Conard County: Christmas Crime Spree (Conard County: The Next Generation), page 1
“Callum, what was his name?”
He broke every rule in the book, hoping to make Molly feel better. Instead, he made it worse, saying, “Arthur Jay Killian.”
She drew a shaky breath. “Oh my God.”
“Molly? Do you know him?”
“I was instrumental in putting him in prison.”
“Molly, what happened? With this Killian guy.”
She swallowed and tightened her lips, then spoke. “He was a vicious man. Unbelievably vicious. What he did to his wife? It was almost as bad as what he did to the women here. But he did it to her more than once.”
“Why isn’t he after his wife?” Callum asked.
“I guess she got as far away under a new name as I’d hoped.”
“Which leaves you.”
“That would be my guess. But why the other women? Why didn’t he just come after me?”
“You’ll have to ask him that when we cuff him.”
CONARD COUNTY: CHRISTMAS CRIME SPREE
New York Times Bestselling Author
Rachel Lee
Rachel Lee was hooked on writing by the age of twelve and practiced her craft as she moved from place to place all over the United States. This New York Times bestselling author now resides in Florida and has the joy of writing full-time.
Books by Rachel Lee
Harlequin Intrigue
Conard County: The Next Generation
Cornered in Conard County
Missing in Conard County
Murdered in Conard County
Conard County Justice
Conard County: Hard Proof
Conard County: Traces of Murder
Conard County: Christmas Bodyguard
Conard County: Mistaken Identity
Conard County: Christmas Crime Spree
Visit the Author Profile page at Harlequin.com.
CAST OF CHARACTERS
Molly Canton—Pastor of Good Shepherd Church, faces difficulties because of her gender. Naturally cheerful and generous.
Detective Callum McCloud—Widower, new to Conard County, moved from Boston where he was a detective. Seeking quieter life.
Tyra Lansing—Molly’s best friend, victim of brutal home invasion.
Callisto Manx—A church warden and Molly’s ally.
Arthur Killian—Seeks vengeance against Molly. He doesn’t care who he hurts to make her suffer.
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Excerpt from Police Dog Procedural by Lena Diaz
Chapter One
Reverend Molly Canton, pastor of Good Shepherd Church in Conard City, Wyoming, saw gently falling snow outside her study window. The snowflakes sparkled in the light gleaming from her window.
Enchanted, she rose, slipped into her red parka and stepped outside to enjoy a miracle of the Christmas season.
The cold nipped at her cheeks as she looked upward into the darkened night sky, but she hardly felt it. All that this perfection needed, she thought, was quiet Christmas carols in the background. With an inward giggle, she stuck out her tongue like a kid to catch a drifting flake.
To think, she would have missed this beauty if insomnia hadn’t plagued her tonight. Snow floating down like this in the daytime carried little of the magic of lightly falling snow at night.
Turning, she looked up at the glowing steeple of the church, a soft light, meant to be a beacon to the faithful but faded a bit in the fog of the falling snow. Her heart soared with the rising steeple, lifting toward the heavens.
Cares and concerns vanished in the moment, making her feel as free as that shimmering snow. Almost as if she fell upward into it. Joy, never far from her at this time of year, flooded her now. Gratitude filled her.
She began to shiver and accepted the fact that she’d have to go back indoors, when she heard a sound.
It immediately caught her attention. Had it been a cry of some kind? Certainly not a baby; she’d recognize that sound. Did someone need help? Turning slowly, she strained her ears and held her breath as much as she could. The foggy clouds that had been issuing from her mouth and nose subsided to almost nothing.
Maybe she’d imagined it? Probably. Being alone in the near dark often stimulated the imagination. And she was certainly imaginative.
But just as she had decided she’d heard nothing at all, she heard the cry again. Someone was in trouble. A woman.
Her joy dropped away, replaced by a need for action. Adrenaline began to course through her, making her skin prickle. But where had the cry come from? Was it really distress? She pulled back her hood, hoping to hear better.
Near the church like this, sounds could echo off the high stone walls. At the same time, the increasing depth of the winter’s snow muffled the world.
Unable to ignore the call, needing to place it, she stepped away from her parsonage and continued along the walkway to the church that a member of her congregation kept clear for her. Tonight it was lightly dusted with fresh snow between the banks of previous snows. Maybe standing somewhere else would localize the sound...if it came again.
That had sounded like a cry of distress, though. Not simply an exclamation. If someone was hurt, she had to find them. Quickly. The lack of sirens indicated no one had called 911. She must be alone—the woman who had cried out.
Urgency filled Molly. Her pace quickened, her snow boots squeaking quietly on the wet pavement. The nights in this town were so quiet in the wee hours. There was no sound except trucks whizzing by on the state highway bypass.
She heard the cry again. From the far side of the church. She ran around the building, hoping she could find it. Then she saw a dim light in the upstairs bedroom of the house on the other side of the large churchyard.
