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"Have you ever seen an uglier dress in your life?"
Liz Carmichael pitched her voice to be heard over the windshield wipers and the downpour of rain battering against the roof of the car. Rainfall this heavy was unusual in December, but nothing about this warm Kentucky winter could be called usual. She lifted her head from the passenger headrest and cracked one tired lid to see her friend's reaction to her question.
Jazzy clutched the wheel with both hands, her gaze fixed on the wet road through the windshield. Lightning flashed across the coal-black sky above them, illuminating her dainty profile in an eerie white glow.
"It was pretty awful," she agreed without looking toward Liz.
From the backseat came Caitlin's voice. "But the bride was beautiful."
"What bride?" Liz snorted. "If there was a girl somewhere inside all those ruffles, I couldn't see her."
"Oh, there was a bride, all right. I have her check to prove it." The corner of Jazzy's mouth twisted. "And a stiff neck, too."
"Yeah, and my lips are numb." Caitlin, the flutist in their classical ensemble, sounded tired, too. "I think that's the longest we've ever played at a wedding reception. We earned our money tonight, that's for sure."
Liz rubbed a thumb across the calluses on her fingertips, sore from playing her cello for two hours straight. "I just hope the check doesn't bounce."
She snapped her jaw shut. She must be more tired than she thought. That was a bit much, even from her.
Caitlin poked her shoulder from behind while Jazzy said, "Don't be such a sourpuss. Of course the check won't bounce."
Liz half turned to give Caitlin a crooked grin. Good thing her friend knew her well enough to see through hercynicism and realize the reason for her grumpiness.
The car slowed as they approached the entrance to Liz's apartment complex.
"I thought we played well. Did you notice—"
"What's going on over there?" Jazzy cut her off with a finger stabbing at the windshield.
Liz looked where Jazzy had indicated. Flashing blue and white lights from a pair—no, three police cars sliced through the dark haze of the downpour.
"They look like they're in front of your building, Liz."
Liz leaned forward to peer through the torrent of rain as Jazzy guided the car through the parking lot. As they drew near, a person in a dark rain poncho exited her building and sloshed through the water pooling on the sidewalk. The figure slid inside one of the police cars. Oh, no. What if something had happened to one of her neighbors?
What she noticed next made her stomach twist. A light shone in the second floor window on the left side of the building.
Her window.
She had turned off the lights before she left. She always did.
"I think…" Her voice came out choked. She swallowed and tried again. "I think they're in my apartment."
Caitlin's gasp was almost drowned out by the rumble of thunder outside.
Jazzy pulled the car to a stop behind the third police cruiser and cut the engine. The sound of rain hammering against the roof grew louder in the silence. Dread gathered in Liz's core. Had her place been broken into? Had she been robbed?
Shuffling sounds from the backseat made Liz look around. Caitlin had pulled her hood up over her head and was tying it in place beneath her chin.
Liz cleared her throat. "You don't have to get out in this weather. You'll get soaked."
Jazzy slipped her car keys into the pocket of her raincoat before turning a disbelieving stare in Liz's direction. "Are you crazy? We're your friends. We're coming with you."
A flash of relief loosened her tense shoulders, but only for a second. She needed to get in there and see what was going on in her apartment. She braced herself, pushed open the car door and exited the vehicle at a run. Dimly aware that Jazzy and Caitlin followed, she splashed across the sidewalk and into the breezeway of her building. Water plastered her bangs to her forehead and dripped into her eyes. Blinking furiously to clear them, she ascended the six stairs in two leaps. Her friends right behind her, she skidded to a halt in front of her door.
It stood open.
Just inside the doorway, two police officers, one male, one female, blocked her way. Both wore thick rain ponchos and hats covered in plastic.
Someone rushed up beside her, and Liz felt her arm caught in a tight grip.
"Oh, Liz, I'm so sorry." Her neighbor, Mrs. Evans, peered up at her from beneath a creased brow. "You've been burgled."
No. Not again. "I have?"
Mrs. Evans nodded. "They left your door open, and I peeked in. When I saw the mess, I knew something was wrong so I called the police." Her clutch eased and she patted Liz's arm. "You're not nearly as messy as all that."
All what?
