He patted his flat belly. “I think I’ve been doing too much deep couch sitting and drinking wine these days,” he joked, leaning forward to brace his hands on his knees and catch his breath.
When I reached the top, I did the same, but I was gasping a whole lot harder. Letting my head drop to my chest, I noticed the thicket of trees about ten feet away. Standing up straight, I stretched and pointed to them. “Shall we?”
Hobbs turned and took big, awkward steps toward the trees. He’d had a hunch, and he’d shared it with me this morning before we left to question some of the contestants in the contest.
“See anything?” I asked as I tried to catch up to him. My short legs weren’t helping matters.
“Hah! Found it,” he declared with a triumphant shout.
When I finally made it to where he stood, I looked at the clearing—and indeed there it was.
One of three feral huts Bitty had set up around the wooded area.
Shrouded by some trees, it was a big black storage tote with another smaller tote inside and a hole cut in the front of each for easy access. The top had been covered with a lid, held firmly in place with two bricks.
It sat on a palette anchored to the base of the trees, to keep it off the ground and safe from moisture. When Hobbs lifted the top, he found fresh straw inside and silver insolation material of some kind, placed all around the sides of the second tote.
I frowned. “Maybe this means Starlight was here before she died, and so was Barbra? Mama probably went off to do whatever a cat does and got hit, leaving Babs stranded.”
Hobbs planted his hands on his lean hips. “And maybe she climbed into the sled and got hair on Yule’s neck?”
“Meaning he was already dead?”
“Bitty did say someone contacted her yesterday morning to tell her they had a cat from her colony. So that definitely could have been what happened. I don’t know why she’d get in the sled, though. Maybe she was just investigating, as cats are wont to do.”
“But Barbra’s so tiny. How did she manage to get all the way down the hill? And further, how the heckles did she get into a pink backpack?”
Hobbs shrugged, squinting through the snowflakes and wind. “That remains a mystery. Cats are resilient, and who knows how long it was before she got down the hill? It might not have been that long. Maybe she was safe and warm all night, but I do think it’s safe to say she couldn’t have gotten into the sled. She’s still too small to jump that high, but a larger cat could do it, no doubt.”
“So at least for the moment, we can eliminate Babs as the killer,” I said jokingly, relief swirling in my belly. “Phew. I can’t harbor a fugitive.”
“Do you really still think they’d take Barbra from you, Hal? A tiny kitten?”
Wrinkling my frozen nose, I reminded him of the chicken I’d seen on one of the true-crime shows I’d watched.
His Southern accent really shined when he said, “That’s plum nuttier than squirrel turds.”
“It is, but it’s also a reason for them to take her from me and stick her in a cage, and I’m not going to let that happen, Hobbs. So we need to figure this out. As a for instance, why was he all the way at the top of this hill in a sled? Did he fall into the sled or was he put here?”
“It could have gone either way, I suppose.” He stuffed his hands inside the pockets of his snow pants and gazed intently at me. “You do know I’ll do everything I can to help you keep Babs, don’t you?”
I stood on tiptoe and gave him a quick kiss. “I do. Now, we need to figure this out before they realize I have a cat with fur that matches what was found on the victim. Stiles probably knows I have her. I fibbed, of course, but it’s wrong of me to ask him not to dig deeper.”
“Well, that just seems silly. I can’t think of a single reason why they’d need her for evidence. So what if he had cat hair on him?”
“That doesn’t mean they won’t tie her up with red tape. I’m not taking any chances she’ll be stuffed into a cage all alone in some cold storage room. So let’s get ’er done.”
Hobbs held out his fist for me to bump. “Go team HAH.”
I bumped his fist before grabbing his hand and asked, “Are we still going with HAH? How do you feel about VALDAIN? Or maybe even DAINTYVAL? Team DAINTYHAL?”
He pulled me with him to where Stephen King had found the sled just at the top of the hill and in the shadow of a big pine. “Now, DAINTYHAL has a nice ring to it. How about we make decisions on our shipped name later and go see if we can ask some contestants a question or two? Because I don’t think there’s a whole lot to see here, and if there was, it’s gone with the snowfall.”
