A Midnight Clear Page 16

  Thanking the detective, I got up and followed her to the door. Wishing both her and the man at the reception desk a Merry Christmas, I headed to my car and my, hopefully, last appointment of the day—Helen Dixon.

  The address Justine had given me was in a waterfront community just outside the capital. Merit Lake was man-made, and a haven for those who loved boating, jet skiing, or just lounging on their docks. I pulled up outside a Colonial-style home that looked to be over four thousand square feet with a fountain in the middle of the circular drive.

  After leaving a message before I’d headed out from the police station lot, I managed to reach Helen, who nervously told me to come by her house. I was guessing Justine must have called her and let her know the severity of the situation, because she was waiting at the door as I parked.

  “I didn’t do it,” she said the moment I was within ten feet of her. “I didn’t kill him. I had no reason to kill him.”

  “But you know who did?”

  She nodded, then waved me in. I sat in a white and gold upholstered chair, and she sat in the matching one beside me. I looked down at the white carpet, then over at the gold drapes, and wondered if she’d used the same designer as SMS&C.

  “Justine called and told me, and I just don’t know what to do.” She clasped her hands together so tightly that the rings looked like they were cutting off her circulation. “I’ve wanted to leave Stuart for ages, but I didn’t want a long, drawn-out, ugly divorce. And yes, I wanted my fair share of our net worth. Rhett approached me at some event or another a few years ago and was asking about the Cresswell case. I put him off, but a few months later I made him a deal. I told him that if he helped me get a quick and fair divorce settlement from Stuart, that I’d tell him all I knew about Cresswell.”

  “What exactly did you know about Cresswell?”

  She shrugged. “Things. Wives hear stuff sometimes—phone conversations, a few words at dinner, business talk.”

  “And what things did you hear?” Watching her twist her fingers practically off was driving me crazy, so I tried to keep my gaze on her face instead.

  “Stuart found something out, and he didn’t go to the authorities. He’s the kind of man that would rather hold information in his back pocket and use it when it benefits him the most. But the problem is that he knew that he knew, so he hid it where no one would think to look, then told him it was all okay and that they were buddies and that he wouldn’t rat him out.”

  I was absolutely confused. “Who? Who hid what where?”

  She glared at me. “I just told you. Stuart found out what Sonny did and hid the paperwork in his old office in a hole in the drywall in the closet.”

  “Wait. Sonny Magoo did something illegal during the Cresswell case, and your husband knew about it and hid evidence of it in his office at SMS&C?”

  “Yes.” She nodded vigorously. “I told Rhett the details and where the files were hidden in the office.”

  “But how did Sonny Magoo find out that Rhett was onto him?” I mused.

  Helen squirmed. “I told him. At the party. I let him know that Rhett was going to expose him, and that he needed to get those files before Rhett did. He went right upstairs to get them, and about fifteen minutes later the police arrived. Sonny didn’t come back downstairs for a while, and when he did, he looked really upset and he had pants on that didn’t match his tux jacket and his shirt was some cheap cotton thing. I said something to him, and he made me promise to say I was with him the whole time.” She clenched her hands together again. “I didn’t know Sonny was going to kill him! I just thought he could get to the files first, then Rhett wouldn’t have any proof.”

  “He embezzled money and you tipped him off so he could get away with it?” My voice rose quite a bit at the end of that question.

  “Sonny was good guy. It was only five hundred thousand.”

  I bit my tongue at that. “So how did Rhett manage to help you with your divorce? You said that was your payment for giving him the information on the Cresswell case.”

  Helen’s chin went up. “That’s not relevant. He had a few words with Stuart and everything went easy after that. I didn’t ask, and he didn’t tell.”

  Wonderful. Maybe there was something in those files that would implicate Stuart Dixon as well. Was the whole darned appellate court crooked? I was beginning to think Rhett Reynolds might be right.

  “Did you really have an affair with Rhett Reynolds?” I asked, more out of curiosity than anything else.

