Nothing to Lose (J.P. Beaumont #25)(11)

The dream always starts in the same awful way. I drive up to Sue Danielson’s residence and see lights burning inside. I switch off the engine and exit my vehicle as quietly as possible. I hold my breath as I step up onto the wooden planks of Sue’s creaky front porch. The front door is unlocked, and the knob turns in my hand. I enter a scene of utter carnage and find Sue, bloodied, wounded, and weaponless, sitting propped against the living-room wall. Only this time another awful element has been added. The two boys, Jared and Chris, both wearing pajamas, lie sprawled in pools of blood just outside their bedroom door.

Knowing that Richie is armed and dangerous, I hand my backup weapon, my Glock, to Sue and start toward the hallway. Right then a gunshot splits the night. I turn back to Sue just in time to see the Glock slip slowly from her now-lifeless fingers.

I woke up then—sweating, shaking, and fighting the covers.

“Are you all right?” Mel asked, touching my shoulder.

“I’m fine,” I told her, “just a bad dream.”

Not wanting to disturb her any further, I staggered out of the bed, grabbed my robe, and headed for the living room. I walked over to the window and stood staring outside, where the muted illumination provided by a neighbor’s yard light revealed thick, feathery snowflakes blowing sideways in the wind.

A few minutes later, after I left the window and settled on the couch, Mel padded out of the bedroom and sidled up beside me. By the time she leaned against me and lifted my arm over her shoulder, my cold sweats had finally subsided.

“Better?” she asked.

I nodded. “Some,” I replied.

“You can’t change history,” Mel murmured.

It was hardly surprising that she knew exactly what had happened. She’d witnessed the shattering aftermath of this particular nightmare countless times before.

“I know,” I agreed.

“We both know, however, that there’s a good chance you can change the future,” she added. “Jared Danielson and his grandmother are looking for answers, and I’m pretty sure you’re the only one who’s going to provide them.”

That’s the strange thing about being married to Mel—she often seems able to read my mind, because while I’d been staring out at the swirling snow, I had arrived at the same conclusion.

“You’re probably right,” I acknowledged.

“So come back to bed now and try to get some sleep,” she told me. “We’ll sort all this out in the morning.”





Chapter 6




I awakened on Wednesday morning to the noisy racket of heavy machinery lumbering around outside our house. Mel, seated on her side of the bed, was pulling on a pair of boots.

“What’s all the noise?” I wondered aloud.

“The snowplows are here again,” she told me, “but it’s better than our having to clear the driveway ourselves.”

“Has Sarah been out?”

“Not yet.”

“How deep is the snow?”

“According to the TV, another nine inches,” Mel answered.

That was several more inches than I liked. In the kitchen I found that the coffee machine was already up and running. As I waited for my cup to brew, I noticed a large rectangular package lying on the kitchen island, one that bore clear indications of its Nordstrom origins.

“What’s that?” I asked, pointing at the box as Mel entered the room, settling her last earring into place.

“It’s your Christmas present,” Mel said. “You need to open it.”

“It’s not Christmas yet,” I objected, “not nearly.”

“Close enough,” she told me, “and you should open it now.”

So I did. Inside, under a layer of white tissue, I found a carefully folded, bright blue parka. It was lightweight but puffy and constructed of some slick material that, I was sure, made it waterproof.

“Try it on,” Mel urged, unzipping it and holding it out for me to put on over my pajamas. Feeling more than slightly silly, I complied. Naturally it fit perfectly.

Mel stood back and observed me for a moment before nodding her approval. I wasn’t exactly convinced.

“I feel like the little brother in A Christmas Story,” I objected, “not the kid with the BB gun but the one who gets trapped in his snowsuit.”

“It may not be your typical look,” Mel agreed with a slight frown. “I got it for when you’re out walking Sarah in bad weather, but if you’re heading off to Alaska in the next day or two, you’re going to need this a whole lot sooner than Christmas Day.”

“But wait,” I objected, “if I’m heading for Alaska, who’s going to look after Sarah during the day?”

“I will,” she said, “and I’m guessing she’ll be coming to work with me.”

“Can you do that?” I asked.

Mel looked at me and grinned. “I’m the chief,” she said. “If I can get my driveway plowed, I can sure as hell take my dog to work.”

After she left, Sarah and I went through our usual morning rituals with me making sure things were handled in a way that wouldn’t clog the plumbing. Once I downed sufficient amounts of coffee, I picked up my phone and dialed Todd Hatcher. He’s another holdover from Special Homicide.