Keeping Christmas Part 4

"YOU WERE THINKING about Chance Walker? Walker?" Pookie cried, then ducked her head as several of the nearby diners frowned over at her. "Why?" "Why?" she asked in a hushed whisper. "It wasn't like you were ever serious about him. Marrying him would have been social suicide." she asked in a hushed whisper. "It wasn't like you were ever serious about him. Marrying him would have been social suicide."

Rebecca nodded. All true. She hadn't even considered marrying marrying Chance. But what she hadn't told Pookie was that she'd thought he would stay around Houston. She would have had an affair with him in a heartbeat. Chance. But what she hadn't told Pookie was that she'd thought he would stay around Houston. She would have had an affair with him in a heartbeat.

She'd never dreamed Chance would go to Montana to work for the summer and not return to Texas. One of the secrets she'd never told Pookie was about the breakup. Pookie had always a.s.sumed that Rebecca had broken it off with Chance because she'd met Oliver and he was the better catch hands down.

What Pookie didn't know and never would was that Chance had been the one to break off their relationship. He'd figured out that she'd never planned to marry him. Oliver knew she'd been dumped and had never let her forget it. The b.a.s.t.a.r.d.

So even if Chance had stayed around Houston, she doubted he would have been up for an affair. Just the thought made her angry and upset.

And now her sister was in Montana.

With Chance?

The thought killed her appet.i.te.

"Why are you even thinking about Chance at this late date?" Pookie demanded quietly.

"I wasn't. It's just that I think Daddy is in Montana and it made me think of Chance." At least she a.s.sumed that was the "son of a b.i.t.c.h" Oliver had been referring to, and Oliver had said something about Dixie.

Pookie started to say something, then stopped as she looked past Rebecca and smiled. "Well, he's not in Montana anymore," she said under her breath as Rebecca heard someone approach the table from behind her.

IN HIS REARVIEW mirror Chance watched the van coming up the road behind him. The two-lane highway ran along the lake, over the dam, then headed south to Townsend where his office was located. This time of year, the road got little traffic with most of the places on the lake closed up for the winter.

Chance slowed to give the driver of the van the opportunity to pa.s.s. The van slowed, as well, staying right with him, and confirming his suspicions.

As the road began to snake around the north end of the lake, Chance sped up. The van sped up, too, the driver doing his best to stay with him, even taking some dangerous curves too fast, leaving little doubt that the driver was determined not to lose him.

Fortunately this morning there was no other traffic on the road. As Chance came around a corner with a nice wide deep ditch on each side, he braked, coming to a stop, blocking both lanes.

The van came flying around the corner. The driver hit his brakes but clearly realized there was no way he could stop on the snow-packed road and aimed the van for the ditch.

Chance pulled his pickup over to the side of the road and, taking the shotgun from the rack behind the pickup seat, jumped out to bound down into the snowy ditch to jerk open the driver's side door.

He shoved the shotgun in the man's face. "Why the h.e.l.l are you following me?"

"Easy," the man cried, throwing his hands up. "I'm a private eye. Just like you."

Chance swore at the man's thick Texas drawl. "Who the h.e.l.l are you?"

"Let me reach into my jacket..."

"No way." Chance reached in and withdrew the man's wallet-and a 9 mm pistol. He chucked the pistol over the top of the van where it disappeared in the deep snow. The wallet he flipped open to the man's ID. J. B. Jamison, Private Investigator, Houston Texas.

"Who hired you?" Chance asked as he tossed the wallet into the back of the empty van. Not that he didn't already know the answer.

"Bonner. Beauregard Bonner."

"What the h.e.l.l did he hire you to do?" Chance demanded. "Follow me? me?"

"Find his daughter and take her back to Texas."

Chance was still pointing the shotgun at the man. "And that has what to do with me?"

"Bonner told us she might contact you."

So that was it. Beauregard was covering his bets. Setting Chance up because he thought Dixie would come to him. But lacking faith that Chance could get Dixie back to Texas. Now why was that?

"So you broke into my office and stole my answering machine tape," Chance accused.

The man looked genuinely surprised. "No. I was just tailing you, hoping you'd lead me to Ms. Bonner. That's all."

"Roll up your pant legs," Chance ordered. "Whoever broke into my office sc.r.a.ped his leg on my desk."

Jamison didn't look happy about it, but he pulled up one pant leg, then the other. No sign he'd been the one to get hung up on the desk.

"Get out."

Jamison looked out at the deep snow, then at Chance and the shotgun. "I didn't break into your office. There is no reason to-"

"Out." Chance stepped back so the Texas P.I. could get out of the van. The man stepped gingerly into the deep snow. He wore loafers and slacks, although he'd been smart enough to get himself a down coat.

Chance quickly frisked the man, found no other weapon and ordered Jamison to walk out a dozen yards, through the snow and trees, from the van.

While the man's back was turned, Chance threw the van's keys into the snow and searched the van.

No answering machine tape. But what Chance did find shocked him. In the back of the van was everything a man would need to hog-tie and bind a woman to transport her back to Texas.

He felt sick as he left J. B. Jamison cursing him to h.e.l.l beside the road and drove off. That b.a.s.t.a.r.d Bonner hadn't mentioned he put another P.I. on the case let alone that he'd sent the man to bring Dixie back to Texas.

Chance's job was to find Dixie. Period.

Under most circ.u.mstances, Chance would have quit right there. But after what he'd seen in the back of Jamison's van, he was afraid for Dixie Bonner and even more anxious to find her.

Chapter Four

Rebecca froze as she felt her father come up to her table from behind her.

"Well, look who it is," Pookie gushed. "My favorite man. I hope you're planning to join us." Pookie had the irritating habit of flirting with older men. Especially the ones with money and few had more money than Daddy. Her friend rose demurely to plant a kiss on Beauregard's check.

"You are a sinful woman," Daddy said to Pookie, but clearly enjoyed the attention. "Rebecca," he said with a nod as he stepped around to face her. She hadn't moved, hadn't said a word.

She and her father rarely spoke. He never seemed to know what to say to her. He could talk for hours with Dixie. But then, Dixie was his favorite, no matter what he said. Oh, he tried to make Rebecca feel loved. That was the problem. He tried too hard, as if it didn't come naturally the way it did with Dixie.

"What brings you into town?" Rebecca asked as sweetly as she could while pasting a smile on her face. "Are you meeting someone?" she added, looking around the restaurant expectantly, all the time hoping he was.

"Samantha, honey, could you excuse us for a moment?"

Pookie gave Rebecca a curious look. "Of course. I'll just go powder my nose."

Beauregard Bonner took a seat across from his daughter and she saw that he was upset. She braced herself, afraid suddenly of what he was going to tell her.

"Have you seen your sister?" he asked.

She blinked, so taken off guard that she wasn't even sure she'd heard him correctly. "I beg your pardon?"

"Your sister. Dixie. You might remember her from last Christmas? No, that's right, you went back east for Christmas."

She didn't like his tone. "I remember my sister," she said coldly. He always blamed her that she and Dixie weren't closer. She was the oldest, he'd say, as if that made a difference.

"I believe you missed Christmas, as well," she shot back. "Jamaica, wasn't it? What was her name? Carmella? Lupita? I lose track."

Her father didn't seem to hear. He was trying to get the waiter's attention, no doubt for a drink.

She couldn't care less about last Christmas. Or the one before it. They'd never been that kind of family. They might have been, if her mother had lived. But she hadn't.

"What has Dixie done now?" She tried to sound bored by this conversation, but her heart was pounding. What had had Dixie done? Dixie done?

"Have you talked to her lately?" he asked.

She frowned. "No, Daddy, I haven't. How about you?"

"She's...missing."

