barret?”

“Ah, well.” She dropped her hands, fingers spread. “Different story there. Shera insists that James flew to Cleveland this morning. My sources at the airlines claim he’s not on any of their flight lists, so either he was traveling incognito or…”

“He didn’t go to Cleveland.”

She forced herself to relax, had to or she’d lose her ability to think. “The scuttlebutt at Barret Brown is that he has a mistress.”

“Is this scuttlebutt reliable or the usual half-baked bull?”

She seesawed her hand. “It came from my Uncle Dan- Fitz’s dad. He wasn’t overly clear, and I couldn’t push without frightening him, which I don’t want to do at this point.”

Jacob regarded her for a long moment, then shocked her with a kiss that sizzled her blood and zapped almost every thought from her head.

“Let’s go.” Turning her by the shoulders, he propelled her toward the door.

She fingered her still-tingling lips, had to give her mind a shake. “Where?”

“Where I’m assuming your cousin should have been today but wasn’t.”

“Jacob, stop pushing. I went by the hospital earlier. She didn’t come in for work this morning.” Panic clawed at her insides. She refused to let it win, but swung around. “If Critch has her, what can we do? We can’t even find him.”

With his hands still on her shoulders, he stared into her eyes. “We’ll do what we have to do, and we will get her back.”

“And you know that because…”

“If Critch took your cousin, Romana, he did it for a reason. I think he’d be more than willing to return her in exchange for the person he really wants. Me.”

NO MATTER HOW HARD SHE FOUGHT, Fitz couldn’t stop her teeth from chattering.

What would happen to her? She wanted to ask, but really didn’t want to know.

What an idiot she’d been. She had no experience in these matters and no business launching her own half-baked investigation. True, she’d stumbled in unknowing, but she should have taken her suspicions straight to her cousin. She’d be home right now, safe, warm and wrapping Christmas presents rather than scared, frostbitten and shaking in a damp cellar.

She shrank against the wall as footsteps approached. When the door creaked open, she avoided the beam of light that illuminated the person outside.

“Not the brightest bulb in the package, are you, Anna Fitzgerald?” She registered annoyance and amusement in equal proportions. “You’ve given me a problem, and I thought, I’d hoped, I was done with those long ago.”

“You killed Belinda.” The statement fell from her mouth unbidden. It made her jailor laugh and her insides coil into greasy knots.

“Well, now, that is a brilliant deduction. Maybe you should have been the cop instead of Romana. Except she isn’t a cop anymore, is she? And her attention these days, when not fixated on Jacob Knight, is pretty much centered on finding Warren Critch. But what about the person who murdered his wife? Why isn’t she focused on that task as well? Makes you wonder, doesn’t it, if your cousin might not be a little unsure about her not-so-white Detective Knight. Oh, dear, no, mustn’t think like that. Locate Critch, apprehend him, then worry about that other niggle. Or let it go. Stick Critch back in prison, and we all return to square one. We’ve been there for six years with no more harm done. Maybe that’s where we should stay.”

“I never thought it was you…” Fitz began, but her voice died away when a finger reached out to tap her chin.

“I realize that now. But when I saw you attempting to play detective, I thought you had it all worked out. What could I do but react as if you had? End result? Here we are, you and me, in a place where I’m very much afraid no one will ever think to look for you.”

Tears burned Fitz’s eyes. Her wrists and feet were bound. She couldn’t even try to escape.

“Please don’t…” she began.

The eyes in front of her rolled. “Oh, God, spare me the spiel. ‘Don’t hurt me. I won’t talk. Secret to the grave.’ The lines are old and tired. And you’re forgetting one vital detail.” The face she didn’t want to see at close range dipped to her level and smiled. “I’m a murderer. Did it once, won’t have a problem doing it again. But just so you know, I don’t make a habit of this. Now Critch, he’s hungry for the kill. Whereas I only killed because I had to. Sort of.” The eyes in that face clouded slightly. “Had to. Wanted to… So long ago in some ways, yesterday in others.”

To Fitz’s horror, the mouth began to twist. She didn’t need Romana to tell her that was bad.

“I don’t blame you for wanting her gone,” she managed to whisper. “I mean, she deserved to die, right?”