  She wrinkled her nose. “No. We thought it would be a good way for Stuart to save face. Rhett didn’t mind. And I accepted it as the price I paid for an easy divorce.”

  I stood. “You have to go to the police right now. They’ve got something that implicates you in all this. If you go now and tell them what you told me—including that Sonny Magoo asked you to give him an alibi, then things will definitely go easier on you.”

  Helen remained seated for a few moments, chewing her lip, then she stood. “It’s not like I can flee the country or anything. My divorce settlement wasn’t that big. Plus I just closed on this house and my new car doesn’t come in until next week.”

  For Pete’s sake. Could this woman be any more shallow? “Do you need a lift to the police station then? Since your car doesn’t come in until next week?”

  I was being sarcastic, but it went right over Helen’s head.

  “Oh no. I still have my old car.”

  She got her keys and her purse, then locked up as I waited on the porch. I’ll admit that I called Detective Bettie Page to let her know Helen Dixon knew who murdered Rhett Reynolds and was on her way in. I’ll also admit that I followed Helen to the police station and waited half an hour after she walked inside before leaving.

  Then I headed home. It was three o’clock on Christmas Eve. I couldn’t wait to get home, make some hot chocolate, cuddle with my cat, and knit. Judge Beck would hopefully be home early, and Heather would be bringing Henry and Madison over around after nine o’clock.

  But there was one more thing I needed to do.

  Irene O’Donnell answered on the first ring. “Tell me you’ve got some happy Christmas news for me, Carrera.”

  “I do.” I told her the whole story, finishing just as I turned down my street.

  “That’s the best present I’ve had in years,” Irene said. “Just fax me the final invoice whenever you all get back in the office after the holidays and charge it on the card I gave you.”

  She didn’t even ask how much it was. It reminded me a bit of Helen Dixon and her comment that an embezzlement of five hundred thousand dollars wasn’t a big deal. I was so glad this case was over. I was so glad to be back home with my cat and my house, and the people I cared about.

  “Merry Christmas, Irene,” I told her, hoping she didn’t fall over in shock when she got the invoice.

  Inside, Taco ran to greet me, informing me that he hadn’t eaten in weeks and was wasting away. I let him outside, then headed into the kitchen to pour his kibble. In the corner was Rhett Reynolds’ ghost.

  “It’s done,” I told him. “Ruby found the USB drive, and the police have it now. Plus Helen Dixon is going to testify. I’m pretty sure Sonny Magoo is going to be spending Christmas behind bars, especially because I don’t think he’ll be able to be arraigned and post bail before Monday.”

  The shadowy figure in the corner of my kitchen seemed to nod. Then he faded away. Gone. I was a little bummed because of all the ghosts who’d been pestering me this year, he was the most polite.

  I turned to put the cat food back in the cabinet and some writing on the frost-covered window caught my eye. It was Ruby’s name with a heart drawn around it.

  “She knows,” I whispered, even though the ghost had long gone. “She knows you love her. And she’ll never forget it.”

  Chapter 17

  I’d heard stories of kids waking their parents up at some uncivilized hour of the morning to go open Christmas presents, but that clearly d
idn’t apply to teenagers. Judge Beck was downstairs before me, but the house was far too silent for Madison and Henry to have arisen yet. The smell of coffee greeted me as I walked down the stairs. I heard the clink of a mug, the soft whisper of slippered feet. As I came around the corner I saw Judge Beck wearing a pair of pajamas with some anime character on them, his hair tousled. He held two coffee mugs in his hand and turned to greet me with a smile.

  “I heard you coming down the stairs.”

  I took one of the coffee mugs from him and added a splash of cream. “This is the definition of getting old, you know. We’re awake before the kids.”

  “Did you want some prune juice in that? Maybe a Geritol?”

  “No thanks. Let’s go sit by the tree and talk about our aches and pains as we drink our coffee. Maybe we can complain about people on our lawn, or discuss the last time we had a bowel movement.”

  The judge choked on his coffee, sputtering and spewing coffee across the island. I waited until he finally got control of his breathing, then continued.

  “My sciatica’s been acting up a bit lately. How about you?”

