Storm Warning

by Michele Hauf

  “You should be careful. Those beasts look gawky, but a moose can run fast.”

  “Tell me about it. I was photographing the snow-laced birch trees and out of nowhere a moose charged through the deep snow. It was beautiful. But I’m cautious to check for big critters now when I venture out.”

  “You should stick to the trails. Safer.”

  “Safe is good, hmm?”

  Jason almost responded with an immediate yes, but he sensed by her tone that she was angling for bigger fish. Were those thick lashes as soft as they looked? And did she prefer not so safe? Now that was his kind of woman.

  “Depends,” he said. “There’s safe and then there’s, hmm...wild?”

  “Wild is not a word I’d ever place to anything in this town.”

  If that wasn’t some wanting, repressed sexual desire in her sigh, Jason couldn’t guess otherwise. She had been in Frost Falls a few weeks. Why had he never noticed her before? And could he hope Alex hadn’t already hooked up with her?

  “You, uh, like wild?” he asked.

  “I do.” She finished off one triangle of the sandwich, but from his side view Jason noticed her smile did not fade.

  Oh, he liked the wild, too. In so many ways.

  The waitress set his bill down before him. He did not put it on the station’s expense account. He couldn’t see asking the town to pay for his meals. And now with the closure notice hanging over his head, he wanted to be as frugal as possible with the city budget. Much as he didn’t like sharing the investigation with the BCA—yes, Ryan Bay, the looker, had arrived in town—it was a good thing, considering they had the resources and the finances to serve the investigation properly. As soon as the final autopsy report arrived, Jason intended to meet with Bay at the station house and go over the evidence.

  Reaching for her backpack, Yvette shuffled it on over her arms. Ready to head out so quickly? She still had half a sandwich on the plate. He couldn’t let her leave. Not until he’d learned more, like where she was staying, and did she have a significant other? And did her hair actually gleam when it spilled across her shoulders?

  Briefly, Jason frowned as memories of his early morning stop resurfaced. The deceased had long black hair and a beautiful face.

  At that moment, his cell phone buzzed with a text. Elaine had ID’d the victim as Yvette Pearson.

  “Yvette,” he muttered and wrinkled a brow. That was a weird coincidence.

  “Yes?”

  He looked up and was met with a wondering blue gaze. He’d once fallen for a pair of blue eyes and a foreign accent—and life had changed drastically for him because of that distraction.

  “You said my name?” she prompted.

  “Huh? Oh. No. I mean, yes. Not you. It’s a text.” He quickly typed, Thanks for the info. Forward the final report to me and Ryan Bay. He tucked away the phone and said to the very much alive Yvette, “It’s a case. Not you. Sorry. Police business.”

  She nodded. “Yvette is a common French name.”

  “You betcha. Lot of French Canadians living up in these parts.”

  “These parts.” With a sigh, she glanced out the front window.

  Jason noticed she eyed the black SUV parked across the street. The one that hailed from Duluth.

  “Friend of yours?” he asked, with a nod out the window.

  “You mean the owner of that SUV?” She shook her head. “Despite my sparkling personality, and a desperate desire for good conversation, I don’t have any friends in this town. Other than Colette at the market. She’s the only French-speaking person I’ve run into.”

  “You speak French? I was wondering about your accent.”

  “I’m from Lyon.”

  Lyon, eh? That was a major city in France.

  “So, what is there to do in this town that is more interesting than Friday night at the Laundromat slash grocery store?” Yvette asked.

  “Let’s see...” Jason rubbed his jaw. “A guy could nosh on some of the amazing desserts they have here at The Moose. I have to admit, I’m a big fan of their pie. You want a slice before you rush off?”

  “Much as I would love to, I’ll have to pass. Wasn’t as hungry as I thought I was.” She pushed the plate forward to indicate she was finished. “But I won’t rule out pie in my future,” she said with a teasing tone. “What else you got?”

  “Well, there is Netflix and chill,” Jason suggested slyly.

  “I don’t understand.”