"You're Elizabeth Carmichael?" The female officer's badge read R. Lawrence. She and the man stood shoulder-to-shoulder so Liz couldn't see past them.
Almost fearfully, she nodded.
"I'm afraid someone made quite a mess of your apartment."
"What…" Liz cleared her throat "… what did they take?"
The other officer, T. Franklin, lifted a shoulder. "You're going to have to tell us." He stepped aside and gestured for Liz to enter.
She took a step forward and stopped. A shudder ran down her spine. The sight that greeted her was hauntingly familiar.
The couch cushions had been pulled off and tossed aside. Books lay strewn over the floor in front of the empty bookcase. Sheet music littered the floor.
"Oh, no," said Caitlin behind her.
"Not again." Jazzy's whisper echoed her thoughts.
Liz's hand rose involuntarily to her throat. Once before she and her friends had been the victim of a break-in when their trio was hired to play at an out-of-town wedding. Only, then she'd been present when the intruder arrived.
But that was four months ago. That man was in prison for murder.
"As far as we can see," Officer Franklin said, "your television and stereo are here, and your computer is in the other room. We need you to walk through, and without touching anything, tell us if you notice anything missing."
"The bedroom looks worse." Liz winced at Officer Lawrence's sympathetic warning.
While Jazzy, Caitlin and Mrs. Evans waited by the door, Liz stepped slowly across the living room. Hands clasped to keep from picking anything up, she did a mental inventory. CDs and DVDs were scattered around the floor. Were any missing? Impossible to tell. Sheet music… well, she wouldn't know until she went through it, but she couldn't imagine anyone would want her cello music. Her DVD player had been pushed cockeyed, but it was still there. Still showed the correct time, even.
Bracing herself, she headed for the bedroom. The officers followed. Bile churned in her stomach when she saw the mess the intruder had left: dresser drawers upended all over the floor; the mattress shoved off the box springs; the contents of her jewelry box scattered across the top of the dresser.
Her computer desk drawers had been dumped and her personal papers strewn everywhere. Bank statements, receipts, letters, all littered the room. Hard to tell if any were missing. She'd have to alert the bank and her credit card companies, just in case they'd taken something, or made note of her account numbers. But the computer was still there.
"Do you have any firearms that may be missing, Miss Carmichael?"
Liz whirled toward Officer Franklin. "No. Nothing like that."
"How about the jewelry?" asked Officer Lawrence. "Is it all there?"
Liz's fingers hovered over the brooch on her blouse as she inspected the tangle of necklaces, earrings and bracelets. She didn't wear much jewelry, and didn't own any expensive pieces. A couple of pieces from her grandmother had sentimental value, but there was certainly nothing a thief would want.
"I don't understand." She looked at the officers. "There doesn't seem to be anything missing."
"Well, count yourself lucky." Officer Franklin's smile flashed on and off again. He turned on his heel and headed back toward the living room.
Looking at the disaster all around her, Liz didn't feel very lucky.
Officer Lawrence offered a more genuine smile. "It might have been kids looking for cash. We'll dust for prints and see if we can find anything. In the meantime, here's my card. If you discover anything missing, you be sure to let us know, okay?"
Throat tight, Liz nodded. She followed the woman back into the living room, where her friends rushed forward to enfold her in a group hug.
"You don't have to stay here," Caitlin whispered. "You can come home with me tonight."
Jazzy's head nodded against hers. "Tomorrow we'll come back and help you clean up. And we'll get new locks for your door and windows."
Liz returned the pressure of their embrace. She had never been more grateful for her friends.
From his vantage point on the other side of the parking lot, Jason slumped low behind the steering wheel and watched the shadowy figures moving back and forth through the window. Dark sheets of rain shrouded his car and protected him from the cops' sight.
He fingered his cell phone. Duke wasn't gonna like this. But putting off the call only postponed the inevitable. He dialed the number.
The call was answered on the second ring. "Did you get it?"
"It wasn't there."
The sound of soft swearing greeted his news.
"You're sure you aren't mistaken."
Jason's teeth snapped together at the implication that he couldn't handle a simple job. When he could reply in an even tone, he said, "I'm sure. I know everything that girl has in her apartment. It ain't there."