  “Think I might need new reading glasses. I’ve been having to hold things at arm’s length again to see them.” He bit back a smile, trying desperately to appear serious. “I pooped first thing this morning, by the way.”

  This time it was me choking on my coffee. This was what Madison would have called TMI, but it was hysterical.

  “Heavens! Such language!” I fanned my face. “I’ll have you know that I tend to take my daily constitutionals directly after my morning coffee.”

  “I’m glad to hear you’re regular.” He nodded. “It’s important at our age to move our bowels on a schedule.”

  I heard a strangled gasp behind me and turned to see Madison in blue fuzzy pajamas, her hair in a messy topknot.

  “Seriously? I come down for a magical Christmas morning and you both are discussing pooping?”

  The judge waved a stern finger at his daughter. “Constitutional. Or bowel movements. Our Kay takes exception to the vulgarity of the word ‘poop’.”

  I really didn’t, but it was worth it to see Madison’s outraged expression.

  “It’s poop, Dad. And I don’t want to hear about it.”

  “So when do you move your bowels, Mads?” Judge Beck asked, a devilish twinkle in his hazel eyes. “Or do teenage girls not poop? Maybe your excrement is all rainbows and glitter and smells like roses.”

  “Dad!” she shrieked, covering her ears. Then she laughed and launched herself into his arms, nearly spilling his coffee. “Merry Christmas, Dad.”

  He gripped her tight, his head bent over hers. “Merry Christmas, my Maddy-Mads.”

  I heard the edge of tears in his voice and it made my own vision a bit misty. They separated, and I was surprised to find myself a recipient of a similar hug from Madison.

  She pulled away, and the look she gave me made me choke back tears.

  “Go wake your brother so we can open presents,” Judge Beck told her with a smile. “Then we’ll have that French toast casserole you made.”

  She rolled her eyes. “I’ll get the little monster up and moving. Don’t open anything without us!”

  She ran up the stairs and we took our coffee into the parlor. I started some holiday music, flicked the lights on for the tree, then took a seat beside the judge on the sofa. We sipped our coffee in silence, watching the blinking tree lights reflect off the ornaments. The sounds of thumping footsteps overhead and yelling teenagers harmonized with the orchestral sounds of “Silent Night” in a strange fashion. I felt warm. Content. Happy.

  In short order the kids were downstairs and we were tearing through wrapping paper. Madison was thrilled with her scarf, and actually hugged Henry over the coral leather wristlet he’d given her. Judge Beck was wearing his leather jacket over his threadbare Hard Rock Cafe t-shirt, and exclaiming over the new putter from Henry.

  I opened a box so heavy that I needed to get down on the floor to tear the paper off it. The box showed a picture of a small cold frame, a dozen thriving tomato plants inside.

  “Do you like it?” Henry shyly asked. “I heard you say you wish you had one. I thought you could get an early start on herbs next year and grow those tomato varieties you wanted from seed. Dad said he’d help me put it together.”

  “I love it,” I told Henry, pulling him in for a hug. “And I expect you to help me go through seed catalogues this winter, picking out what we should grow.”

  He beamed. “Totally.”

  “Mine. Open mine next.” Madison shoved a box into my hands, nearly dancing with excitement. I opened it and saw the cat-hat, a pair of buttery soft, black leather driving gloves, and a membership notification for a wine club.

  “Mom helped me buy the wine thing because I’m too young,” she said. “I thought it would be cool for your Friday porch parties, or maybe when you and Dad are working late one night.”

  I smiled, my heart feeling as if it would burst. “Thank you, Madison. I love the gloves, and you know how much I love wine. This is such a thoughtful gift.”

  Henry seemed genuinely thrilled over the book I’d given him, immediately sitting over to the side and paging through it, commenting on various furniture styles in Colonial times. Judge Beck opened my gift and I held my breath, suddenly nervous.