  “It means...uh...” A blush heated Jason’s cheeks. Since when had his flirtation skills become so damned rusty? And awkward. Mercy, he was out of practice.

  “More coffee, Jason?” the waitress asked.

  Saved by the steamy brew. “No, thanks, I should get going. Marjorie is waiting for me back at the office to sign off on some...paperwork.”

  The last thing he wanted to do was let the cat out of the bag that a body had been found so close to town. On the other hand, he expected when Susan Olson next went on shift at the back of the diner, it wouldn’t take long for word to spread.

  He pulled out a twenty and laid it on the counter. “That should cover both our bills.”

  Yvette zipped up her jacket. “Thank you, Chief Cash. I’m going to look up Netflix and chill when I get home.”

  “You do that,” he said. And when she learned it meant watching Netflix together, then making out? “I’m down the street at the redbrick building if you ever need me. Used to be a bustling station house, but now it’s just me and dispatch.”

  “Keeping an eye on the Peanut Gang.”

  “You betcha.”

  He walked her to the restaurant door, and she pointed across the street where a snowmobile was parked before Olson’s Oasis. It was an older model, similar to the one he’d once torn through ditches on when he was a teenager.

  “That’s me,” she said.

  “How far out do you live?” he asked.

  “I’m renting. Here for a short stay. It’s a cabin about five miles east. Lots of birch trees. Very secluded.”

  “Everything around here is secluded. You step out of town, you’re in no-man’s land. That’s what I love about this place. And lots of powder.”

  “Powder?”

  “Snow. When I’m not working, I spend my time on the cat, zooming through the powder. Er, cat is what some locals call the snowmobile. At least, those of us with an inclination to Arctic Cat sleds and racing.”

  “Ah, a thrill seeker?”

  “You nailed it. You must be staying at the Birch Bower cabin?”

  “Yes, that’s the one.”

  Jason nodded. The owners rented the place out in the winter months while they vacationed in their Athens home. Nice place, Greece. Beautiful blue waters. Fascinating local culture. Ouzo in abundance. He’d nearly taken a bullet to the stomach there a few years ago. Good times.

  “Thanks again,” Yvette called as she walked away.

  Feeling as though he wanted to give Yvette his phone number, Jason also suspected that would not be cool. Not yet. They’d only chatted ten minutes. So instead he watched her turn on her snowmobile and head off with a smile and a wave.

  Besides, he knew where to find her now if he wanted to.

  A glance to the SUV found it was still parked. Exhaust fumes indicated the engine was running. Hmm...

  Jason strode across Main Street toward the SUV, boots crunching the snowpack. The vehicle shifted into gear and drove past him. It slowed at the stop sign at the east edge of town. And sat there. Yvette had crossed to the town’s edge and taken a packed trail hugged by tall birch trees.

  The thunder of Jason’s heartbeats would not allow him to dismiss the SUV. It was almost as if the driver had been parked there, watching... Yvette?

  He looked at his cell phone. Elaine’s message read, Yvette Pearson.

  As the
very much alive Yvette LaSalle had said, it was a common French name. But two Yvettes in one small town? Both, apparently, visiting. And one of them dead?

  Unable to shake the itchy feeling riding his spine, Jason returned to his snowmobile and pulled on his helmet. By the time he’d fired up the engine and headed down Main Street, the SUV had slowly moved toward the birch-lined road heading east. Yvette’s direction.

  Jason pulled up alongside the SUV, switched on the police flasher lights and signaled the driver to pull over. He did so and rolled down his window. The thirtysomething male wearing a tight gray skullcap and sunglasses tugged up a black turtleneck as the brisk air swept into the truck cab.

  “Chief Jason Cash,” Jason said as he approached the vehicle. A nine-millimeter Glock hugged his hip, but he didn’t sense a need for it. Nor did he ever draw for a routine traffic stop. Not that this was a traffic stop.

  “Hello, Officer,” the man said with an obvious accent. Texan? A Southern drawl twanged his voice. “Is there a problem?”

