Free Silent Night: A Spenser Holiday Novel by Robert B. Parker Page B

cash. And the word is that he moved out whoever or whatever has been in there around the same time.”
    “When was this?”
    “About a month ago.”
    I thought for a moment. “About the time someone started hassling Street Business.”
    “Now, it could just be a coincidence,” Healy said. “He could just be doing some year-end tax planning. But it’s also the kind of thing someone does when he’s about to disappear for a while.”
    I considered the options. It could just be a coincidence, but thinking it was didn’t get me anywhere. “Moving people out doesn’t sound like tax planning. Any idea where the people or things got moved to?”
    “No clue. There were eyes on the place, but apparently it’s so deserted it was tough to get close without being noticed. Happened pretty quick, most likely at night.”
    “Raising cash sounds like he could be getting ready to bolt. Your sources have any thoughts on what he might be doing?”
    “Not really, but could be he’s preparing to flee the jurisdiction. Guy with his kind of money and connections could just drop off the grid.”
    “So now it’s time for step two.”
    “Yes. Do you have a step two?”
    “Not yet. It’s in progress.”
    “I understand,” said Healy, getting up. “You got hung up on
Garfield
.”
    “Can’t fool you,” I said. “I’ll call you when I’ve got a plan.”

C ARMEN HAD GIVEN ME her cell phone number. I called her.
    “I have some questions for you,” I said.
    “I can’t talk now,” she said. Her voice was low and muffled. “Can you come out to Weston?”
    “Yes,” I said. “When?”
    “How about six tomorrow morning? I’m staying at Martita’s house. Our friend will be in Boston overnight and won’t be back until late morning.”
    “Make sure you give the sentries a heads-up that I’m coming and that I’m friendly. Last time I visited, I almost got shot.”
    “I heard about that,” Carmen said. “I think that guy is still looking for his rifle.”

    I WAS ON THE ROAD to Weston at five-thirty the next morning. The sky was reddening past the tree line and by the time I got to the gates of the Alvarez compound the sun was up. The air was cold, the temperature in the twenties, and the snow was still white and unspoiled on the ground. I turned in to the driveway. The two granite lion heads on posts on either side had been decorated with Christmas wreaths of pine and cedar embellished with clumps of acorns and tied with big red velvet ribbons. I drove past the main house to the small cottage where Hawk and I had found Martita and her baby. I parked and went to the door. Before I could knock, Slide opened it. “Carmen said to bring you to the barn. She forgot to tell you she has an early tennis lesson.” He was wearing his navy peacoat, but this time with a wool cap that came down over his ears.
    He followed me to the car and got in the backseat. We drove slowly down a narrow lane to the big barn and parked alongside it. Slide led me through a small door to an office, which led into a huge open space. In the middle was a tennis court, where a man and a woman were playing. As we walked closer I could see that one of them was Carmen, in a pink sweatshirt over navy Under Armour tights, and she was playing a tall, thick-set man in dark gray sweats and a white T-shirt.
    Slide and I sat in the bleachers and watched. Carmen served. She tossed the ball up with authority. Her racquet arm swung back, up, and over in a fluid arc. The ball landed on her opponent’s back line before he had a chance to move. The man yelled, “Carmen, for crissake, this is a lesson, not the Open. Give me a break!”
    “You’ll never get better if I don’t push you, Sam,” Carmen said. Her dark hair was pulled back into a single braid and tied with a pink ribbon.
    She looked over at us. “Hey, guys. I’ll be through in ten.”
    “Looking good,” I said.
    It was Sam’s turn to serve, and he wasn’t bad. Carmen swatted it back easily, and