Classified Christmas. B.J. Daniels
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envelope. As she unfolded the newsprint, she saw that it was a clipping of a local newspaper brief about a woman named Grace Jackson who’d died in a one-car rollover south of town.
She felt a wave of relief. Apparently someone thought the story warranted a follow-up. That’s all this was.
True it was odd because the accident had happened six years ago Christmas Eve.
But at least it wasn’t connected to Texas. Or her. She tried to relax.
Still the fact that it had been sent to Andi West bothered her. Who besides the newspaper publisher, Mark Sanders, knew her television name?
Just then Mark Sanders came in the door.
She held up the clipping and he took it from her as he walked by her desk, glanced at the story and handed the clipping back saying, “Yeah, that was real sad. They hadn’t been married long.” He started to walk off.
“Do you want me to do a follow-up?” she asked his retreating back.
He stopped to glance over his shoulder and frowned. “Can’t see any reason. It’s been what—”
“Six years,” she said.
“Right. No reason to bring it back up,” Sanders said.
“Someone sent it to me.”
“Just file it. You’re covering the Parade of Lights tonight, right? It’s a pretty big deal in Whitehorse. You sure you don’t mind shooting it, too?”
“No problem.” She didn’t bring up the name thing. It was possible, she realized, that Mark Sanders had told someone who she was thinking no one in Whitehorse, Montana, would care let alone cause her any trouble.
“I’ve got it covered,” she assured him, imagining what her best friend back at the television station in Fort Worth would say if he knew she was covering parades for a small-town weekly newspaper, taking the photographs as well as writing the stories.
She hadn’t talked to Bradley since she’d left Texas. Maybe she’d call him. She was sure he was probably worried about her since he’d tried to talk her out of coming up here. She missed him and hadn’t wanted to call until things were going better. She didn’t want to hear him say I-told-you-so. Even though he was right. She feared this move had been a huge mistake.
But she had some time to kill before the Parade of Lights and she really needed her friend.
“Hello?”
Just the sound of Bradley’s voice brought tears to her eyes.
“Hello?” The apprehension she heard in his voice surprised and worried her.
“It’s me,” she said quickly. “Are you all right?”
“Hey.” Instantly he sounded like his old self again. “I’m fine. I just thought it was someone else calling. I’ve been getting some obscene telephone calls. I might enjoy them if I was straight,” he said with a laugh. “I am so glad you called. I have been worried to death about you. I was beginning to think you’d forgotten about me.”
“No chance of that,” she said, tucking her feet up under her. It was almost like old times talking with him over a delivery pizza and old movies.
“So how bad is it?” he asked.
“It’s…interesting.”
“I told you not to take that job. You must be bored to tears. You haven’t been banished, you know. You can get on the next plane and be back in Texas in a matter of hours. I’ll pick you up at the airport.”
She laughed. It was tempting.
“So how horrible is it in the wild, wild West?” he asked. “You can tell me.”
“It’s freezing cold for starters.”
“I know. I confess I’ve been watching the weather. I knew you were going to freeze your cute little behind off.” He laughed. “Seriously, how are you?”
“Homesick for you, for warm weather, for Mexican food.” She smiled. “There isn’t any in Whitehorse.”
“Imagine that,” he said with a smile in his voice.
“So how are things at the station?”
“It’s been bloody hell. There was practically a revolt over your job even though everyone knew the position was only temporary.”
Her boss had promised to hold her job for six months.
“So who got it? Anyone I know?”
Bradley let out a dramatic sigh and she knew.
“Rachel,” she said. Rachel was as close a female friend as she’d had at the station. “I’m happy for her.”
“Oh, please,” Bradley said. “You can be honest. It’s me, remember?”
Andi laughed. It felt good. “You’re just jealous because she won’t let you try on her shoes.”
“I miss you.”
“I miss you, too.” She hated to ask, but she had to. “Has the station received any more threats addressed to me?”
That telltale beat of silence, then, “I made sure they were turned over to the police.”
Hearing this surprised her. She’d thought the threats would stop once she wasn’t on the air anymore.
“I’ll bug the cops until they find this freak and lock him up so you can come home.”
She smiled through her tears. “You’re a good friend.” She hung up, glad she’d called him. She felt better about her decision to come to Montana. If the television station was still getting threatening letters for her, she was much better off being as far away from Fort Worth as she could get.
As she started to file away the news article about the woman who’d died in the single-car accident, she stopped to read it through again, still curious why anyone would have sent it to her.
The deceased woman, Grace Jackson, had apparently been driving at a high rate of speed when she’d lost control of her car south of town. The car had rolled numerous times before landing in a ravine where it had caught fire.
As she had the first time she’d read it, Andi shuddered at the thought of the poor woman being trapped in the vehicle and burning to death. There were so few vehicles on the roads up here and miles between ranches let alone towns. Even if the car hadn’t burned, the woman probably would have died before someone had come along.
According to the article, Grace Jackson had been married to a Cade Jackson. Wasn’t the sheriff’s name Jackson? Carter Jackson, as she recalled from reading back papers to familiarize herself with the town.
She wondered if Cade and Carter were related. Pretty good chance given their names. The sheriff’s name had come up quite a lot in the news—including the murder of the reporter who’d had this desk, Glen Whitaker.
She looked again at the manila envelope the newspaper clipping and tape had come in, checking to make sure there wasn’t a note that she’d missed. Nothing. The envelope had been mailed in Whitehorse so at least it was from someone local.
She filed the story, still a little anxious, though, that at least one person in town knew her other name.
As she pocketed the cassette tape, she wondered where she could find a tape player.
THE PARADE of Lights definitely was an event in Whitehorse, Montana. Andi stood on a curb with the rest of the county that had turned out, everyone bundled up for the cold, snowy December night, as one homemade float after another cruised by.
The air was filled with excitement, the stores along the main street open and lit brightly for the event. The smell of Christmas trees, hot cider and Native American fry bread wafted in the chilly air.