  “No problem. I’ve not seen you in Frost Falls before, and it is a small town. Like to introduce myself.” He tugged off a glove and offered his hand to the man. The driver twisted and leaned out the window to shake his hand. A calm movement. Warm hand. But Jason couldn’t see his eyes behind the mirrored lenses. “Your name?”

  “Smith,” he said easily. Which was the name Jason had gotten from the plate check. “I’m visiting the Boundary Waters tourist area. Just out for a drive. Beautiful day with the sunshine, yes?”

  “You betcha.”

  Definitely a Texan accent. Fresh out of high school, Jason had served three years in the marines alongside a trio of Texans who had extolled their love for hot sauce whenever they were bored.

  “You got some ID and vehicle registration, Smith?”

  The man reached down beside him. Jason’s hackles tightened. He placed a hand over his gun handle. Smith produced a driver’s license and, opening the glove compartment, shuffled around for a paper. He handed both over.

  Hiding his relief that he hadn’t had to draw against a dangerous suspect, Jason took the items and looked them over. It was a Minnesota license, not Texas, but people moved all the time. The name and address matched the vehicle registration. It also matched the info he’d gotten earlier. Thirty-seven years old. Brown hair. Brown eyes. Donor. A Duluth address. Hair was longer in the photo, but the man looked like he’d recently had a clipper cut.

  “You a recent move to Minnesota?”

  “Why do you ask?”

  “There’s not a lot of uff da in your accent.”

  The man chuckled. “Born and raised in Dallas. But I do enjoy the winters here.”

  “I gotta agree with you there. You must enjoy outdoor sports.”

  “Mostly taking in the sights.”

  “Uh-huh. You got the day off from work?” Jason asked.

  “You bet.”

  “Duluth, eh?” Jason handed back the license. “Where do you work?”

  “Perkins. Just off Highway 35 west.”

  Jason had eaten at that location before. So that checked out, too. In town to take in the scenery?

  “Thank you, Mr. Smith. You should turn around here before the road gets too narrow,” he said. “It’s not for tourism. And it’s also not a through road.”

  “I had no idea, Officer.”

  “That’s part of my job. Making sure everyone stays on the straight and narrow.”

  The man furrowed his brows. And the fact he’d misnamed the Boundary Waters Canoe Area Wilderness gave Jason another prickle down his spine. A strange mistake for someone who should be familiar with the area.

  “The Moose serves up some tasty meat loaf with buttered carrots,” Jason offered. “Stop in before you head out of town.”

  “Thank you, Officer. I will. Is there anything else?”

  “No. You can go ahead and turn around here. Road’s still wide enough. But watch the ditch. The snowpack is loose. You’ll catch a tire and have a hell of a time getting out. Tow service is kind of sketchy in these parts.”

  “Sure thing.”

  The window rolled up, and Jason walked back over to his snowmobile. The SUV sat for a bit, not making any motion to turn around. Clouds of exhaust formed at the muffler.

  Jason sat on his cat and swung the driver a friendly wave. If he had been following Yvette, there was no way Jason was going to leave his post. And if the driver had known her, he would have mentioned he was following a friend. Maybe?

  When the vehicle finally began to pull ahead, turn, back up, turn some more, then make the arc around to head back the way it had come, Jason again waved.

  “Something up with Smith,” he muttered.

  He could generally spot a fake ID at a glance. The license had been legit. Everything checked out in the police database. But still, his Spidey senses tingled. Sure, Frost Falls got sightseers. The town’s namesake, the falls, froze solid in the winter months. It attracted thrill seekers. And idiots.

  But the man hadn’t mentioned the falls specifically. And if that had been his destination, he should have headed out of town in the opposite direction.

  Jason had met three strangers today. And one of them had been lying dead in a ditch. He wasn’t going to let this one sit.

  Firing up the cat, he headed back into town to keep an eye on Smith.

