what turned out to be their last robbery, there had been an altercation and the mask Starr Calhoun had been wearing was pulled off by a teller exposing her face to the surveillance camera.
A warrant had been issued for Starr Calhoun, but she and her accomplice had gotten away and had never been heard from again. Nor had the money been recovered.
The accomplice was believed to be her brother Houston Calhoun, a known criminal who’d done time for bank robbery.
The Calhoun family shared more than their distinctive pale blue eyes and curly auburn hair. Nor was the robbery six years ago the first time Starr Calhoun had been caught on a bank surveillance video camera.
She was first filmed at the age of three when her infamous parents Hodge and Eden Calhoun hit a bank in Orange, Texas, with all six children in tow ranging in age from fifteen to three.
Hodge and Eden had eventually been caught, their children put into foster care and scattered to the wind.
Andi made a note to find out the latest on the rest of the Calhouns. At least she had a good idea where Starr had disappeared to, she thought, studying the wedding photograph.
She couldn’t help the small thrill she felt. Her instincts had been right. As a reporter, she’d made a point of keeping track of the infamous Calhoun family. Whenever a news story from any part of the country mentioned one of the Calhouns, her computer flagged the story for her.
That’s how she’d seen the article about Starr Calhoun being ID’d in the bank surveillance tape six years ago. Also the lesser story about her older brother Lubbock Calhoun being arrested not long after that.
She’d forgotten about where Lubbock had been arrested, though. It wasn’t until she’d been looking for a job away from Fort Worth that her job search had popped up a newspaper reporter position in Whitehorse, Montana, on her computer and triggered the memory of Lubbock’s arrest.
Too excited to wait until she saw him the next day, she had called her friend Bradley. Bradley Harris worked in fact-checking at the news station. The two had become good friends almost at once. He loved Tex-Mex food and old movies and was safe because he was gay and Andi didn’t date men she worked with. Actually she didn’t date at all—too busy with her career, she told herself.
“Why Montana? It sounds like a one-horse town,” Bradley had joked when she’d told him about the job, leaving out the part about Lubbock being arrested near there. “Surely there is somewhere closer you could disappear to. Wait a minute.” He knew her too well. “How close is this town to where Lubbock Calhoun was arrested?”
Bradley was one of the few people who knew about her interest—or obsession as he called it—in the Calhoun crime family. She’d thought he wouldn’t make the connection.
Reluctantly she’d showed Bradley on a Montana map on her computer. Lubbock Calhoun had been arrested for an outstanding warrant in a convenience store in Glasgow, Montana, six years ago—an hour away from Whitehorse.
“I think it’s a sign I should check into this job,” she said and waited for Bradley to talk her out of it.
And Bradley had tried, pointing out that it had been six years, Lubbock was probably just passing through Montana, and “What could you possibly learn after all this time? Not to mention, you’ll be stuck in One Horse.”
“Whitehorse,” she’d corrected, the job having taken on more appeal with the possible Lubbock Calhoun connection.
“I’m worried about you and this thing with the Calhouns,” he’d said. She suspected he knew why they held such interest for her because he was the best researcher she’d ever known. But he never let on.
He’d finally given up trying to stop her, knowing how desperately she needed to get out of Fort Worth. And how she couldn’t turn down even a remote chance to learn more about the Calhouns.
Coincidence? Starr coming to Montana, marrying a cowboy from Whitehorse and Lubbock being arrested just miles away? No way. Andi felt her excitement building. There was a story here, the kind of story that had propelled Andi’s rise in broadcast news. That and her instincts when it came to investigative reporting.
And while she might have had to give up television news for a while, a story like this would definitely assist in her return when the time came.
Eagerly she planned how to proceed. She had to get the whole story and that meant hearing Cade Jackson’s side of it, she thought as she looked up his address in the phone book.
As she took it down, she couldn’t help but wonder. Did Cade Jackson know who he’d married? Or was he in for the surprise of his life?
CADE JACKSON walked home from the parade through the underpass beneath the tracks as the passenger train pulled in.
The night was cold and dark, the streets snowpacked and icy. He breathed in the air. It felt moist, the clouds low, another snowstorm expected to come in by tomorrow morning.
A white Christmas. He could hear carols coming from one of the cars’ radios as it passed. He quickened his step, anxious to get back to his apartment behind the bait shop. Going to the parade had been a mistake. Now he felt antsy. He thought about driving out to his cabin on Nelson Reservoir, but it was late and he was tired.
The parade had brought back memories of Grace and the night they’d come to the parade together, cuddled close as music played on a float with a Western band. She’d looked over at him, her eyes bright with excitement, her cheeks flushed from the cold. And he’d kissed her.
He could still remember the way she’d tasted. Sweet and just a little pepperminty from the candy cane she’d eaten. He recalled the way she felt in his arms and how happy he’d been. Newlyweds. They’d been newlyweds and he’d thought they had years together ahead of them.
That was the night they talked about having children, he realized as he finally reached the bait shop. He started around back to his apartment in the rear when he saw that someone had left a note on the shop’s front door.
He stepped over to pluck it free before going around to the back. While he locked the bait shop door, like most everyone in Whitehorse, he left his apartment door open.
Stepping inside, he flipped on a light glad to be distracted from his thoughts as he opened the note. Something fluttered to the floor, but he was busy looking at the note, surprised he didn’t recognize the handwriting. He knew everyone in Whitehorse, having grown up in the area. He and his brother, Carter, had been raised down by Old Town Whitehorse to the south, but they’d both gone to high school here.
The town of Whitehorse had sprung up to the south closer to the Missouri River breaks, but when the railroad had come through in the 1800s, the town had moved north, taking the name with it.
The note read: “Mr. Jackson, I need to talk to you, M. W. Blake.” There was a local phone number at the bottom. And four little words that ruined his night. “It’s about your wife.”
The word “wife” jumped out at him. He glanced down at the floor and saw the business card at his feet. Bending, he stooped to pick it up. This he recognized. The logo was from the Milk River Examiner, the local weekly newspaper.
Under it was the name: M. W. Blake
Under that was the word:
