Ice Cold Killer. Cindi Myers
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“I’m sure those weren’t here before,” she said. “The place was brand-new when I moved in four months ago.”
“I’ll turn in a report to the sheriff’s office,” he said. “Have you seen the vehicle you described before?”
“No. But like I said, I don’t pay attention to cars. Maybe I should.”
“Have you seen any strangers out here? Noticed anyone following you? Has Kelly mentioned anything about anyone following her?”
“No.” She turned and walked back into the house. When he stepped in after her, the teakettle was screaming. She moved quickly to shut off the burner and filled two mugs with steaming water. Fear seemed to rise off her like the vapor off the water, though she was trying hard to control it.
“I know this is unsettling,” he said. “But the fact that the person didn’t stay when you arrived here by yourself tells me he was more likely a burglar who didn’t want to be caught, than someone who wanted to attack you.”
“I was supposed to be safe here,” she said.
“Safe from what?”
She carried both mugs to the table and sat. He took the seat across from her. “Safe from what?” he asked again. “I’m not asking merely to be nosy. If you have someone you’re hiding from—someone who might want to hurt you—it’s possible this person confused you and Kelly. It wouldn’t be the first time something like that happened.”
“No, it’s not like that.” She tucked her shoulder-length brown hair behind her ear, then brought the mug to her lips, holding it in both hands. When she set it down again, her eyes met his, a new determination in their brown depths. “I was raped in college—in Fort Collins. I moved in with Kelly after that and she really helped me move past that. My mother and I aren’t close and my father has been out of the picture for years.”
He thought of what she had said before—that she was used to looking after herself. “Women who have been through something like that often have a heightened awareness of danger,” he said. “It’s good to pay attention to that. Have you seen anyone suspicious, here or at Kelly’s or at your office? Have you felt threatened or uneasy?”
“No.” She shook her head. “That’s why I thought Eagle Mountain was different. I always felt safe here. Until now.”
He sipped the tea—something with cinnamon and apples. Not bad. It would be even better with a shot of whiskey, but since he was technically still on duty, he wouldn’t bring it up. He wondered if she even had hard liquor in the house. “I stopped by and talked to Ed Nichols and his wife after I left the clinic,” he said.
Fine lines between her eyes deepened. “You don’t really think he killed Kelly, do you?”
“I haven’t made up my mind about anything at this point. He said he was at the clinic all morning, and then at the Rotary Club luncheon.”
“How did she die?” Darcy asked. “You told me you found her up on Dixon Pass, but how?”
“Do you really want to know?”
“I have a very good imagination. If you don’t tell me, I’ll fill in too many horrid details of my own.” She took another sip of tea. “Besides, the papers will be full of the story soon.”
“She was in her car, over to the side, up against the rock face at the top of the pass. Her hands and feet were bound with duct tape and her throat had been cut.”
Darcy let out a ragged breath. “Had she been raped?”
“I don’t know. But her clothes weren’t torn or disarrayed. We’ll know more tomorrow.”
“So someone just killed her and left her up there? Why there?”
“I don’t know. Maybe he—or she—hoped what did happen would happen—an avalanche buried the car. We might not have found it for weeks if a delivery truck wasn’t buried in the same place. When we pulled out the delivery driver, we found Kelly’s car, too.”
“Did you talk to her parents?”
“Yes. They wanted to fly down right away. I told them they should wait until the road opens.”
“When will that be?”
“We don’t know. A storm system has settled in. They’re predicting up to four feet of new snow. Until it stops, no one is getting in or out of Eagle Mountain.”
“The sheriff and Lacy Milligan are supposed to get married in a few weeks,” she said.
“The road should be open by then,” he said. He hoped so. He wasn’t going to get far with this case without the information he could get outside town.
“When I moved here and people told me about the road being closed sometimes in winter, I thought it sounded exciting,” she said. “Kind of romantic, even—everyone relying on each other in true pioneer spirit. Then I think about our weekly order of supplies not getting through, and people who don’t live here being stuck in motels or doubling up with family—then it doesn’t sound like much fun.” She looked up at him. “What about you? Do you live here?”
“I do. I’m in a converted carriage house over on Elm.”
“No pets? Or are you a client of Dr. Nichols’s?”
Her teasing tone lifted his spirits. “No pets,” he said. “I like dogs, but my hours would mean leaving it alone too long.”
“Cats do better on their own.” She turned to watch Pumpkin facing off with Marianne. The two cats sniffed each other from nose to tail then, satisfied, moved toward the stairs and up into the loft.
“I should let you go,” she said. “Thank you for stopping by.”
“Is there someone you could stay with tonight?” he asked. “Or you could get a motel room, somewhere not so isolated.”
“No, I’ll be fine.” She looked around. “I don’t want to leave the cats. I have a gun and I know how to use it. Kelly and I took a class together. It helped me feel stronger.”
He was tempted to say he would stay here tonight, but he suspected she wouldn’t welcome the offer. He’d have to sleep sitting up on her little sofa, or freeze in his Tahoe. “Keep your phone with you and call 911 if you feel at all uneasy,” he said.
“I will. I guess I should have called them in the first place.”
“I wasn’t saying I minded coming out here. I didn’t. I don’t. If you feel better calling me, don’t hesitate.”
She nodded. “I guess I called you because I knew you. I’m not always comfortable with strangers.”
“I’m glad you trusted me enough to call me. And I meant it—don’t think twice about calling me again.”
“All right. And I’ll be fine.” Her smile was forced, but he admired the effort.
He glanced in the rearview mirror as he drove away, at the little house in the snowy clearing, golden light illuminating the windows, like a doll’s house in a fairy-tale illustration. Darcy Marsh wasn’t an enchanted princess but she had a rare self-possession that drew him.
He parked his Tahoe on the side of the road to enter his report about the vehicle she’d seen and the possible attempted break-in at her home. He was uploading the photos he’d taken when his phone rang with a call from the sheriff’s department.
Sheriff Travis Walker’s voice carried the strain of a long day. “Ryder, you probably want to get over here,” he said. “We’ve found another body.”
Christy O’Brien lay across the front