The Deep, Deep Snow

by Brian Freeman

  “Here’s what I don’t understand,” I said. “If somebody else got involved, how did they even find Jeremiah? Nobody knew he was at the resort, and I can’t believe they stumbled onto him by accident. It’s too much of a coincidence.”

  “Well, everybody in Mittel County was looking for the boy,” Reed pointed out. “Maybe somebody saw or heard something that led them to search the resort. And there he was. We’ll need to talk to everyone who lives nearby to see what they remember.”

  Somebody heard something.

  Talk to everyone who lives nearby.

  As he said that, I felt a ripple go through me.

  “Somebody in Witch Tree did hear something.”

  I leaped out of my chair and headed for the stairs that led down to the sheriff’s office. Reed followed on my heels. Downstairs, the lights were on, but there was only one deputy staffing the phones. I gave him a distracted greeting as I headed for the file cabinet. The Jeremiah file cabinet. I knew what I was looking for. My notes. My own personal diary of everything I’d seen and heard during the early days of the investigation.

  I yanked the folder out of the drawer the way I’d done over and over at different points in the past ten years when I revisited the investigation. I flipped through the pages until I found my notes for Saturday morning.

  “Breezy,” I said. “She heard something.”

  “The waitress?”

  “Yes. Belinda Brees. I went into the diner on Saturday morning the day after Jeremiah disappeared. Breezy made an off-handed comment that didn’t seem important, but I wrote it down anyway, because I was still suspicious about the Gruders.”

  “What did she say?”

  “She said I was right about Will and Vince being back in town. They’d been playing their music half the night, and it was keeping her awake. But the Mittel Pines Resort isn’t much farther from Breezy’s house than the Gruders’. What if the music she heard wasn’t coming from Will and Vince? What if it was really coming from the F-150 at the resort?”

  *

  Just as it had the previous night, light blazed from the darkness at Breezy’s trailer in Witch Tree. An inch of snow had already gathered over her dirt driveway, and more was falling like a slow, quiet avalanche. The virgin bed was undisturbed by tire tracks when we arrived.

  I got out of the cruiser. So did Agent Reed. We made footprints in the snow and climbed the rusted metal steps of the trailer. I thumped on the door. “Breezy? It’s Shelby. Breezy, are you there?”

  I put an ear to the door and heard nothing but the wind around me. The trees in the dark forest surrounding the lot stared at us.

  “Not home?” Reed asked.

  “Her car’s here.”

  We descended into the snow and circled the trailer. The only footsteps I saw were a few rabbit tracks crisscrossing the yard between Dudley’s rusted carcass and the tree line. Breezy hadn’t been outside since the snow began. I got on tiptoes to peer through the windows, but the curtains were pulled shut on all sides. I banged on the wall and called again. “Breezy? You around? Open up!”

  I went to her Dodge Durango and brushed away the snow and peered inside. It was empty. I checked the wooden shed where her yard equipment was stored and shined a flashlight on the interior. There was nothing inside but old spiderwebs and pools of ice on the concrete floor.

  The two of us went back to the trailer. I pulled my phone out of my pocket and dialed her number. When I listened, I could hear the muffled sound of Breezy’s ringtone inside. Her phone was there.

  I climbed the trailer steps again and checked the door, but it was locked.

  “Does she have a boyfriend?” Reed asked.

  “Lots. But I don’t think this is about a boyfriend.”

  “Well, what do you want to do, Deputy? This is your town.”

  “I say we go in.”

  Reed nodded his agreement. He climbed the steps and threw his shoulder heavily against the trailer door. He was a big man, and the lock only held through two more mighty shoves before it gave way. The door banged open. Reed went in first, and I followed him.

  Immediately, I slapped my hand over my face. The smell erupting out of the warm, shut-up space was like a hothouse of rotting lilies. I had to swallow down the urge to vomit. My eyes shot to the floor, and I wanted to scream at what I saw. Blood was spattered across the kitchenette and had settled into a sticky lake on the linoleum floor. In the middle was Breezy. She lay sprawled on her side, eyes fixed and open as she stared at me, her skin gray. Her long hair spilled across her face and was stained red by her own blood.

  My friend, my fellow Striker girl, was dead.

  Chapter Forty

  I called Adam, and it took him forty-five minutes to drive to Witch Tree through the snow. I met him outside. When he and I went back into the trailer together, I kept my arms wrapped so tightly around my chest that it felt like a boa constrictor was squeezing me to death. I held back my emotions as I stared at Breezy’s body. It’s not like violent death was a stranger around here. I’d seen grisly suicides by shotgun. I’d seen car accidents where people flew headfirst through the windshield. But this was different. I’d known Belinda Brees since I was a girl and talked to her at the diner practically every day of my adult life. I’d sat right here with her in this trailer two nights ago. And now she lay dead at my feet.

  “What the hell happened here?” Adam asked. “Was this an accident? Did she slip?”