Mabel Blix. A woman in her early thirties who lived alone, confined now to crutches and sometimes a wheelchair because of an auto accident.
Molly wasted no time running to Mabel’s door. It was unlocked, so she raced inside, past family heirlooms, and charged up the stairs.
What she found made her pull out her cell phone and call the cops and the ambulance.
Mabel sprawled on the floor and she looked as if she had been beaten. Molly kneeled beside her, calling her name, letting her know she was not alone. That help was on the way.
* * *
DETECTIVE CALLUM MCCLOUD arrived at the crime scene, dragged out of the most restful sleep he’d had in a while. Not that he hadn’t once been used to these calls, but he’d hoped to find far fewer in this little out-of-the-way place. Now here he was in the thick of it again.
The crime-scene tape had already been strung around the house and environs. A small crowd had begun to collect despite the early hour, but no more than the county deputies and local police could hold easily at bay. From voices around him, he gathered that most of these people had known the victim. Small town, he reminded himself.
Crime-scene techs were already at work, bright lights flooded the yard and every light in the house had been turned on. As Callum reached the edge of the tape, one of the techs handed him a folded-up clean suit, gloves and booties to prevent contamination of the scene. He pulled them on, then yanked up the hood, tightening it with the drawstrings. Only then did he cross the barrier.
A path had been neatly delineated, with yellow tape laid on either side, indicating the areas the crime-scene team had already cleared. He stuck within those lines as he approached the front porch of the small two-story house. It was a routine entirely too familiar to him. Sickeningly familiar.
The pathway had been marked, up and into the house, where techs were busy at work. Floodlights glared over everything. Some of the team nodded briefly his way as he entered the home, and the lead technician approached.
“We cleared the stairs and the bedroom upstairs. You can go up if you want.”
He definitely did. These hours after the home invasion could be the most important. “The victim?”
“Barely conscious. Blow to the head. She won’t be able to tell you much right away.”
Callum nodded, glancing around as flash cameras recorded every detail. Home invasion? Maybe. Objects had been smashed and thrown around. Items trampled.
But the biggest puzzle of all: a large-screen TV hanging from the wall. So what had the perp been seeking? Money in a rolled-up sock? Jewels that were probably mostly paste with the possible exception of an heirloom or two?
This didn’t look right to his practiced eye.
He made his way into the bedroom and found more wanton destruction. Drawers pulled open or dumped, clothing thrown about. A jewelry box that appeared to have been shaken upside down. A few cheap pieces left behind. How did the perp know the difference, if there was one?
Blood on the pale blue rug, but not a dangerous amount.
Something nagged at him. He’d need to talk to the victim, study the crime-scene photos in detail. Well, that was standard procedure, but this time he felt there was something more he needed to figure out.
Returning outside, he asked the deputy who was standing just outside the door, Guy Redwing, “Who found the victim?”
“The pastor did.”
Immediately, Callum scanned the crowd, searching among the men for a clerical collar. “The pastor?” he repeated.
Redwing pointed. “She’s standing right there in the red parka.”
She. Well, he hadn’t expected that, not around here. Big cities were one thing, and they often still had trouble with female clerics. But a small area like this? It was also a sign of how little he’d come to know this community in the last few months.
There she stood, wrapped in her red parka, her hands stuffed in her pockets, her fur-lined hood pulled up but not tightened around her face. Jeans. Winter boots.
Bucking the image, he thought with dry amusement.
“Molly Canton,” the deputy advised him. “Some call her ‘Reverend,’ most call her ‘Pastor’ and some call her names I won’t repeat. Two years ain’t long enough to change some attitudes around here.”
Callum dragged up one corner of his mouth. “You got that right, Guy. Or anywhere.”
He quickly stripped off his protective gear and tossed it toward one of the crime scene crew, then headed to the pastor.
The crowd of lookie-loos had been growing steadily since he entered the house. Molly Canton wasn’t being eased away from the tape, however. Her face reflected deep concern, and she didn’t back away from him, but held out her gloved hand. He shook it.
“I’m Detective Callum McCloud, and you’re Reverend Canton, right?”
“I am. I’ve seen you around a couple of times, Detective. I wish we’d met under better circumstances.” At least she hadn’t pressed him to join her flock.
“I’d like to have a few words with you, if you don’t mind.”
“I don’t mind.”
“Not out here, ma’am. Too many ears.”
She nodded. “Come around to my cottage and I’ll make coffee, or tea if you prefer.”
He followed her along the shoveled walkway to the rear of the church. Cottage was a good name for it, he supposed. Maybe cozy in some people’s parlance. Half the small stone house boasted a second floor that looked like a square tower, a single large room by itself. Unlike the rest of the cottage, it was covered in gray clapboard.
Inside the house was warm enough, but the rooms were small.