I looked out at the snowy white landscape with nothing more than some trees and the baseball field behind us and decided he was right.
“You’re probably right.” Then I pondered the idea that a dog had managed to push a sled with a human being, a dead one at that. “I had no idea Stephen King was as strong as he is. I can’t believe he managed to push that sled over the crest of the hill.”
“He’s as strong as a bull. I’m not as surprised at that as I am he hopped into the sled on the first try. He misses more often than he gets it right. He was really determined.”
Laughing, I nodded my head. “He’s just as determined when it comes to treats.”
“Well, who isn’t?” he asked with a cocky grin. “Speaking of treats. You think the cinnamon bun lady’s stand is open yet? Something warm and gooey sounds good about now.”
This man and his stomach. “I’m sure the cinnamon bun lady—whose name is Rose—is getting ready to open. Though, with this weather, I don’t know if much will be going on today. I imagine everything will be slower because of the storm.”
“I was reading today they closed down the airport last night. Winds were high, visibility low.”
“Which means fewer people will travel in from surrounding towns. I hope that doesn’t mean we won’t be able to find some more contestants. I’d really like to get their impressions of Yule, and if he insulted them as much as he seems to have insulted everyone we’ve talked to so far.”
“Then whaddya say we go see? Last one down the hill is a dried-up tumbleweed!”
Hobbs took off like a shot, laughing the entire way, his black snow pants and matching ski jacket becoming a blur as he tore off down the steep hill, which set my competitive streak on fire.
I raced down the hill, too, stumbling and tripping in the knee-deep snow until I lost my footing and fell, rolling the rest of the way, sputtering snow and snorting with laughter.
When I hit the bottom of the hill, my hat on the ground, all forward motion ceased, I sat up, trying to catch my breath from cackling so hard.
Hobbs plopped down next to me, his beard covered in snowflakes, a big grin on his face. “I think I won.”
I laughed so hard, the muscles in my stomach ached. Hobbs brushed my hair from my face and shook my hat free of snow. He cupped my chin but I batted him away. “You had a head start, and if I wasn’t thoroughly wrecked from running down that hill, I’d challenge you to a do-over.”
Hobbs’s phone beeped, and as he straightened and pulled it from the pocket in his snow pants, I struggled to a standing position.
In the snow-laden skies of the day, his face looked surprised. “Just got a Google Alert about Yule Wolfram. Apparently, there are some recently resurfaced pictures of him with Tana West. Isn’t that Jolie Sampson’s mother?”
“Yep. She came to take his place as a judge in a contest that, at this rate, looks like it’s never going to happen.”
“Looks like they were friends. At least at one time.” He held up the phone and showed me a set of three pictures of the couple sitting on a bench in a park in Glasgow.
The pictures were grainy and obviously from a long time ago when they, according to the article, competed against one another. I’d looked her up on Facebook when Yule was first killed. These pics made it hard to see her clearly, but Yule was easy enough to
spot. His hair was darker, and he looked like he’d lost a pound or two, but that was definitely him.
“Well then, cinnamon buns aren’t the only thing we need to get busy with. Let’s go see if we can find some judges and contestants.”
“Wanna race?” Hobbs asked teasingly.
“Nope,” I yelled before I took off like an arrow from its bow, clunking my way in my heavy snow boots toward the ice sculpting tent, my gleeful cackle ringing in the air when Hobbs yelled a protest behind me.
“Hey, that’s cheating!”
But his laughter rang in my ears.
Hobbs decided he needed a cinnamon bun before we asked any questions, so as we entered the open tent, which felt only a bit warmer than outside, he was busy shoveling a fresh-from-the-oven cinnamon roll into his mouth.
“This is amazing,” he cooed his eyes just a tad shy of rolling back in his head. “You want some?”
I dismissed the gooey delicacy with a wave of my hand. I didn’t need a cinnamon bun after how out of shape I felt running up that hill. I needed a carrot and a workout, pronto. “No thank you.” I paused when I caught sight of Jolie and Jerry Sampson. “Look. There’s Jolie and Jerry. Maybe they know something?”
