Julia Spencer-Fleming - One Was a Soldier

Ron shook his head. “I mean she’s gone. Checked out. Took her luggage, her car, and her life-sized GI Joe doll with her.”

Russ was negotiating the turn off of Route 57 when his cell phone rang. He picked it up without looking. “Van Alstyne here.”

“Hey. It’s me,” Clare said.

“Hey, you. Are you feeling better?”

“I guess so.” She paused. “I think I know why we’ve been so snippy with each other lately.”

“Snippy” wasn’t the word he would have used, but what the hell. “Why?”

“Because we’re not having sex.”

He grinned. “I sure am thinking about it a lot, if that’s any consolation.”

“Oh, yeah? What sort of things are you thinking about?”

“Stop that. Are you calling about Nichols?”

“What? No. Why?”

“Didn’t you get my message?”

“No. Sorry. I didn’t check before I called you. What’s going on?”

“Wyler McNabb has flown the coop. He left his car with his in-laws and told ’em he was off to join the BWI Opperman construction team in Iraq.”

“Wasn’t he out on bail?”

“Uh-huh.”

“With a broken cheekbone?”

“Plus a hairline fracture in his skull.”

“And they let him go to a construction site in a war zone?” Clare’s voice carried all the disbelief his had when Knox and Flynn had reported in.

“That’s what I’m about to find out. I called the construction depot in Plattsburgh, but the guy there didn’t know anything except that the monthly flight to Iraq left yesterday evening. All the operations-level stuff is handled at headquarters. I’m headed for the Algonquin Waters to get the truth out of somebody.”

“I’m at the Stuyvesant Inn. I’ll meet you there.”

“No. Do not go to the resort. I don’t want you anywhere near there if you can help it.”

“Why were you calling about Nichols?”

He hissed frustration as he swung his squad car onto the Sacandaga Road. “Clare, I mean it. I don’t want you-”

“Oh, honestly, Russ, you’re not going up against a terrorist cell holding the hotel with guns and explosives. You’re going to ask the human resources manager if they authorized McNabb to get on their plane. I think I can survive the danger. I’ll see you over there.” She hung up.

He swore under his breath. The wedding, which she had just been complaining about, was in nine days. She was carrying her usual overfull schedule at St. Alban’s. On top of it all, he knew, despite her being less than forthcoming about therapy, that she was still struggling with her experiences in Iraq. So what does she do? Go chasing after Tally McNabb’s nonexistent killer.

He switched his light bar on and stepped on the gas when he hit the resort’s road, causing a car speeding down the mountain to brake hard enough to spew dirt and leaf mold into the air. He was going to have to lobby the aldermen to install a traffic light on the Sacandaga Road, or sooner or later there was going to be another fatality like this summer’s. Of course, the aldermen, who liked spending money as much as Clare liked sitting quietly at home, would make him choose: traffic control or a new officer’s position.

He saw Clare’s ratty old Jeep as soon as he drove into the parking lot. That was another thing on his list. The first weekend after they were married he was marching her over to Fort Henry Ford and buying her a reliable four-wheel drive with all-weather tires and side-door air bags.

She hopped out of her clunker when he got out of the cruiser. She tugged a wool cardigan over her clerical blouse. “So why were you calling me about Nichols?”

He zipped his jacket up. “I wanted to ask you if you had any idea where he might be. If he said anything to you. Why are you so keen on Wyler McNabb’s whereabouts?”

She looked up at him. “I told you. I think Tally McNabb was killed for a million dollars. I want to find out everything I can about the money, because if I know that, I’ll know who murdered her.”

It came to him as he spoke the words. “You know, distracting yourself by playing private eye won’t make the bad stuff in your head go away.”

She opened her mouth. Shut it. “Is that why you became an MP? Because focusing on other people’s problems helped you ignore your own?”

His breath hitched in his chest. Jesus. Sometimes she pulled truth out of him like a magician conjuring scarves. Then he saw her eyes, wide and white-edged, and realized she was feeling the same way he was right now. Because he had done the same thing to her. Truth for truth. He took her hand, holding her palm open as if he could see the future there. “You know what’s scary about being with you?”

She shook her head.

“There’s not anyplace to hide. For either of us.”

She smiled a little. “You chickening out?”

“Not a chance.” He started for the hotel’s entrance. She fell into step beside him.

“So,” she said. “Nichols.”

“I figure there are three possibilities behind McNabb’s disappearance. One, he really was shipped off to Iraq as a BWI contractor.”

“That sounds flat-out strange to me.”

“Yeah. Two, he told people he was going to Iraq on a job and skipped town for places unknown.”

“Let me guess the third. Nichols took him out in a bid to be the last man standing.”

“Like you said, a million bucks is a powerful incentive to murder.”

They thumped through one of the revolving doors and crossed to the gleaming reception desk. A cute young woman with dark hair perked up at them. “Welcome to the Algonquin Waters Spa and Resort, Reverend. Chief.”

Clare’s title was self-evident, but how had she known he was-he spotted her first name pinned to her chest. “Christy McAlistair,” he said.

“Yup. It’s Christy Stoner now, though.”

He knew Wayne and Mindy Stoner’s boy had gotten married between deployments, but he hadn’t put that fact together with the name on the Bain accident report. “How are you doing?” He glanced at her trim waistline. “Everything, uh, okay?”

“You mean after the accident? I’m fine. Zachary-our baby boy?-came early, but he was already almost six pounds, so my OB said it was probably just as well he was born at seven months.” She laughed. “Then-because the driver who caused the accident had been working up here?-Mr. Opperman offered me a job. Wasn’t that amazingly nice of him?”

Amazingly smart of him to avoid a lawsuit. Ellen Bain had been drinking at the lobby bar before taking her fatal drive.

“Zach and I are living with my parents while Ethan’s in Afghanistan, so everything I earn can go toward a down payment on a house when he gets out of the marines.”

“You’re Ethan Stoner’s wife.” Clare put the pieces together.

Christy’s eyes lit up. “Do you know Ethan?”

“We haven’t met, formally. I know of him.”

The girl laughed again. “Yeah, he was kind of wild when he was young. He’s settled down now.”

Clare glanced at him, and he knew just what she was thinking. When he was young? For all that she was a wife and mother, Christy Stoner looked to him like she ought to be cheering on the Minutemen football team. God, he was old.

“Well.” The voice behind him was as smooth as a well-oiled gun. “What have we here? The Church and the State. Together.” Russ and Clare turned around. Opperman’s mouth curved up as he looked at them. “How unconstitutional.”

“Oh! I’m sorry,” Christy said. “I didn’t know you were waiting for them, Mr. Opperman.”

“That’s all right, Christy.” Opperman gestured toward the elevators. “My office is this way.”

Russ threw out his arm, blocking Clare’s way. He didn’t want her anywhere near the resort’s CEO. Irrational, but there it was. If he had kept Linda away from Opperman, she never would have gone to the Caribbean with the man, never would have been driving home from the resort in a blizzard, never would have died-and he never would have been marrying Clare, which brought him back to irrational. “We don’t need to take up your time,” he said. “I came here to speak to your HR director.”