“I’ve often wondered how any of my predecessors could have raised a family in here,” Molly remarked as she set about starting the coffee. “You a tea man?”
“Coffee for me.”
“Easier.” Then, as it began brewing, she doffed her parka and they sat down across from each other at a wooden table. “Any word on Mabel? The victim?”
“I’m told she’s groggy. We won’t be able to talk to her for at least a few hours.”
“I’m so glad I found her alive.” Molly’s gentle face sagged.
Indeterminate age, Callum thought. Silver streaks in her dark hair. A bit plump around the middle, he’d noticed when she shed her jacket. She wore a pair of metal-rimmed glasses, “half-eyes” as they’d once been called. Middle-aged, maybe? Not to judge by her youthful face, a soft, pretty oval with a delicate nose. Curiosity pricked him.
“So you found Ms. Blix? How did that happen? Exactly.”
“I was working in my study.”
“At this hour?”
She gave him a crooked smile that wrinkled her nose just a tiny bit. “I’m sometimes an insomniac. This was one of those nights. Anyway, the light from my window caught a gentle snowfall, and it was just too beautiful to ignore. So I went outside to enjoy it. A little Christmas miracle.”
He felt his face stiffen and hoped it didn’t show. Miracles? He didn’t believe in them, not the smallest of them.
Molly got up and poured their coffee, then leaned back against the counter to sip. “Regardless, I was enjoying the snow. This is my favorite time of year, and this was a touch of magic. For me, anyway. Then I thought I heard a cry. I wasn’t sure, though. Then it came again and there was no mistaking it was a woman. She sounded in pain.”
He nodded, pulled out his pocket notebook and scribbled some notes in it.
“Well, it’s hard to tell where sounds come from, especially at night, when they can carry so far. I moved, hoping a different position would help. The stone walls of this church are famous for echoing.”
He wrote some more.
“I came around the corner to the front of the church, and saw that Mabel’s bedroom light was on which doesn’t mean anything by itself. She was in a terrible car accident that left her needing crutches. The light usually stays on in case she needs to go to the bathroom. But I heard the cry again and knew it had to be her.”
Molly paused to sip coffee and clearly collect herself. “I thought maybe she’d fallen and couldn’t get up. I hurried over and the door was unlocked, so I charged in. I didn’t much notice the mess downstairs I was in such a hurry. Then I found Mabel. It was obvious she’d been beaten. I gave what first aid I could until the ambulance arrived.” Molly’s face sagged.
“I noticed the mess when I was with Molly, then when I came downstairs.” She looked directly at Callum. “It was a robbery, wasn’t it? Although I can’t think Mabel had a thing to steal.”
“Jewelry?” Callum asked.
Molly shook her head. “She only had a couple of good pieces, heirlooms, and they weren’t big enough to sell for much. Mostly sentimental value. Like a lot of people in this town, she was hanging by a financial thread, even talking about selling some of her antiques.”
Callum nodded slowly and at last sipped some coffee. “Nobody who might have a problem with her?”
Molly shook her head. “Only the drunk who rammed into her car, and he’s in jail right now. Although how he could blame her...” Molly frowned.
“You know her well?”
“She’s a member of my congregation. I check in on her often, as do some of the other ladies. Being on crutches and in a wheelchair makes her life difficult. She hasn’t had time to adjust to any of it yet. And I hope she never has to.”
Callum nodded his agreement. But now, especially with a blow to the head, things might well grow more difficult for Mabel Blix.
He drained his coffee. “Thank you, Pastor. I may be in touch with more questions.”
“No problem,” she replied. “Often enough you’ll have to drag me out of the middle of something, though.”
“Busy?”
“The territory of this calling. Anyway, I’ll be going to the hospital soon.”
He hesitated as he reached for his jacket. “We don’t want Ms. Blix’s memory affected.”
She screwed up her face. “Polluted, you mean. Well, I’m not going for any reason but to offer her comfort. And believe me, Detective McCloud, nobody will keep Mabel’s pastor away.”
* * *
WHAT A DOUR MAN, Molly thought as she changed into clerical garb. Black slacks in deference to the cold, black lace-up boots with respect to the snow and a long-sleeved black clerical shirt with plastic collar stuck in beneath the shirt tabs.
She hated that plastic collar—she preferred cotton—but the expense of keeping cotton pristine and starched had changed her thinking. She could keep plastic clean with an all-purpose cleaner. Didn’t mean she had to like it.
Finally, she donned a dark gray wool coat and a scarf that could be pulled up over her head. Official-looking. The way people expected her to look, unlike the red parka she wore when the cold was brutal enough. Her own version of kicking over the traces.
But after nearly two years of working to win this county over to the idea of a female pastor, she wasn’t about to blow it now. That task was far from completed. Her red parka might get a wink and a nudge, but it would have been foolish for her to go beyond that.