The tent, lined with tables of sculptures as far as the eye could see, with ice shavings on the floor and all manner of ice sculpting accoutrement, had a heavy vibe to the air.
The few faces of the people left still in the contest didn’t look terribly pleased. In fact, most of them looked quite defeated. As I passed Buddy Wilson’s table, his sculpture glistening, I noted the slump of his shoulders.
I’d get to him later. For now, I wandered over toward Jerry and Jolie, so pretty in their colorful ski jackets, standing by their beautiful sculpture.
“Hey, guys!” I said on a wave. “How goes it?”
“Not great,” Jolie said, her pretty face scrunching up in disgust.
“What’s wrong?” I asked, with Hobbs still by my side, munching his roll.
Jerry pulled her to his side and gave her a sympathetic glance and a kiss on the tip of her nose. “The contest might end up canceled—even after my mother-in-law came to fill in for Yule. The police are all up in our sculptures, taking samples and all sorts of nonsense. But worse, we can’t even call it a day because the snow’s not due to stop for a couple of days, so there’s no way we can get home. Man, this has been one big bust from start to finish.”
Jolie snorted, straightening her cute pink and gray beanie. “So much for trying to get our names out there. I can’t believe Mom talked us into this. She said small contests were the best way to get noticed by pro judges, and now look. I feel like I’ve been practicing half my life for nothing.”
“Am I hearing my name in vain?” a sweet, lilting voice asked.
When I turned around, I was confronted with an attractive, mature woman with soft chestnut-brown hair and blue eyes the same color as her daughter’s but rounder and lined with just a hint of her age.
I’d heard a rumor that at one time, early in their careers, Wolfram had taken an interest in Tana and I could see why he’d made a beeline for her. He didn’t necessarily have a type, other than you had to be pretty and female. Otherwise, all flavors of the rainbow were obviously his for the pursuing and if she was nothing else, she was certainly pretty—just like Jolie.
“You must be the infamous Tana West. How nice to meet you,” I said, holding out my hand with a smile. “I’m Halliday Valentine, ice sculpting reject.”
Her laughter tinkled through the air like fairy dust as she took my hand and gave it a firm shake. “That’s me, and I can’t believe you’re an ice sculpting failure.”
“Oh, believe it,” Hobbs said around another bite of his cinnamon roll.
I gave him a dirty look but hitched my thumb over my shoulder. “This is Hobbs Dainty, and as much as I wish that weren’t the truth, I think Jolie and Jerry can attest to the fact that our withdrawal from the competition was better for all involved. We were headed for humiliation and heartbreak.”
Tana smiled up at Hobbs and gave his arm a little tweak. “I can’t believe this big guy here sucks at anything.”
Hobbs stopped chewing and looked to me, his cheeks, stuffed with food, going red.
“Oh, no. Hobbs wasn’t my partner. My best friend Stiles was. And believe me, we truly did suck. But that’s not why we’re here. We were just wondering about Yule Wolfram.”
Tana visibly stiffened, driving her hands into her mint-green jacket with the fuzzy hood. “I was sorry to hear about what happened to him.”
“I wasn’t,” a deep voice said to the left of us.
We all turned to see a hulk of a man, his shoulders the width of a linebacker’s, his height that of a redwood tree. He strode over to us, surprisingly light-footed as he approached.
He held out his hand to me, a big paw of a hand, and said in a cultured voice, “I’m Gerald Cross. Tana’s husband.”
I shook his hand, allowing his grip to swallow up mine. “Halliday Valentine, and I’d just like to ask you a couple of questions, if you don’t mind, that is?”
He shrugged and blinked, but his face didn’t give way to his emotions at all. “Be my guest,” he murmured.
“Did you have an issue with Yule Wolfram?”
Gerald eyed me for a good long moment, making me a little uncomfortable, before he said, “He treated my wife like dirt years ago when they competed against one another. He treated everyone like dirt. I wasn’t sorry to hear he was dead. Not at all.”
