David Handler - The Snow White Christmas Cookie

Now she had her siren on. Now she was pissed.

Back down at the intersection with Big Branch, Kylie tried to make a right turn and spun out again-only this time she caromed hard off of a Lexus that was waiting at the stoplight. But Kylie didn’t stop, wouldn’t stop. Just revved her engine until her wheels caught hold and slid her way back toward the shopping district, picking up speed as she went along. She was going way too fast when she arrived at the intersection where Big Branch dead-ended at Route 156. Directly across from the stoplight sat an old wood-framed house that had been converted into commercial office suites.

Now the girl had a choice to make. If she turned right she’d be heading north alongside the Connecticut River toward Dorset’s bucolic farm country. If she turned left she’d be on her way down to the beach.

Left. She decided to go left.

She never made it.

Her Honda went into an uncontrolled spin and barreled head-on into the ground-floor suite of the office building. The sound of the crash was like a bomb going off in the snowy quiet.

Des radioed for emergency backup, then jumped out and ran to the Honda, which had hit the wooden building so hard that it ripped through the exterior and interior walls. The car’s front end was inside the front office.

Kylie’s door had popped open and her air bag had deployed. “My ankle!” she howled in pain. “My ankle!”

“Just try to relax and breathe, Kylie. Help is on its way.”

“I’m sorry, Trooper Des! I’m so sorry!”

“It’s okay. You’re going to be okay.”

“No, I’m not! My mom’s gonna kill me!”

“Just keep breathing in and out, okay? I’ll be right back.”

“Don’t leave me!”

“I’m not. I’m right here, I promise.”

Des rushed inside the building. The ground floor front office belonged to Josie Cantro. The life coach’s office door was locked but the frame had been knocked off-kilter by the crash, as if an earthquake had struck. Des shoved the door open with her shoulder and found, well, what she found was Josie groping around on the floor next to the office sofa for her jeans. Josie was naked. So was Casey Zander, who’d been getting busy with Josie on the sofa before Kylie and her Honda had so rudely interrupted them. Josie’s camisole and panties were on the floor next to her jeans-ripped to shreds. Her left eye was swollen half-shut. She looked as if she’d been punched. Looked plenty dazed, too. So did Casey, whose forehead was bleeding. Fallen ceiling tiles were everywhere. Apparently, one of them had hit Casey, who was someone Des could happily have gone her entire life without ever seeing naked. Paulette’s son didn’t seem to be constructed out of muscle, bone or sinew. Just jiggly, moon-white blubber. He reminded Des of one of those grubs she sometimes dug up in the garden and had to squash.

She stood there in stunned silence, listening to the old building creak and groan around her. Steam hissed from the Honda’s blown radiator. The baseboard heating pipes had ruptured and water was streaming from them onto the floor. Sheetrock powder wafted down from up above. Off in the distance, she could hear the sirens of the emergency responders.

“I–I thought the roof had collapsed,” Josie stammered finally. “From the weight of so much snow.”

“It may just do that. You’re not safe in here. Get your clothes on and get out of here.”

Neither of them moved. Just stared at her, blown away.

“Listen to me, if you folks don’t get your clothes on now the firemen are going to find you this way. Everyone in town will talk. Do you understand?”

Josie nodded her head, blinking.

“Good. Now hurry up and get out. I have to search the rest of the building.” Des darted back out into the hall. Josie’s downstairs neighbor, a seamstress who did alterations and tailoring, was closed due to the storm. So were the accountant and home computer consultant upstairs. Josie and Casey were the only ones in the building. They were dressed by the time Des made it back down. Josie was rummaging through her desk drawers.

“Josie, what do you think you’re doing?”

“I have to collect my files,” she explained, her swollen eye twitching.

“No way. Not until the building inspector says it’s okay. Let’s go!”

The Jewett girls and two of Dorset’s fire trucks had already made it to the scene. The volunteer firemen were attempting to extract Kylie Champlain from behind the wheel of her car. But Kylie was so freaked out that she was fighting them. Madge had to subdue her with an injection before they could wrestle her out of the car and stabilize her ankle. It was a bad break. Des could see bone sticking out of skin.

The rest of the men were preparing to search the building. Des assured them it was unoccupied. She also ordered them to stay out of Josie’s office-which, as of right now, she was regarding as a potential crime scene. Though she saw no need to tell them that.

A second EMT van arrived now from Old Saybrook and took charge of transporting Kylie to the nearest emergency hospital, which was Lawrence and Memorial in New London. Highway I-95 was closed right now to all but emergency vehicles. If the plows were keeping up they might get her there in a half hour. On a normal day it would take ten minutes.

Des watched the EMT van take off, knowing she would have to prepare a detailed incident report for her troop commander. And this whole stupid mess would have to be reviewed by Internal Affairs. With the benefit of twenty-twenty hindsight they would demand to know why she hadn’t just put out a BOLO and let Kylie go. But Des stood by what she’d done.

In the back of their van, The Jewett sisters tended to Casey’s head wound and Josie’s eye. While they did that Des called Tina Champlain to notify her that her daughter had just been injured in a one-vehicle accident while fleeing the scene of a crime. Tina took the news surprisingly calmly. She even thanked Des for calling before she rang off.

By now Josie was standing there in the snow with a cold pack pressed to her swollen eye.

Des showed her a smile. “How are you feeling?”

“Fine,” she answered shortly. “But I need my files.”

“I know you do. But you can’t go back inside until we know it’s safe. Sit with me for a minute, okay?”

They got into the front seat of her Crown Vic. Des cranked up the heater.

“Not my best morning ever,” Josie said with a rueful shake of her blond head. “First my boyfriend kills himself. Now my office is toast. Who was that behind the wheel of the car?”

“Kylie Champlain.”

“Is she going to be okay?”

“I’d rather talk about you, Josie. Want to tell me what was going on in there?”

“It … wasn’t what it looked like,” she responded quietly.

“Does that mean you don’t want to swear out a criminal complaint?”

Josie looked at her, mystified. “A criminal complaint for what?”

“When I walked in that door your left eye was swollen and your underwear was in shreds on the floor. Was Casey sexually assaulting you?”

Josie let out a laugh. “No! Casey’s been a client of mine for the past two months. No sexual assault of any kind was taking place.”

“So what was?”

“A role-playing exercise.”

“Does this type of exercise usually result in you getting a black eye?”

“He didn’t mean to do it. He just got carried away.”

“By what?”

“Casey lacks confidence when it comes to women. I’m doing what I can to empower him.”

“So the sex was consensual.”

“It was an exercise. ”

“Josie, are you romantically involved with Casey?”