“In spades, Anna Fitzgerald. You don’t treat people the way she did and simply walk away. Have I told you the Belinda Critch story as it relates to me?”

What would Romana do? a frantic Fitz wondered. She swallowed her tears, shot for a tremulous smile. “You haven’t, no,” she replied. “But I’d like to know.”

The eyes watching her narrowed. “Maybe I wouldn’t mind telling someone about it at that. It’s not like you’ll be going anywhere with the news. Do you like chili?”

Another nod.

Her jailor’s head cocked. “Can you cook it?”

“Any way you want it.”

“Chili and a story.” The thought appeared to sit well. “I could handle that. But you do realize you’re going to die.”

“I know.” Fear flopped like a fish in Fitz’s stomach, but this was the way, the only way. Her only chance. “One last meal,” she said. “I mean, if it has to be the last, it should be good, right?”

“Oh, it’ll be good.” The finger that had been on her chin snaked out to stab the ribs above her heart. “Then it’ll be over.” A hideous smile formed. “Isn’t life a bitch?”

FITZ’S ATTIC APARTMENT was compact, colorful and bursting with character-just like her.

Romana ducked under a trio of red hanging balls and peered into the tiny bathroom.

“Her hair dryer’s not on the counter,” she called back to Jacob. “Neither’s her favorite coffee mug. She wasn’t here this morning.”

“Wouldn’t her father have noticed that?”

“I don’t imagine he noticed anyone or anything until at least noon.” Romana recalled her uncle’s red whiskey eyes and the breath he’d attempted to disguise with cinnamon mouthwash. “Anyway, Fitz leaves for work two hours before he does on Thursdays.”

She returned to the living area, pivoted on her heel and wished just once that a clue would jump out at her.

“No tree yet,” she noted while Jacob poked through the kitchenette. “She wants a live one, but there’s not much room up here.”

“Did you check her messages?”

Romana tossed her coat on the sofa. “Her supervisor called twice. I’m numbers three, four and five, and my brother Noah wants to know if she thinks I’d like a gift card or a Hermes handbag for Christmas.”

Jacob smiled as he opened a cupboard. “I’d go with the handbag.”

“Cigar’s yours, Detective.” On her third scan of the room, Romana spied a jar of silver polish and a blackened cloth. “What’s that?”

He opened another cupboard. “Let me guess. You don’t polish your Christmas silverware?”

“I don’t have Christmas silverware. Neither does Fitz.” But her cousin did have a black metal box with a combination lock sitting on the shelf above the desk. Interesting.

She glanced at Jacob. “You any good at cracking safes, Detective?”

“I’ve done a B and E or two in my time.”

He was a man of mystery on both sides of the law.

“Job’s yours.” Because she wanted to rock him as he’d rocked her earlier, Romana strode into the kitchen and gave him a hard, smacking kiss. “You open Pandora’s box. I’ll try James and Patrick again.”

She’d called James Barret’s home twice already, but Fitz swore third times were lucky. Not in this case, however. According to a slightly winded and decidedly out of sorts Shera, her husband wouldn’t be returning from Cleveland until Friday. Which told Romana nothing. Except that her cocker spaniel hubby likely wasn’t as faithful as Shera wanted to believe.

An unpleasant thought wound its way through her head. Fitz had always liked James, lusted after him in fact. If Barret had flown to Cleveland, he hadn’t done so under his own name. And Fitz, who adored him, was missing.

“Okay, that’s just plain unworthy,” she decided and punched Patrick’s number with more vigor than necessary.

He answered with a yawning, “I was asleep, Romana. I hope this is important.”

Call display still threw her sometimes. Romana pushed the hair from her cheek, held it back. “Patrick, I can’t find Fitz. Did you see her at all today?”

“What? Uh-no, I didn’t. I worked the graveyard shift last night. Left at six this morning. Went Christmas shopping.”

Romana would have smiled at his gloomy tone if her thoughts hadn’t been bouncing around like a pinball. “Her supervisor said she didn’t clock in.”

“Well, he’d know.” The gloominess gave way to guarded concern. “Can’t the police put out an APB on her?”

Romana circled the small room. “Fitz is a grown woman, Patrick. No matter what I think or feel, it’s too early for APBs.”

“Everything by the book, huh?”

