Cold Wind

by Paige Shelton

  “Just like what happened here a few months ago.”

  “Exactly. A body might not stay hidden that way. Also, water can do different things to bodies. I don’t think the body found on shore had been in the water for long, and from the description of the body in the shed, it wasn’t waterlogged.”

  “Randy told me his wife hadn’t signed the divorce papers yet,” I said. “Maybe he had to get her body out in the open so he could finally … I don’t know, cut his ties to her? Have her declared dead maybe. Life insurance?”

  “I guess that’s possible.”

  “But where has she been on ice?”

  “A freezer?”

  “Well, maybe, but I didn’t see one big enough on Randy’s property.”

  “We have ice caves. Climate change is warming our temperatures, and the permafrost is melting, but we still have ice caves, places where it’s always below freezing.”

  “Where?”

  “Around. I’m not sure exactly, but I can work on that. Gril will want that, too.”

  We each sat back in our chairs and fell into thought. My mind was swirling but I no longer needed the internet; Orin had done all the research, and more.

  Orin sat forward. “What if he just didn’t know? If it’s Wanda, Randy might not have killed her. Someone else could have.”

  I switched gears in my mind. “Who?”

  “Another good question.”

  “We need a positive ID on the body at this point. There’s more in that file. What else is there?”

  Orin flipped over a piece of paper. “I think I found the Hortons; maybe. They moved back to the Lower Forty-Eight after their tragedy. I have an address.”

  “They had a rough go.”

  “That’s putting it lightly.” He looked at the paper. “Beth, remember the earlier detail of the proximity of their house to Randy’s here in Benedict?”

  “Sure.”

  “Their New York City address is right around the corner from Randy and Wanda’s apartment.”

  “What in the world does that mean?” I said.

  “Maybe nothing.”

  “You believe that?”

  “No, but I can’t prove anything else.”

  “I guess just tell Gril.”

  “I’m going to get this information to him first thing in the morning.” Orin gathered the papers and tucked them into the folder.

  I looked at the clock hanging on the wall. It was close to one a.m., too late to call Gril unless it was an emergency.

  Orin followed my gaze. “That’s good for tonight. I’m glad you made it back safe and sound.”

  “Me too. Thanks.”

  Orin stood and tucked the folder under his arm. He headed to the door but stopped and faced me again. “Are you going to stay here or go home?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Go home, Beth. It’s been some long days, and I think you could use some rest. I’ll come back over in the morning. We can talk again. I’ll tell you everything Gril shares with me. I promise.”

  I nodded. “All right. I’ll go in a few.”

  “Good.”

  It was too cold to linger in the open doorway. I watched as Orin hurried around the corner of the shed, sending me a smile and a peace sign as he went.

  I closed the door and sniffed. His scent had lingered inside. Maybe that’s what had calmed me down. I smiled to myself, grateful for the calm, but it was definitely time to go home and get some rest.

  Twenty-Six

  A distinct sound of laughter came from the dining room as I stepped out of my room. I made sure my door was locked and went to explore.

  I’d slept well and awakened on my own—finally. I had no headache and my vision was spot-on. My arm was bruised, but not badly. I could hide it with long sleeves and mask the pain with some aspirin.

  I could use a good haircut, but the reflection in the mirror wasn’t too terrifying this morning. It was a good hair day; I was bound and determined to force it to be one, if I had to.

  I didn’t have any nightmares. I didn’t remember any dreams. So far, a good start.

  Viola and Ellen again sat at a food-laden table. Ellen had been the one laughing, seemingly about something Viola had been telling her.

  “Good morning,” Ellen said. “Come in. I made so much food, I should probably invite the whole town.”

  “Good morning. You look … a lot better,” I said.

  Ellen smiled, but I could see the tightness in her expression, at the corners of her eyes. She was doing better, but it was only by the thinnest of threads. “I hope to God that other me is gone, even if I have to eat her away. I’m bound and determined. I might gain a hundred pounds, but it would never weigh as much as my addiction.”

  “That should be on a poster somewhere,” I said as I grabbed a plate and loaded it with biscuits, gravy, and bacon. I didn’t mention that I’d just been thinking about my own determination.

  My appetite had been hard to tame when I first moved to Benedict. I was still hungry more often than I ever used to be, but at least I got filled up sometimes now. I was starving this morning.

  Ellen’s color was almost back to normal and the blemishes on her face already seemed to be clearing up. Her hair looked clean, though it wasn’t quite shiny yet. I could see how she had once probably been very pretty.

  “I feel like I’m coming out on the other side of something. Well, almost coming out of it,” Ellen said.

  “You are. That’s really terrific,” I said as I took a bite of the food and my insides melted at the delicious flavors.

  “Well, I can’t take any credit for it. I’d still be strung out if I hadn’t been sent here. Viola has helped a lot. You too.”

  “I just threatened to shoot you,” Viola said.

  They laughed as if they’d already shared a joke about Viola’s gun. I didn’t ask to be let in on it, but I was mightily impressed by the transformation.

  “This food is amazing,” I said.

  “I know my way around a kitchen,” Ellen said. “I haven’t cooked in a long time. It felt therapeutic this morning.”