  He examined a plastic bottle of canola oil tipped sideways on the counter. The lid was loose, and oil had oozed down the front of the cabinets and made a slippery puddle on the trailer floor. Some of the oil had comingled with the blood, and I could see a sheen of oil on the bottoms of Breezy’s bare feet. On the other side of the kitchenette was the sharp counter edge where her skull had struck as she fell backward. It was stained to a deep burgundy, and remnants of bone and tissue clung to the corner. Below, on the linoleum, tiny florets of brain matter were scattered around her head like spilled cereal.

  Agent Reed knelt next to the body. “If she slipped, she had help. See these little sliver cuts on her shoulders? Those are from fingernails. There’s bruising, too.”

  I bent over, reluctantly, and saw what he meant. There were four tiny crescent scratches on both of Breezy’s bare shoulders beside the spaghetti straps of her top. Little discolorations marked her skin. She’d had a violent confrontation with whoever killed her, and I didn’t think the timing of her murder was a coincidence.

  “She must have known something about Jeremiah. That’s what got her killed.”

  “And she kept quiet about it for ten years?” Adam retorted, shaking his head. “That doesn’t sound like Breezy.”

  “I know, but she was hiding something when we talked to her on Monday night.”

  Reed’s head turned sharply as I said this. “Hiding what?”

  “Breezy talked about how creepy it was that whoever took Jeremiah drove right past her trailer. She said she didn’t see anything, so I asked if anyone had spent the night with her in those first couple of days after Jeremiah disappeared. I wanted to know if there were other witnesses we should talk to. She said no, but I don’t think she was giving us the real story. She was protecting someone.”

  “Any idea who?”

  “No.”

  Reed studied the body at his feet again. “Well, it looks to me like she’s already been dead for a couple of days.”

  “It was probably that same night we were here,” I said. “She didn’t show up for her shift at the diner the next morning.”

  He frowned. “Where’s her phone?”

  I looked around the cramped confines of the trailer, but I didn’t see it. “It’s here somewhere. I heard it ringing when I called from outside.”

  “Call it again,” Reed told me.

  I pulled out my phone and dialed Breezy’s nu
mber. We heard it ringing, still muffled but louder than before. Her ringtone was Beyoncé’s “Single Ladies,” which fit for Breezy. The noise came from near my feet, and I realized the phone was under her body. Reed bent down with a gloved hand, nudged the body slightly at the hip, and slid out her phone with two fingers. I recognized the cheap silver pay-as-you-go phone that Breezy had used for years.

  Reed tapped on the screen. He navigated to the call log and pulled up a list of dialed numbers. “What time did the two of you leave the trailer on Monday night?”

  “About seven thirty.”

  “She didn’t make any calls after you left. And there are no incoming calls either.”

  “If she didn’t reach out to anybody, then why was she killed? No one knew we’d talked to her.”

  “Maybe not, but the whole town knew we’d found evidence at the resort,” Adam pointed out. “This is Everywhere. News travels fast.”

  “So she was a time bomb.”

  Adam stared at me. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, as long as we hadn’t connected Jeremiah to that resort, whatever Breezy knew didn’t matter. As soon as we did, she became a threat. The question is why.”

  *

  Not long after that, I said goodbye to Breezy for the last time. I still had trouble accepting the reality that I would never see her again.

  Adam offered to drive Agent Reed back to Everywhere, so I was on my own. I exited the trailer into the winter night, where the snow was still falling through the swirl of lights on the police cruisers. Beyond the perimeter of the scene, I saw that a black SUV was now parked on the dirt road. Violet Roka stood outside the driver’s door, looking elegant and powerful in her long wool coat. It was dark, but she wore sunglasses, as if she were in disguise. Her hands were in her pockets. I got the feeling that she’d been waiting for me.

  I headed her way. The snow made my hair wet and got in my eyes, making me squint to see. My brown uniform was bulky and unflattering. As always, I felt outclassed whenever I was around Violet.

  “So it’s true?” she asked me.

  “Yes. Breezy’s dead.”

  Violet’s face didn’t react to the news. “That’s what I heard. The FBI media rep called the congresswoman to give her a heads-up. I wanted to get out here ahead of the reporters, but they’ll be all over this soon enough. I need to brief her before she gets any questions. What can you tell me?”

  “Don’t get too sentimental, Violet. Try to hold it together.”

  Yes, that was a cheap shot, but Violet took the hit without flinching.

  “Look, I know we’ve never been close, Shelby. I know you think I’m an ice queen. Unfortunately, doing what I do, I can’t afford the luxury of getting emotional about things. It doesn’t mean that I don’t feel anything. Breezy was my friend, too.”

  “Well, someone murdered our friend tonight.”

  “You’re sure it was murder?”

  “Agent Reed thinks so. Do you want to see her before they take her away?”

  “No. I just want information.”

  “You should talk to Adam about that. Or the FBI. Not me.”

  “I want this to be unofficial for now. I’m a lawyer, Shelby. Lawyers like to know the answers before they start asking questions.”

  “So what do you want to know?”

  “Obviously, whether Breezy’s death is connected in any way to Jeremiah’s disappearance.”

  “It’s too early to say for sure.”

  Violet sighed. “I told you, this is off the record, Shelby. Not for the press, not for public consumption. Let’s not play games.”

  “Okay. Is there a connection? Probably. But we don’t know what it is yet.”