“Dad!” Jolie cried, grabbing his brawny arm. “Stop saying things like that. They’re investigating his murder. Don’t say something that could get you into trouble.”
“You two cops?” he asked, his jaw visibly clenched.
I pointed at my chest and gave him innocent eyes. “Me? Heck no. I’m just being nosy. I was there when he came down on the sled—”
Gerald began to laugh. A deep, hearty laugh so loud, it turned heads. “Sucker couldn’t even die without making a dramatic scene.”
Tana made a face at him, her eyes sending him a warning. “Gerald. Stop, please. A man is dead. At least have a little respect.”
But Gerald screwed up his roughly hewn face. “Why would I have any respect for him? He was a creep, Tana. You know it, I know it. Everyone knows it. Everyone he came into contact with, he ended up trashing, including you.”
I blinked and played innocent. “I’m sorry. How do you mean?”
Gerald lifted an eyebrow, his eyes filled with scorn. “He accused her of cheating at one of her competitions, got her disqualified and took home her fifty grand. How’s that for respect?”
Well. If there was ever a motive for murder, fifty grand might be one.
Don’t you think?
CHAPTER 12
“Chestnuts roasting on an open fire…”
But Tana hadn’t even been in Marshmallow Hollow when he was murdered. Of course, I’d have to find a way to verify that, but this felt like another dead end.
When Jolie gasped at her father’s confession, Jerry pulled her closer, but Tana glared at her husband, her eyes flashing a warning. “It was a long time ago, Gerald. A long time ago. Long forgotten by now. At least by me.”
He wrapped an enormous arm around his wife’s waist. “I’m glad you’ve forgotten,” he said in a softer tone. “But that doesn’t change the fact that he was a horndog of a so-and-so, and he probably got what he deserved. He came on to my kid.”
“Mr. Cross!” Jerry chastised with a frown. “When I caught him being a slimeball with Jolie, I made sure he knew he’d crossed a line. I handled it.”
Jerry sounded a lot like someone who spent a good deal of his time proving to Gerald Cross he was worthy of Jolie…
Tana’s lips thinned. “Yule was always a pig. Always. That he tried to pick up my daughter doesn’t surprise me in the least. He was always on the hunt for his next prey.”
Jolie rasped a sigh. “Mom, stop saying it like that, w
ould you? You make me sound like a small, helpless animal in the woods. I’m a big girl. I can take care of myself. I told him to bug off. End of.”
“Jolie?” I asked. “What did he say to you?”
She sighed again and rolled her eyes. “He just offered me his number and told me to call if I needed help with my sculpting.”
Hobbs eyed her, wiping his mouth with a paper napkin. “Did he know you were Tana West’s daughter?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know. I try not to tell too many people because of favoritism and all.”
I watched them closely when I asked, “So where were you when he was killed?”
“Asleep,” Both Jolie and Jerry answered, but they didn’t sound anxious or at all like they were trying to cover something up. “Plus, there are security cameras at the inn. The police said they can check to see if we left,” Jerry reminded me.
Gerald looked at me, his charcoal eyes like chips of black ice. “And before you ask where I was when he was killed, I was in Wyoming at an ice fishing retreat with some guys. Just got in late last night, after he was killed and right before they canceled all the flights. Came as soon as I heard Tana was coming here to replace that dirtball and there was a murderer on the loose. You can have all my friends’ numbers and the number of the lodge we stayed in to verify.”
He’d gotten quite close to me as he glared, as though I’d accused him of something.
I guess Hobbs didn’t much like that, or Gerald’s defensive tone—and I can assure you, it was defensive. “We’re not the police, Mr. Cross. We’re just interested parties. So if you don’t mind, maybe take a step back from my girlfriend and adjust your tone.” Hobbs didn’t puff up his chest or posture, but his voice was succinct and his words clear.
But Gerald did posture, puffing out his wide chest. “Excuse me, son?”
Hobbs held up his hand. “No, sir, excuse me. Your tone is out of line. That’s no way to speak to someone who only asked you a question.”
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