  “What was your job, your career, before life took a turn?” I asked.

  “Took a turn—I like that. I worked in an accounting firm. I’m not a CPA, but I have a degree in accounting. I also know my way around a spreadsheet.”

  “Good skills to have,” I said.

  “Like organizing offices?” Viola said as she looked at me over her fork.

  No one had witnessed me organizing any offices via Skype, which was the job I had told everyone I had. It was the same sort of career the protagonist in my first thriller had, but she did it in person, leading her to a night of terror inside a high-rise.

  But they hadn’t witnessed me writing books, either. I did my real job inside the Petition shed, behind a locked door. When people asked, and they rarely did, I told people I did my fake job there, using the library’s internet connection.

  When I first arrived in Benedict, Viola told me she knew I wasn’t sharing the whole truth as to who I was or why I’d come to town. She’d bargained with me that I should be truthful to her if she figured it out. I’d agreed.

  “I wish I had mad spreadsheet skills,” I said, ignoring Viola’s obvious poke.

  “I hope to get them back,” Ellen said. “I hope for a lot. How long have you been here? I mean, I know you’re just staying here, not in trouble, but Viola said it hasn’t been for long.”

  “A few months,” I said. “You know, you’ve done the hard part.”

  “It’s all the hard part,” Ellen said.

  “It’s a cliché, but I think it’s valid—one day at a time, that’s all you can do,” I said.

  Ellen nodded and looked at Viola. “How long can I stay here? I mean, I’d like to stay awhile.”

  Viola smiled. “You’ll be here awhile, depending on the weather, maybe. And you might not feel that way in a week or so. You might start to get anxious, but that’s when you really need t
o work to keep it together. You might be able to help over at the café. Can you bake, too?”

  “I can.”

  Viola shrugged. “I don’t know if Randy will be back to run the mercantile, but selling some baked goods there might be an idea. Everyone needs bread.”

  “Okay,” Ellen said as if she was processing the information. She didn’t know enough about what was going on to inquire about Randy. She smiled. “Okay. I can do that. Will they let me?”

  “I’m sure they will,” Viola said.

  I didn’t interject and mention that “they” meant Viola would just take care of getting it done.

  “Randy still under arrest?” I asked Viola.

  “As far as I know.”

  I looked at her, gauging what else I should share. “Viola, I went to visit the girls yesterday.”

  “You did?” she said.

  I nodded.

  “Goodness, you were concerned about them. What did you think about their father?”

  “He was an imposing figure.” I was a little disappointed in my lack of creativity in picking an adjective.

  “He tracked the girls through the woods, did you know that?” Viola said.

  “That’s what he said.”

  “He was distraught when he made it to town.”

  “And the girls were happy to see him.”

  “It was a happy reunion.”

  “And no one knows who their mother is?”

  “According to Tex, there is no mother. Gril called his contacts in Brayn, but no one is telling him anything different,” Viola said.

  I stopped my fork halfway to my mouth as a memory came to me. “Viola, there was something at the Southerns’ house that might be of interest to Gril. There were some old appliances stacked next to it. It didn’t look like they’d been used for a while, but there was at least one full-size freezer, I think.”

  Viola ran her tongue over her teeth. Her eyes unfocused and she put down her fork. She finally looked at me and nodded.

  “Excuse me,” she said as she stood and walked out of the room. I thought she might be going to her office to make a call on the landline, but a few seconds later, I heard the front door open and shut.

  Ellen looked at me. “What in the world is going on?”

  “It’s a long story, Ellen. Can I help you clean up? I’ll give you the highlights in the meantime.”

  “Help me carry the dishes into the kitchen. I’ll wash them.”

  Ellen was so very normal. She listened to me just like she hadn’t been a messed-up junkie only a few days earlier. I was impressed, but I didn’t give her much information, just the gist. I hadn’t forgotten her previous state or the fact that I didn’t know her at all.

  As I was leaving her to the dishes, she stopped me.

  “Beth,” she said.

  I turned.

  “I think I know who you are,” she said.

  I just looked at her.

  She smiled. “Back before … well, you know, I was also a big reader. 37 Flights was one of my favorite books. Haley. I read it over and over again. I’m fully aware of the main character’s job. When Viola mentioned organizing offices earlier, I put two and two together. Your incident was in the news. I see the scar. I’m glad you seem okay”—she lowered her voice—“Ms. Fairchild.”

  There was no one else in the building as far as I knew, but I looked around anyway. Was anyone listening? I squelched the idea.

  “The man who took me still hasn’t been caught. I ran away. I’m hiding,” I said.

  Ellen nodded. “I figured it was something like that, and I won’t tell anyone. I just … I just want you to know how much I enjoy your books and I’m really glad you’re okay.” She laughed once. “You don’t look like you, really. I just happened to be a fan, so I figured it out. I doubt many people will, even if they are fans. I like to look at writers’ websites, their biographies. I used to be more than just a normal reader, maybe. I’m a true fan. I won’t tell. I hope to get back to reading again.”

  “Thanks, Ellen,” I said.

  “Thank you.”

  I left the room with wobbly limbs.