  “We’re very close to the old resort. That must mean something.”

  “Could be.”

  “Is there any reason to think Breezy herself was involved in Jeremiah’s disappearance?”

  “Breezy? No, not at this point. Why would you think that?”

  Violet took off her sunglasses. She looked uncomfortable, and I’d hardly ever seen Violet looking that way. “Let’s talk in my truck.”

  “If you like.”

  We climbed inside. The interior was still warm. She had three separate cell phones mounted on her dashboard, and I had to relocate a laptop and a dozen thick manila folders to sit in the leather passenger seat. In the thirty seconds it took me to get situated, two of the phones rang and went to voicemail, and one rang again immediately after that. That was the life of a congressional aide. I was sure Violet loved it.

  “What’s going on?” I asked her. “What did you want to tell me?”

  “This is private and sensitive information, Shelby. That’s why I’m telling you, not Adam, not Agent Reed. I hope I can count on your keeping it confidential.”

  “Not if it affects a murder investigation, Violet.”

  “I don’t know if it does. It’s probably irrelevant. But since it involves Breezy, I thought you should be aware of it.”

  “Okay.”

  “Three years ago, Breezy tried to blackmail me. It was during the first campaign. She wanted money, or she was going to go to the press with a story about me using cocaine.”

  “Did you pay her?”

  “No. I told her to go to hell.”

  “And did she talk to the press?”

  “If she did, they saw it for what it was. Malicious gossip. The story never saw the light of day. I’m only telling you this because I know Breezy has been struggling with money. If she stooped to blackmail once, she might do so again.”

  “All right. I appreciate the information. But I do have to ask: Was the story true? Do you have a drug problem?”

  “No.”

  “Did you have one in the past?”

  “No.”

  “Breezy told me that you and she did coke together in high school.”

  “That was a very long time ago. We were teenagers. Sometimes teenagers do stupid things. How is that relevant now?”

  “Breezy’s dead. Someone murdered her. Everything’s relevant.”

  “Well, I didn’t kill her, if that’s what you’re suggesting. Believe me, if I didn’t think it was worth paying blackmail over, then it wasn’t worth committing murder, either.”

  “What about the congresswoman?”

  “What about her?”

  “Breezy also said that Ellen had a problem with pills. That sounds like something a politician would want to keep secret.”

  Violet sat in silence for a while without answering me. “Breezy said that? Breezy wasn’t anywhere near Ellen in the past ten years. So let me guess where this came from. Dennis, right?”

  “Are you saying he lied? It wasn’t true?”

  “I’m saying Dennis is still upset and angry about the divorce. He’s not a credible source.”

  “That’s not exactly a denial, Violet.”

  “So what? It’s none of your business.”

  “If Ellen was abusing pills when Jeremiah disappeared, then yes, it is my business.”

  “She wasn’t.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “I am.” She drummed her fingers on the steering wheel and stared through the windshield with a frown. “Look, all I’m going to tell you is this: Ellen struggled with the disappearance of her son. I’m sure that’s no surprise. She was in therapy after it happened, and she was treated with medication. Hypothetically, if that resulted in any kind of problem, she dealt with it, and she’s clean now.”

  “Okay.”

  “Does that answer your concerns?”

  “For the moment, yes.”

  Violet shook her head in disgust, showing emotion for the first time. “This is low, even for Dennis. Gossiping about his wife’s depression over her missing son. But I guess it shouldn’t surprise me.”
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  “You don’t like him.”

  “No. I don’t. I never have. Ellen has been my friend since I moved to Mittel County. I put up with Dennis for her sake. But she deserved better. She didn’t need him. He was holding her back. She finally realized that, too.”

  “I guess she did.”

  “You know when I lost all respect for Dennis?”

  “When?”

  “The day after Jeremiah disappeared. I went over to their house that Saturday night to be with Ellen, and Dennis wasn’t there. Can you believe that? He walked out on his wife while their son was missing. He bailed on her. I never forgave him for that.”

  “Why did he leave?”

  “Because he was a coward. He couldn’t deal with it.”

  “And you’re sure it was that Saturday night?”

  “That’s right. I was there with Ellen all night, and she was alone. Dennis didn’t get back until early morning.”

  “Where did he go?”

  Violet shot a glance at Breezy’s trailer. Mixed emotions spilled across her face. “I don’t know for sure, but I can guess. When he came in, he reeked of booze. And he reeked of sex, too.”

  Chapter Forty-One

  I got out of the truck, and Violet drove away.

  I surveyed the police activity that was still going on outside Breezy’s trailer, and then I walked down the dirt road through the snow until the crime scene was blocked from view by the trees. It was the middle of a winter night, and I was cold, wet, and mostly blind.

  The road vanished into the forest ahead of me. In the sticky heat of summer ten years ago, Paul Nadler would have driven this same road in the white F-150, with Jeremiah on the seat next to him. A sweet old man, a sweet young boy. They were in no real danger at that moment, as far as I knew. There was no reason we shouldn’t have found both of them eventually. There was no reason why this story hadn’t ended with Jeremiah safely back home.

  All I could think was: Someone intervened. Something happened.