Classified Christmas. B.J. Daniels
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make the connection.
Reluctantly she’d showed Bradley on a Montana map on her computer. Lubbock Calhoun had been arrested for an outstanding warrant in a convenience store in Glasgow, Montana, six years ago—an hour away from Whitehorse.
“I think it’s a sign I should check into this job,” she said and waited for Bradley to talk her out of it.
And Bradley had tried, pointing out that it had been six years, Lubbock was probably just passing through Montana, and “What could you possibly learn after all this time? Not to mention, you’ll be stuck in One Horse.”
“Whitehorse,” she’d corrected, the job having taken on more appeal with the possible Lubbock Calhoun connection.
“I’m worried about you and this thing with the Calhouns,” he’d said. She suspected he knew why they held such interest for her because he was the best researcher she’d ever known. But he never let on.
He’d finally given up trying to stop her, knowing how desperately she needed to get out of Fort Worth. And how she couldn’t turn down even a remote chance to learn more about the Calhouns.
Coincidence? Starr coming to Montana, marrying a cowboy from Whitehorse and Lubbock being arrested just miles away? No way. Andi felt her excitement building. There was a story here, the kind of story that had propelled Andi’s rise in broadcast news. That and her instincts when it came to investigative reporting.
And while she might have had to give up television news for a while, a story like this would definitely assist in her return when the time came.
Eagerly she planned how to proceed. She had to get the whole story and that meant hearing Cade Jackson’s side of it, she thought as she looked up his address in the phone book.
As she took it down, she couldn’t help but wonder. Did Cade Jackson know who he’d married? Or was he in for the surprise of his life?
CADE JACKSON walked home from the parade through the underpass beneath the tracks as the passenger train pulled in.
The night was cold and dark, the streets snowpacked and icy. He breathed in the air. It felt moist, the clouds low, another snowstorm expected to come in by tomorrow morning.
A white Christmas. He could hear carols coming from one of the cars’ radios as it passed. He quickened his step, anxious to get back to his apartment behind the bait shop. Going to the parade had been a mistake. Now he felt antsy. He thought about driving out to his cabin on Nelson Reservoir, but it was late and he was tired.
The parade had brought back memories of Grace and the night they’d come to the parade together, cuddled close as music played on a float with a Western band. She’d looked over at him, her eyes bright with excitement, her cheeks flushed from the cold. And he’d kissed her.
He could still remember the way she’d tasted. Sweet and just a little pepperminty from the candy cane she’d eaten. He recalled the way she felt in his arms and how happy he’d been. Newlyweds. They’d been newlyweds and he’d thought they had years together ahead of them.
That was the night they talked about having children, he realized as he finally reached the bait shop. He started around back to his apartment in the rear when he saw that someone had left a note on the shop’s front door.
He stepped over to pluck it free before going around to the back. While he locked the bait shop door, like most everyone in Whitehorse, he left his apartment door open.
Stepping inside, he flipped on a light glad to be distracted from his thoughts as he opened the note. Something fluttered to the floor, but he was busy looking at the note, surprised he didn’t recognize the handwriting. He knew everyone in Whitehorse, having grown up in the area. He and his brother, Carter, had been raised down by Old Town Whitehorse to the south, but they’d both gone to high school here.
The town of Whitehorse had sprung up to the south closer to the Missouri River breaks, but when the railroad had come through in the 1800s, the town had moved north, taking the name with it.
The note read: “Mr. Jackson, I need to talk to you, M. W. Blake.” There was a local phone number at the bottom. And four little words that ruined his night. “It’s about your wife.”
The word “wife” jumped out at him. He glanced down at the floor and saw the business card at his feet. Bending, he stooped to pick it up. This he recognized. The logo was from the Milk River Examiner, the local weekly newspaper.
Under it was the name: M. W. Blake
Under that was the word: Reporter
He crumpled both the note and the business card in his fist. He didn’t have any idea who M. W. Blake was and he didn’t care to know. The last thing he planned to do was talk to a reporter about Grace.
ON THE WAY HOME after leaving a note for Cade Jackson at his bait shop, Andi realized she couldn’t wait until morning to find out what was on this cassette tape. She called the publisher and asked if anyone had a tape player that took regular-size cassette tapes.
His daughter just happened to have an old one she no longer used, he said. If she stopped by, she was welcome to borrow it. He also had a couple of tapes she could use if she needed to tape something.
Mark Sanders had bent over backward since she’d applied for the job. She’d told him she needed a change of pace. He, in turn, had needed a reporter after Glen Whitaker had been murdered. Not a lot of reporters wanted to come to Whitehorse, especially after they found out what it paid.
Sanders had been worried that Andi had too much experience and wouldn’t be staying long.
“Whitehorse is nothing like Fort Worth,” he’d said with a laugh. “Maybe you’d better come up here and have a look-see before you take my offer.” He had already apologized for how little he could pay her.
She’d had to convince him that Whitehorse was exactly what she was looking for. She didn’t tell him her real reason. Only her friend Bradley knew that.
Back at her apartment, Andi took the cassette tape from her pocket and popped it into one side of the player. Hitting Play, she turned up the volume and went into the kitchen to pour herself a glass of wine.
At first all she heard was static. She was beginning to think that the tape was blank as she took the wine bottle from the fridge.
But as she reached for a glass, she heard a woman’s voice on the tape and froze.
Like a sleepwalker, she moved into the living room, the wine bottle in her hand as the tape continued.
She didn’t recognize the voice—she’d never heard Starr Calhoun speak. Nor did the woman have much of a Texas accent. No, it was what the woman was saying that captured all of Andi’s attention and convinced her that the voice was that of Starr Calhoun.
On the tape, the woman talked about robbing a series of banks. After a moment, a male voice could be heard on the tape. Her accomplice.
The tape went to static but Andi didn’t move. Couldn’t. She stood too shocked to do anything but stare at the tape player.
Who had sent this to her?
And why?
And where had it been the last six years?
She told herself not to look a gift horse in the mouth. Why not just revel in her good luck at having a story like this dropped into her lap?
But she knew that hadn’t been the case. It was no coincidence someone had sent her this. Just as it was no coincidence she was here. Was it possible that someone had sent her the job notice, counting on her need to escape Fort Worth and her interest in the Calhouns? With Lubbock’s arrest just miles from here the person who’d sent her the job notice knew she wouldn’t be able to resist.
Just as she wouldn’t be able to resist breaking this story once she had all the facts.
She stepped to the player, her fingers trembling