She slid her gaze to Jacob. “Most things, anyway.” She stopped pacing when he tipped up the lid of the box. “Gotta go, Patrick. Let me know if you hear from her.” She hung up. “What is it?” she demanded when Jacob didn’t speak. “Don’t give me that inscrutable look, Knight, just show me what’s… Oh… Damn.” Even in dim light, the contents of the box winked and glittered and told her far more than she wanted to know. “Wonderful.” She dropped to her knees. “I should have guessed.”

Jacob maintained his easy crouch. “Lucky for Fitz I’m in Homicide.”

“Luckier still that she’s not here so I can kick her butt.” Romana dipped a hand inside, let cuff links, rings and pendants slide through her fingers. “I really have to stop believing in fairy-tale endings.” Nudging aside a cameo, she picked up a silver watch. “This is interesting. No sign of tarnish.”

Jacob took it from her, flipped the band over. “It’s engraved.”

Instantly protective, Romana took it back. “It could have been a gift.”

“Uh-huh, just not to Fitz.”

“Maybe she bought it at a garage sale.”

“And maybe I’m Father Christmas in disguise, but it’s not a good bet.”

“You’re being a cop, Jacob.”

“You’re happily-ever-aftering again. Is there a name?”

There was something. Romana switched on a table lamp. Purple light spilled onto the watchband and the ornate script lettering that covered it.

“Still not psychic, Romana,” Jacob prompted gently. “You’ll have to read it out loud.”

She really didn’t want to, but the words had already scored themselves into her memory.

She breathed out the worst of her fear and read,

Belinda.

May our secrets live on. Forever.

Love, James.

IT MEANT NOTHING,ROMANA told herself. So James Barret had given Belinda a watch. So Fitz had cleaned it up and locked it in a box. And yes, both Fitz and James were unaccounted for. That didn’t mean James Barret had taken her. Critch was still the most viable suspect-in everyone’s opinion except hers.

“I’m staying with Critch on this one,” O’Keefe said when Jacob updated him by phone. “Think about it. How would Belinda’s murderer even know Fitz had the watch?”

It was a valid question, Romana admitted. And still the pesky little whispers continued.

At Jacob’s suggestion, they drove to the police station- via James Barret’s riverfront warehouse. The streets were slick, the Christmas music on Jacob’s radio Kentucky bluegrass. Not a far stretch in Romana’s mind from Irish folk. Which sent the whispers into overdrive.

“You want to tell me what’s wrong?” Jacob sent her a glance. “Or am I supposed to guess all the way to headquarters?”

Because it was foolish to live in denial, Romana relented. “It’s part of an old Irish verse.”

“What is?”

“The inscription on the watch.” She played with the hem of her long coat. “‘Though life cannot be so, and our bones do turn to dust, may our secrets live on. Forever.’ Fitz is Irish. She knows the verse. Barret’s also Irish. And Belinda’s dead. Okay, maybe Barret murdered Belinda-no idea what their secret might have been, though logic says affair. Or maybe he paid her to doctor his partner’s autopsy report. Very big secret there. Worth killing for? Possibly. But how could he have known that Fitz had Belinda’s watch?” She pressed her fingers to her temples. “I want to go with O’Keefe and believe Critch has her. So why can’t I?”

With a glance in the side mirror, Jacob geared down. “Believe it’s Critch, Romana. And put your seat belt on.”

She lifted her head. “Are we being followed again?”

“Seat belt,” he said and reached a hand toward it.

As she buckled up, Romana finally noticed what she’d missed during her emotional outburst. No matter how often Jacob used the brake pedal, nothing happened. He was relying on his vehicle’s gears to slow them down.

Her training kicked in, and she braced her hands on the seat. “Where does this street end?” She regarded the ice slick in front of them. “Please say before the river.”

“Yeah, it ends before the river.” The transmission screamed as he rammed the gearshift down another notch. “It dead-ends at Gloster Road, at the old brick building that used to be the Merriman Meat Factory.”

She saw the building then, in silhouette, an immovable mountain of wood and concrete set behind an even more imposing wall of bricks.

“Oh, hell,” she managed to whisper.

The tires slipped. The SUV spun. And all Romana could do was stare in horror as the wall grew closer and closer.