  He pulled out the antique watch, the one that no longer worked, the one that had been set at eleven o’clock since my grandfather had died. He turned it over to see the engraving and read, “Time is the most precious gift we have.” Then he took out the picture frame. Turning it on, he watched as it cycled through pictures of Madison and Henry throughout the year. There were pictures of them building their raft, in the hot tub, at their sporting events, cuddling Taco. There were pictures of the four of us at Halloween, at Thanksgiving, and decorating the Christmas tree.

  A whole host of unreadable expressions flickered across the judge’s face. Did he understand what was behind this gift? It wasn’t just the symbolism of the antique watch, it was the pictures of his children—and of the four of us.

  It was far too soon for any sort of declaration on my part, and honestly I was too scared and uncertain to even know where my feelings lay as far as the judge was concerned, but I wanted him to know there was a place in my heart for him, and in my world, that included my home.

  “Kay…this is wonderful. Thank you.” He leaned over and hugged me and for a second I froze. Then I melted into him, feeling the warmth of him around me, breathing in the scent of soap and sandalwood and the distinctive scent of a man’s skin.

  Henry opened up a small box and let out a whoop, waving three plane tickets in the air. “We’re going! We’re going!”

  “Skiing?” Madison snatched the tickets from her brother and looked at them. “Dad, this is awesome!”

  “I already cleared it with your mother,” he told them. “And the school will be putting together packets for the week you’re missing. I’ll expect both of you to be doing homework every evening. No exceptions.”

  They both ignored him. Madison grabbed her phone and pulled up the website for the resort, then she and Henry started commenting on all the things they wanted to do on their winter vacation.

  I got up and went to the front door, Taco at my heels. Opening it up, I shouted in mock dismay.

  “Darn it! Taco snuck out the door. Madison, can you help me get him back in?”

  Madison was one of the few people Taco would come to when he’d made an escape to the great outdoors. I wasn’t sure if she’d protest or not, given that it was Christmas morning and she was in charge of warming up the French toast casserole she’d made last night, but she cheerfully said she’d be right there and dashed into the kitchen.

  I shivered as I walked out onto the front porch, Judge Beck following close behind me. In a few seconds, Madison appeared with a bag of treats in her hand. She shook it, calling for Taco as she looked around.

  “Who’s here?�
�� she frowned, looking at the car in our driveway. It was a bright red Acura sedan, about ten years old, but clean and shiny, and carefully inspected by the employees at Turn Of The Wrench auto repair.

  “No one.” Judge Beck watched his daughter, grinning when the look of confusion on her face was replaced by one of eagerness.

  “Who…whose car is that?” Her voice squeaked as she pointed.

  The judge pulled a set of keys out of his pajama pants pocket and handed them to her. “I believe it’s your car.”

  Madison screamed. I swear I think dogs in a two-mile radius heard her. Then she screamed again, hugged her father, and raced down the steps through the snow in her pajamas and slippers.

  “It’s from both me and your mother,” Judge Beck called after her. “Make sure you thank her when she picks you up this afternoon.”

  My eyebrows went up and I looked at him. “So you changed your mind?”

  “I decided that my being petty doesn’t help anyone. It definitely doesn’t help Madison. No matter what happens in mine and Heather’s lives, we’ll always need to cooperate and work together for the benefit of our children. There will be times we don’t agree, and times when old wounds are going to open and ache again, but in the end I want both Henry and Madison to know they’re loved by both of us. I don’t want them thinking they need to play monkey-in-the-middle to appease parents who are constantly trying to one-up each other. I don’t want them worrying about how we’ll act when we have to be together during a wedding or grandchild’s birthday party. There are enough things for my kids to worry about in life. Their parents’ fractured marriage shouldn’t be one of them.”

  I agreed. The rest of the day we spent eating French toast casserole, eating cookies, eating candy, and sprawling on the basement couch in a sugar coma to watch movies. Madison and I had collaborated on the dinner so around four o’clock we sat down to eat traditional ham and mashed potatoes, cheese fritters, honey-sweetened carrot puree, and a five-bean salad. The judge and Henry handled the dishes, while I knitted and Madison went upstairs to get a few things together to take to her mom’s.