Harvest of Holidays by Tracy Cooper-Posey Page A

lived in a trailer park on the north side of Millwood, twelve miles down the Taconic State Parkway. They were heading there now as fast as Carson could get the beat-up Chevy to move. The others were, too, for Tally had picked up the phone on her way upstairs to wake Carson, and told Donna Jimmy was in danger.
    Carson had backed the Chevy out of the driveway barely five minutes later.
    They were getting close to the Saw Mill River Road exit. They would have to cut back north-east along the road to get to the trailer park. It was maybe five minutes away now. Ahead of them, brake lights flashed as an Oldsmobile took the exit.
    “That’s Donna,” Carson murmured.
    There weren’t many cars on the highway. It was just after five in the morning on Christmas day. People were still asleep, the presents all wrapped and waiting under the tree. The sky to the east, low down by the horizon, was clear of the heavy snow clouds and was showing signs of the coming dawn.
    Tally braced herself with one hand against the dashboard as Carson pulled the car onto the exit lane. He glanced at her. “It might be a trap,” he said. His voice was harsh. Tight with concern and worry and fear and more besides.
    “It might,” Tally agreed. “But we still have to go there.”
    There was nothing else to say after that. They followed the big Old’s lights up the road and behind them, shining in the rear view mirror, were the headlights of another car.
    Carson glanced in the mirror. “Connie,” he said softly. “Those big square Mustang lights are unmistakable.”
    In front of them, the Oldsmobile’s brakes barely flashed as Donna turned into the trailer park. Snow sprayed briefly.
    “Don’t kill yourself,” Carson muttered, then braked to take the turn himself. As soon as they were inside the park gates, he killed the lights. Ahead of them, the Oldsmobile lights went out, too.
    Carson eased the car through the narrow lanes, heading for the back row. The Oldsmobile swung right as they got close to the trailer.
    “She’s going around, to come from the other direction,” Tally guessed.
    “When I stop the car, you stay here,” Carson said tightly as he took the last turn.
    Hot words of protest rose to her lips, but Tally pressed them together, holding them in. “Very well,” she said stiffly.
    He is not a hunter . Valdeg’s withering tone, detectable even through his cranky speaking voice, kept repeating in her mind. “You be careful,” Tally said, fighting with the need to say anything else.
    “Always.” Carson halted the car, turned off the engine and reached out to touch her. His fingers rested on the top of her belly briefly, then he was gone, the car door latching softly behind him.
    The light was growing. Soon, humans would be waking. Kids jumping on parents’ beds, demanding they get up. Christmas day, and Tally wasn’t sitting beside a Christmas tree. She couldn’t remember the last time she had done something so…ordinary.
    She watched Carson slip into the narrow lane between Jimmy’s trailer and his neighbors. Donna’s car was sitting twenty yards beyond Jimmy’s trailer, in the middle of the access road. The drivers’ door was open, the interior light shining. It was quite empty.
    Carson came out of the trailer, this time using the front door. His head was down and Tally caught her breath and held it.
    After a moment, he lifted his head to look at her and wave her to him. Tally got out of the car and hurried to where he was standing just beyond the door.
    “I need you to reconstruct what happened,” Carson said softly.
    Inside the trailer, Tally could hear soft weeping and her throat tightened. “Jimmy…?”
    Carson’s expression was bleak. “He’s dead.”
    Miguel came out of the trailer and leaned on the back of the battered sun lounger, breathing hard. His head was down, turned so she couldn’t see it.
    Tears prickled in her eyes. Tally nodded. “I’ll look,” she said.
    Carson guided her through the