Rebecca laughed, politely of course, since they were in one of Houston's most elite restaurants. Another reason she really didn't want to have a discussion about her sister here, now.

"She's always always...missing. I really don't see what that has to do with me." Rebecca picked up her bag from the chair next to her and started to rise. "I'm sorry, Daddy, but I really must get going. Please give my apologies to Pookie."

"Sit down." He hadn't raised his voice, fortunately. But she knew by his tone that he could at any moment. He had no compunction against making scenes. In fact, he seemed to enjoy them as if he never wanted to forget his poor white-trash roots. As he was fond of saying, "If Houston society don't like it, they can kiss my cherry-red a.s.s."

She sat back down.

"I think she might have been kidnapped," he said quietly, and picked up her water gla.s.s and downed it. "How do you get a drink in this place?"

Rebecca caught the waiter's eye and mouthed Scotch neat. She didn't have to tell the waiter to make it the best they carried. That was a given.

"What makes you think she's been kidnapped?" she asked carefully. Bringing up Dixie's other shenanigans would only set her father off, although she would have loved to have listed them chapter and verse.

"I got a call." The waiter set down the drink and Beauregard s.n.a.t.c.hed it up, downing it in two gulps before motioning for the waiter to bring him another. "You don't seem all that upset about it," he said a little too loudly.

"Because I don't believe it," she said, keeping her voice low by example. She could always depend on her father to embarra.s.s her. Oh, why couldn't she have come from old money like Pookie and her other friends?

"The ransom demand is a million dollars."

She stared at him. "You can't be serious?"

He gave her a deadpan look.

"How silly of me. It's Dixie. Dixie. It is only a matter of time before she'll want it all for some foolish cause of hers." And Daddy will give it to her, Rebecca thought angrily. Oliver had warned her that Dixie would get everything in the end, hadn't he? "So you paid it. What's the problem?" It is only a matter of time before she'll want it all for some foolish cause of hers." And Daddy will give it to her, Rebecca thought angrily. Oliver had warned her that Dixie would get everything in the end, hadn't he? "So you paid it. What's the problem?"

"h.e.l.l no, I didn't pay it."

The waiter set down another drink and looked nervously at Beauregard as if, like Rebecca, afraid he might be a problem.

Rebecca watched her father take one gulp. "You haven't paid it yet?" This did surprise her.

"I'm not not paying it." paying it."

He would. Eventually. He always caved when it came to Dixie. "So what are are you doing?" you doing?"

"Obviously trying to find her."

Rebecca glanced around the restaurant. "If you'd called, I could have told you she wasn't here, Daddy."

His eyes narrowed. "Why do you have to be such a b.i.t.c.h?"

His words stung more than she thought they would. She knew he was only striking out because he was worried about his other other daughter. "Why do you have to be such an a.s.s?" she hissed back at him. daughter. "Why do you have to be such an a.s.s?" she hissed back at him.

He gripped his gla.s.s, anger in every movement as he downed the last of it, and carefully put it down.

She knew she'd gone too far. But she was sick of being the other daughter. The one her father never gave a concern to. "I heard you went to Montana." She waited, hoping he would deny it.

"Who told you I went to Montana?"

She stared at her father. "You really did did go?" She hadn't meant to sound so shocked. But she was. So she'd been right about the "son of a b.i.t.c.h" Oliver had been referring to. go?" She hadn't meant to sound so shocked. But she was. So she'd been right about the "son of a b.i.t.c.h" Oliver had been referring to.

"Isn't that what you just- Never mind," he said, and motioned to the waiter for another drink. "That's where I guess she is."

This was all too surreal, especially on top of the two strawberry daiquiris she'd consumed-and what little she'd gleaned from Oliver's phone conversation she'd overhead last night.

"I hired your old boyfriend to find her."

There it was. She hadn't been mistaken. She felt light-headed. For an instant she thought about pretending ignorance and saying, "What boyfriend would that be, Daddy?"