  I felt an imaginary creature nipping at my heels as I made my way inside my room before I managed to let go of the appearance of control I’d kept up in front of Ellen.

  There was no trusting a junkie, particularly one so recently clean. But I really didn’t think she would tell anyone who I was—she didn’t know Travis Walker.

  I stepped to the window and looked out at the woods as I thought about what I needed to do with this information. Was it time for me to get out of Benedict? Where would I go? How would I get anywhere? The ferry was still running, but I had no plan, hadn’t even thought about trying somewhere else.

  Something in the woods grabbed my attention. It was just past the morning twilight, but dark clouds kept the light muted. I’d all but forgotten about the figure I’d noticed in the woods outside Randy’s house, the one I thought might look like the same one Gril and I had seen in the woods outside Lane’s. I had fallen and hit my head at Randy’s, and that had been more important.

  But here it was again.

  I put my face even closer to the glass and squinted. The brown figure was far away—maybe about thirty yards or so—amid the trees. It looked to be covered in fur, but, as Gril had noted, not moving quite right. It seemed distinctly human, with its hunched-over gait, as it walked deeper into the woods.

  I wanted to run outside and try to chase it, but I had no doubt I would miss it; it would run away or hide so I couldn’t see it. I wanted to grab Viola and see if she knew what it was. Did Benedict have its own version of Big Foot? But Viola was gone.

  The figure stopped moving and turned slowly. It was covered in fur—maybe a coat and hat. Though I could see two eyes, or at least understand where they were, I couldn’t tell what color they were.

  I could, however, tell they were aimed directly at me.

  I gasped.

  This was my third sighting. Did that mean that I was the one meant to see the thing, that I was the one it was watching, following?

  I stepped back from the window, put my hand over my mouth, and sat on the edge of the bed. I could still see out the window. The creature turned back around and continued moving away, at a pace much too fast for me to catch up to it.

  What the hell?

  I didn’t know what to do, except that I now wanted to talk to Mill. I was with Gril the first time I saw the figure in the woods—he saw it too, but with what had been going on inside my head, I couldn’t help but wonder if I truly was seeing it again or if maybe I was hallucinating. I didn’t want to feel this paranoia, but I couldn’t help it. And the first person who came to mind when I wanted to talk about paranoia was my mother. I grabbed the burner phone and moved back to the window, where I might get a signal if I held the phone up.

  I texted: Call me in half an hour? This is my new number.

  I hit send, crossed my fingers that the text would go through, gathered my things, and headed outside, taking a brief detour around the other side of the building to look out into the woods. I didn’t see the figure anywhere, so I hurried to my truck.

  More snow had accumulated overnight but some already-forged tire tracks told me where the roads were. The previous night’s activities felt like a million years ago. I wasn’t fine, though. In the last twenty-four hours, in my new home, it seemed maybe two people knew who I was—and something seemed to be stalking me. The universe was trying to tell me something, and I needed to find a way to understand it.

  Just as I made it inside the Petition shed and cranked up the heat again, my phone buzzed. I opened it. Mill had answered.

  You bet.

  Twenty-Seven

  Thirty minutes after I’d sent the text, on the dot, the burner rang.

  “Mom,” I said.

  “Baby girl o’ mine. How are you?”

  “I am okay.” I forced myself to relax some. I didn’t want to freak her out too
much.

  “Don’t bullshit the bullshitter. What’s up?” She struck a match.

  I could smell her. I’d never smoked, not even tried to, but there was something about the smoky scent of her well-driven old cars that would always be comforting. When I hadn’t been with my grandfather, living like a normal person in a small house in a small town, I’d been with my mother in that car, searching, breaking into homes, “investigating.” Even then, I could see how strange her behavior was. But I would always think back fondly on those moments, all those greasy fries and milk shakes, that cigarette-smoke-infused smell.

  I told her everything, but I only used first names. When I finished, her first comment was concern about my head, and her second was a question.

  “Are you sure your fingers didn’t touch anything in Randy’s house?” she asked.

  “I’m sure. I learned from the best.”

  “Damn straight, you did. Good. It will be fine. And if anyone asks you, deny, deny, deny. Don’t ever admit to anyone but your old mother. Got it?”

  “I got it. Thanks, Mom.”

  “No problemo. Now, this creepazoid, Lane. Just stay the fuck away from him. He’s probably harmless, but Jesus and Mary on a cracker, Beth, look at the way he lives. It ain’t right. It just ain’t.”

  “I understand, and I agree, except…”

  “What?”

  “He’s sad about something. He’s secretive and mysterious, but he’s sad, too. I think the police chief needs to explore that—maybe his sadness has something to do with the body.”

  “It’s possible. I bet he’s the one you keep seeing out in the woods. I mean, think about it. It’s like Bruce Wayne and Batman—you’ve never seen them together, right?”

  “I’m not sure that theory works in this sparsely populated area, and we saw the figure by his house and then came upon him arriving from the other direction.”

  “A feasible thing for him to do, circle around that quick?”

  “He would have to be in amazing shape.” I thought about the figure and how it could have been wearing a bearskin coat exactly like the one Lane had been wearing when I first saw him.