J.A. Jance - Name Withheld: A J.P. Beaumont Mystery

J.A. JANCE

NAME WITHHELD

J P Beaumont #13

To Cessa, and also in memory of Linda Howard Contents

With Seattles New Years fireworks display due to begin soon, the Peters girlsnine-year-old Heather and ten-year-old Tracyand I shut down our Uno game at twenty minutes before midnight. While Tracy put away the cards, Heather and I retreated to my penthouse condos kitchen to prepare our celebratory New Years drinkThomas Kemper root beer floats.

This was a first for me. Back in my boozing days, if I had still been standing by the time New Years toasts rolled around, you can bet I wouldnt have been swilling down root beer or champagne, either. MacNaughtons and water would have been far more like it. Even sober, root beer wasnt my first choice, but the girls had overruled me on that score.

Their dad, Ron Peters, is an ex-partner of mine, although weve been friends now for far longer than we were ever partners on the homicide squad down at Seattle P.D. He and Amy, his second wife and the girls stepmother, had splurged on one of those hotel sleep-over New Years dinner/dance affairs. With Ron in his wheelchair and Amy six and a half months pregnant, Im sure the romance end was far more important than either the drinking or the dancing. I suppose they saw their New Years night on the town as one last prebaby fling.

For my part, I was glad to step in and play uncle for the evening, letting the girls spend the night in the spare bedroom of my condo in downtown Seattle. We had ordered pizza, watched a couple of videos (why someone doesnt strangle that little brat inHome Alone I and II Ill never know!) and played several hands of killer Uno, all of which Tracy won without even trying.

Out in the kitchen, I ladled scoops of ice cream into partially filled glasses while Heather, frowning in concentration, carefully added enough root beer to fill the three glasses with foam without ever overflowing any of them.

Did you know my moms coming back from Nicaragua? she asked pensively.

Actually, I did. Women are forever complaining about how men never talk about anything important. Loosely translated, that means anything personal. Generally, theyre right. We dontnot to women and usually not to each other, either.

There is, however, one major exception to that rule. In the not so exclusive fraternity of divorced-wounded men, when it comes to comparing notes on the unreasonableness or capriciousness of ex-wives, man-to-man discussions can and do take place. They tend to turn into impromptu contestssort of My ex-wife did this and can you top it kinds of competitions.

With what was going on down in California, where my ex-wife, Karen, was battling cancer, I wasnt really playing that game anymore. That fact hadnt kept Ron from crying on my shoulder when his ex-wife, Roslyn, had resurfaced after a two-year hitch with some far-out Holy Roller commune down in Central America.

Earlier that week, minutes after opening a letter from his ex-wife, an agitated, grim-faced Ron Peters had wheeled his chair into my office on the fifth floor of the Public Safety Building.

Damn it! he had grumbled, waving the paper in the air. Roz is coming back.

So? I had returned. Its easy to be unconcerned when the ex-wife in question bears no relation to you whatsoever.

Actually, that isnt true. I did have a remote connection to Roslyn Petersas a benefactor. Years earlier, I had stepped in to provide a large chunk of the initial seed money that had shipped her and some of her New Dawn associates off on a mission. They had left Broken Springs, Oregon, and headed down to Nicaragua to establish an outpost for their particular brand of religion among the urban poor in the city of Managua. I provided fully deductible mission grant money. At least thats what my tax return said.

Realistically, my grant was nothing more or less than a bribe. In return for a sizable check to the charity of her choice, Roz Peters had relinquished custody of the girls to Ron, their father. Ralph Ames, my Mr. Fix-It attorney, had brokered the deal with the attorney from New Dawn. On the face of it, that sounds pretty heartlessas though the kids went up for grabs, as though they were wrested from a caring, loving mother and auctioned off to the highest bidder. The reality was a little different from that.

New Dawn isnt the worst cult theres ever been. As far as I know, nobodys died in it, or because of it, so far. And when I came up with the idea of getting the girls back and asked Ralph to see what he could do, he set off for Broken Springs, muttering a string of weasel words and saying the whole scheme didnt stand a chance in hell. But once he got there and saw how things werethe primitive housing and sleeping arrangements as well as what passed for hygiene, food, and medical carehe turned into a regular legal tiger. He raised so much hell that the New Dawn attorney couldnt get him out of town fast enough. When Ralph came back to Seattle from Oregon, the girls came with him.

Well, I had said to Peters the previous week, I suppose it was bound to happen eventually. You didnt expect her to stay down there forever, did you?

I had hoped, Ron said, his black look telling me that he had much preferred having the better part of a continent between himself and his ex-wife.

According to her, New Dawn is planning to start a mission down in Tacoma, he continued. Theyre taking over a derelict old church down in Hilltop.

In recent years, Hilltop has turned into a volatile multiracial neighborhood, the kind every American city seems to have these days. Similar in racial and socioeconomic makeup to Seattles Rainier Valley, Hilltop has been plagued with more than its fair share of violence and gang warfare. It shows up in newspaper articles and on television news broadcasts, usually in conjunction with stories recounting the sad aftermath of yet another drive-by shooting or drug deal gone bad. Its the kind of place where armed kids insist on using other kidspreferably unarmed onesfor target practice.

Roz is a grown-up, I had counseled. If she wants to be an urban missionary, let her do her thing. Besides, some of those shooters and drug addicts down there might actually benefit from a close encounter with a missionary.

By the way, youre not allowed to call her Roz anymore, Peters said. Her name is Constance nowSister Constance. And being a good and loving Christian, shes coming home to take me to court. Shes going to sue for joint custody.

Dont tell me shes planning to take the girls along with her to Hilltop! I echoed, my own dismay now mirroring Rons.

Thats the general idea, Peters said. When is Ralph Ames due back in town?

On the third. He and Mary are off on a Caribbean cruise. As soon as I hear from him, Ill clue him in on whats happening.

Now, though, standing in my midnight kitchen and faced with Heathers calm pronouncement, I searched for a way to sound relatively noncommittal. Really, I said.

Heather nodded. And she wants Tracy and me to come live with her.

Down in Tacoma? Is that something you want to do? I asked.

Well, Heather replied pointedly. She is our mother, you know.

Her answer didnt leave me much of a comeback. Hurry up, you guys, Tracy called from the living room balcony. Its almost time for the fireworks to start.

I carried the tray of foaming drinks outdoors and set it on the table on the chilly lanai. Without having to be told, the girls both bundled themselves into coats. After my recent bout with pneumonia, I did the same. I stepped outside just as the radio countdown ended and the first pyrotechnic blasts boomed off the top of the Space Needle, sending bursts of red and blue sparks cascading over the city. With the barrage of fireworks lighting the sky overhead, the girls and I clinked glasses and wished one another a Happy New Year.