Anybody's Child by Michelle Kidd (polar express read aloud .TXT) 📕

leaned back and adjusted his already perfect silk tie. “I don’t give second chances, Raven. You understand that better than anyone. Those stupid enough to cross me don’t live to offer apologies, so you’d better make this good.”

“You want me to apologize?” Typical. “You need to check with Mackenzie. He’s the one who botched the job.”

“You were along to see that he didn’t.” His voice was tight and condescending. “You were supposed to plant evidence and bring the woman to me. That’s all you had to do.”

“It’s my fault he killed her?” Raven lifted a dark brow.

“I’m holding you responsible.” Nicholas jabbed a manicured finger in her direction. “Something else . . . I want the girl.”

Raven blinked her surprise. “Are you crazy? How am I supposed to get to her? The cops are watching her every move.”

 Nicholas gave her a wry smile. “Not my problem.”

“Nicholas, I need more time. Mackenzie’s gone off the grid. I’ll have to wait and catch the girl alone.”

Nicholas rose and came to stand in front of the table. “You’ve got forty-eight hours to bring me the girl. Track down Mackenzie. I’ll deal with him personally. I trust you can find your way out.”

Raven ran her tongue across her teeth, the bitter taste of dismissal turning sour in her mouth. “Yeah, I know the way.” But she remained seated, wishing she might shoot real daggers from her eyes instead of metaphoric ones.

“Was there something else?”

“I guess not,” she replied, as she shifted to her feet and rose to leave. What did she expect? Her hand rested on the handle when his voice stopped her. She paused and glanced over her shoulder.

“Don’t hold any delusions I’ll let you slide. You’ve always been an . . . indulgence . . . a liability,” he emphasized. “You amuse me, but I don’t have to tell you what happens if—”

Her chin jerked upward in defiance. “Don’t bother. I get the idea.”

Raven made her way to the elevators, ignoring the cold stare from the Neanderthal stationed outside the hotel room, and pushed the button for the lobby. The doors opened after a moment, and she stepped inside.

A family of four occupied the car, dressed as if they were on a sightseeing adventure. The two small boys jostled around, bumping Raven, and whining over who would get to press the down button. Their mother gave them a sharp reproof and offered an apologetic smile to Raven. “Boys . . . you know,” she offered.

Raven didn’t know and refused to return the expression. As likely as not, she’d have received a quick smack upside the head for her trouble. Lurline Connors did not tolerate children who didn’t recognize their place, especially if she was suffering one of her hangovers. Besides, Raven wasn’t in the mood to indulge the woman. She had to figure out what hole Mackenzie had crawled into and how best to fix this mess. Getting her hands on that girl would be a whole other set of problems. 

Nicholas’s choice of words rung in her ears. Indulgence. A liability. Her heart twisted despite her determination to ignore it. What did she care which adjectives he used to describe her? When had he ever given a sign she was anything more to him? And what did she expect? A combination of heat and sickness settled in her stomach.

The elevator came to a smooth stop, and the doors glided opened. Raven stepped out, wound her way through the opulent decor of the lobby, and out into the street where her 1970 Dodge Charger caught the morning sun. The tuxedo black color fit her, and it still had the original 8-track stereo system with her uncle’s eclectic collection of tapes. His likes had varied to everything from Elvis to Charlie Rich. She snatched the familiar black one with the red label from the faux leather case, popped it into the player, and started the car. The sounds of Fats belting out “Ain’t That a Shame” filled the interior as she pulled into traffic. First, she’d hunt down Mackenzie, and then she’d take care of the girl.

Chapter 13 – Beth

 

Steel-gray clouds marbled the afternoon sky and bowed down to touch the ground as the family car wound its way into the cemetery. The dark road curled protectively along the landscape. From her position, Beth noted countless markers of granite and concrete littering the hillside in various shapes, colors, and sizes. Faded wreaths and tattered ribbons whipped in the winter wind, painting a forlorn backdrop to a day that would forever be etched in her mind.

The sound of gravel popped beneath the heavy wheels as the driver rolled to a stop. Beth reached for Mindy’s hand and held it while she waited for her dad to open the door. From here, they would walk the rest of the distance to the graveside.

Icy winds sucked the breath from her, driving her backward, as she unfolded herself and found her footing on the path. Cars lined the road as far back as Beth could see. Each vehicle stopped in turn, doors opened, people crawled out, and started the slow procession to say their final farewells.

It struck her then, the harsh certainty of the situation. This was it—this was not a dream. She would not wake up tomorrow morning, rush into the kitchen where Mom scrambled eggs, throw her arms around her mother, and sob how sorry she was for being such a brat. Mom would not glance up at her with surprise and confusion, return the embrace, and question what had come over her seventeen-year-old daughter and the unprecedented display of affection.