The silence on the line went on longer than Jason's patience. "You want me to nab her?"
"No."
The answer was quick, too quick. Was Duke thinking about taking him off the job? Jason couldn't afford that. His take on this job was gonna pay off some pressing gambling debts.
"It won't be like before." He gulped, remembering Duke's blistering tirade when he'd roughed up an old guy last week. Duke had been furious with Jason, but who knew the guy would come home early and catch him? At least he got the goods, and was well away before the cops arrived. "Let me talk to her nice. I'll bump into her in a restaurant or something, pour on the charm. I'll get it out of her."
"I don't want to risk you being seen. Again." The last word dripped derision. "Besides, I don't think that will be necessary. Our friend says he can get Miss Carmichael out here, and he's confident she'll bring it with her."
"But that'll take months." Jason did whine then. He needed money now. "I'm sure I can—"
"Don't do another thing. You just get yourself on a plane."
"The job's still mine, though, right? You ain't gonna take me off of it after I put in so much time?"
The low chuckle could have been insulting, or it could have been meant to comfort him. Jason gnawed his lower lip. He didn't want to tick the guy off.
"Don't worry, my friend. I've got several little tasks lined up to keep you busy until Miss Carmichael gets here. Just come home."
The line went quiet.
Jason straightened in the seat and reached for the ignition. As he started the rental car's engine, a shadow walked across the apartment window. Too unclear to identify, but it could have been her. He shifted into Drive, and when the car started to roll forward, he touched a finger to his forehead in a farewell gesture.
"I'll be seeing you, girlie."
Six Weeks Later
"What are you doing on your day off tomorrow?"
Deputy Tim Richards picked up his Coke and took a pull on the straw before he answered. "Skiing with the wedding party."
"Oh, yeah, I remember." His lunch buddy, Deputy Adam Goins, unwrapped a cheeseburger as he answered. "This weekend's the wedding thing."
"Uh-huh. The others are out on the slopes right now without me, in fact." Tim glanced through the fast-food restaurant's windows. High above their cruisers, an American flag flapped wildly in a strong breeze. The vivid colors stood out starkly against a totally white sky that held the promise of powder soon to come. In fact, a few wind-whipped flakes were already stabbing at the glass. "That's all right. I wouldn't want to be out there today, but tomorrow's going to be great."
Adam's silent laugh shook his shoulders. "You sound like me. If there isn't a clear blue sky, no wind and at least six inches of fresh powder, I'd rather stay home. I'm not surprised you've become a snow snob, now that you've been in Park City a while. You've lived here three years, right?"
"Right. But I've lived in Utah all my life."
Born and raised not forty minutes from here, Tim hadn't even left his hometown for college. He'd attended the University of Utah, down in the Salt Lake valley, and roomed with his childhood friend, Ryan, the groom-to-be.
"Yeah, you know what I'm talking about. So you're off until, when? Monday?"
"Sunday. The wedding's Saturday night."
Tim bit into a couple of fries. Ryan and Debbie had decided to get married up here in Park City, instead of down in Salt Lake where they lived. Some romantic idea of Debbie's, probably, to get married at a ski lodge. Tim figured it must be costing Debbie's family a bundle. Nothing in Park City came cheap.
Of course, they were probably getting the musicians for free.
He took another drink from the straw, but his throat felt suddenly clogged. It wasn't the fries. It was the thought of the musicians. Or rather, one musician.
Liz would arrive late tonight. After three long years, he would see her tomorrow.
If he choked on the mere thought of her now, how would he act when he actually saw her?
Snow swirled around Jason as he glided down the slope. The place was practically deserted. The lifts would stop running at four, in ten more minutes. Most everybody had already headed down the mountain toward the lodge. Big flakes slapped at his goggles and gathered in the creases on the front of his ski suit. He could barely make out the trees on the other side of the run. A miserable day to be out on the slopes, but he had a meeting to attend. One he couldn't miss.
He glanced backward to make sure nobody was coming around on his left, then zipped into the thick evergreens lining the west side of the slope. The wind wasn't nearly as bad here, and he was shielded from the worst of the heavily falling snow. Weird place to hold a meeting, if you asked him. But nobody did. Just told him where to be and when to be there. Jason made it a practice to do as he was told.