  Chapter Four

  Jason breezed into the station but didn’t unzip his coat or stomp his boots. Marjorie had gotten used to his tromping in ice and snow and had laid down a rubber runner mat a year ago. She still complained about the mess, but when he’d given her a budget for a monthly rug cleaning, she’d settled.

  That would all change soon enough. He wasn’t sure how to tell her the station might be closed in March. He had to tell her. Maybe if he waited, it would never happen?

  “There’s a message,” Marjorie started as he walked by.

  “From the BCA?” Jason asked.

  “No, Bay’s in your office—”

  He strode into his office and closed the door behind him. “Bay.”

  The agent was seated in the extra chair against the wall beneath a sixteen-point deer rack with a laptop open and his focus pinned to the screen. “Cash. Give me a minute.”

  “Minute’s all you get. I’m investigating a murder. Have to get out there. Talk to people. Gather information.”

  Walking across the room, Jason pushed aside the shades to give him a view of Main Street. He’d seen Smith’s SUV heading east toward Highway 35. The man had taken the hint.

  On the other hand... He glanced down the street toward the gas station that sat at town’s edge.

  “They still renting snowcats from the gas station?” Jason called out to Marjorie.

  “You betcha. Jason, do you want some krumkake?”

  That invite turned his head. He strode back into the next room and eyed the plate of sweet treats Marjorie pointed to on the corner of her desk. Half a dozen delicate rolled sweets sat on a Corelle plate decorated around the circumference with green leaves (just like his mother’s set). Krumkake were like crunchy crepes, but so light and delicious.

  “You make those?” he asked.

  “Of course. I use my grandmother’s krumkake iron. They don’t make those things anymore, don’t ya know.”

  He grabbed one of the treats and bit into it, catching the inevitable crumbs with his other hand. Two more bites and it was gone. He grabbed another, then tugged out his notebook and tore out a few pages to hand to Marjorie. “Can you type up these notes I took while talking to Susan Olson?”

  “Of course. I’ve already got a case file started. Elaine Hester forwarded the autopsy report for the woman in the ditch. I left a copy on your desk, and Bay’s got a copy as well.”

  “Yeah, she texted me the name Yvette Pearson.” Jason wandered b
ack into his office and closed the door behind him.

  Ryan Bay stood and set the laptop on Jason’s desk. “I’ve got family info on the victim.”

  “Lives in a Minneapolis suburb,” Jason said. Susan had been sure the women at the club the other night were from the Twin Cities, because one had worn a jacket with a high school logo embroidered on the sleeve. “Blaine?”

  “Yes, Blaine. I’ve already contacted their police department so they can get in touch with the family.”

  “I’ve got a list of the deceased’s friends I intend to question as soon as I step out of the station. But first, I’m going to head east and check on—”

  “That pretty young woman you talked to in The Moose?” Marjorie asked as she entered with the plate of treats in hand.

  Marjorie took his silence as the hint she needed it to be and, after handing him the plate, she left the office with a promise to get right to his notes.

  Jason closed the office door again and nodded to Bay, who turned his laptop toward him. “Classic homicide. Ligature marks. Struggle bruises on forearms and DNA under fingernails.”

  “Yep, I was there for the autopsy. It was all very clean. Generally there’s much more bruising on the body as the killer struggles to complete the unfamiliar—or unintended—task. Anger and aggression.”

  Bay shook his head and exhaled heavily. “You said you talked to the woman who found the body?”

  “Yes, she gave me the names of the women the victim was last seen with. That’s where I’m going next—”

  “I thought there was a pretty young woman?” Bay said with a smirk.

  “A...” Jason closed his eyes and shook his head. Marjorie really needed to stay out of his personal life. But the worst part of it was that she knew about his personal life before it tended to get personal. “Never mind,” he said. “You don’t want to question the victim’s friends, do you?”

  Bay tilted his head, a casual thought process taking place inside his perfectly coiffed head. He wore a suit, for some damn reason, and it looked like his fingernails had been manicured for the glossy shine. Was that what women found attractive? Yikes.