Up until this moment, the events had held a surreal quality. The word nightmare had echoed in her head since that fateful night, somehow buffering her from the brutal fact, but as she neared the grave, reality snapped clearly into focus.

Perhaps it was the moss-covered memorials she passed, their crumbling textures bravely honoring loved ones despite their messages having long since worn away, that made her own mind jump ahead. In years to come when her sister thought of their mother, it would be here—Mom would be reduced to a headstone and a patch of grass. Like the others who lay in this desolate place. Beth refused to let that happen. Grief pressed her lungs, making it hard to breathe.

The box-shaped tent ahead signaled they were almost there. Two rows of folding chairs lined the front. These were reserved for family.

Family. The word caused images of Uncle Mike to spring to mind. Mike Mackenzie’s absence only added to her grief and sense of isolation. Where was he? What could possibly be so important he’d dropped everything and vanished without a word to anyone? Apparently, Arnold found it interesting as well, as the police were now looking for him. Perhaps, that’s why they hadn’t heard anything further from the detective—he was, once more, barking up the wrong tree instead of finding the real killer. She told herself it didn’t matter how bizarre it appeared that Uncle Mike disappeared at the same time her mother had been killed. It had to be a coincidence. Maybe something had happened to him too. There had to be an explanation, right? He wouldn’t just not show. He wouldn’t abandon them—not like this.

When Lynne and Jeni moved to gather with the other mourners, Dad took Lynne by the elbow and steered her and Jeni toward the empty seats. Beth bit her tongue. A movement caught her eye. With an uncomfortable sense of being watched, she realized it was Detective Arnold. He stood off at a distance and tipped his head in a knowing smirk that seemed to say, see, I told you! She yearned to erase his arrogant expression, permanently.

His presence ignited fury inside her. Beth would never believe herself capable of the rage she’d experienced in the past week. She clenched her jaw so tightly it felt as if her teeth might snap off at the gum line.

Her dad slid into the seat beside her, and several of the older people were urged to fill in the remaining empty chairs. Beth refused to look at Arnold. She stared at the stupid green rug instead, the mat used to hide the obvious lump of dirt that would be smoothed over her mother’s casket by day’s end.

No birds sang, no leaves rustled—there was no sound at all save an occasional cough, the clanging of metal hooks as the breeze snapped the ropes on the tent, and soft sniffles of people around her. Her own throat ached from holding back tears. She swiped at her running nose with a shredded tissue.

Pastor Ken broke the silence when he stepped to the front. His voice echoed underneath the tiny green canopy. The words he spoke to those gathered were meant to offer comfort, but Beth’s heart rejected them. Empty, empty promises, her mind protested. What good were platitudes when all she wanted was her mama? It wasn’t fair! Bitterness made her want to lash out. Suddenly, she wondered what would happen if she jumped up and started screaming. An overwhelming need to beat her fist and rage at the injustice welled within her. Imagine the reaction if she unleashed this stranger who lurked beneath the surface. The impulse grew to such intensity she feared she would act on it. Her muscles tensed. She sensed herself rising from the seat.

But in the end, she did nothing. Thankfully, something rooted her to the chair. She stayed seated with an outward calmness that surprised her. Surreal. She sat quietly while those around her remained unaware of the battle raging inside her.

Afterward, she managed a nod when the pastor leaned over and whispered parting words of encouragement. She pasted on what would have to pass for a smile, allowed well-wishers to press their hands inside hers, and speak their condolences. She responded with kindness like the good girl she’d been taught to be, but all the while there seemed to be something struggling to claw its way out.

Beth scanned the sea of faces for Arnold. With any luck, he was long gone. She’d lose it if she had to deal with him today. Her shoulders relaxed slightly when she failed to spot him. She was familiar with many of Dad’s friends from the department, but she wasn’t sure which ones were there out of respect, and which ones were working for Arnold. More than anything she wanted this day to be over. She envied Mindy, who had grown tired of standing still and chased a boy around her age, down, around, and through the maze of headstones.

••

The sound of a car door slamming woke Beth from a deep sleep the next morning. She groaned and forced her eyelids open. She’d been dreaming . . . something about Mom. Without lifting her head, she clung to the tissue paper remnants of the sweet memory. They’d been at the beach laughing at those silly seagulls. Then she remembered the journal and her eyes opened. What had Mom said? Beth wasn’t sure. She remained a few minutes longer trying to recall where Mom had told her it was hidden, curious about the secrecy.

It took a moment for her to adjust to the brightness and to realize she had