by Lisa Jackson
“Come on, come on, come on!” she muttered, shutting off the radio in irritation as the song she’d been listening to faded out into a cluster of static. She considered heading back to the main artery into town when she spied a neon sign for a restaurant called, oh so quaintly, Wild Will’s. “Ugh.”
She saw a parking spot on the street. Unfortunately, so did the driver of a huge Hummer or whatever they were called, some long-ass rig that hung out into the street and nearly swiped the cars on either side of him.
“Bastard,” she muttered under her breath, circling the block to come upon a street that led to the edge of the river, an alley almost, and two blocks down found an area under a bridge that was posted NO PARKING.
Oh, hell. Who cares? She’d just run into the damn restaurant, use the bathroom, and get something to go, if that. Maybe another coffee.
She nearly slipped getting out of her Mercedes and had to catch herself. Swearing silently, she tucked her purse under her arm, remotely locked the car, and hurried carefully along the dimly lit alley to Wild Will’s.
Once inside, she nearly peed herself when she came face-to-face with a huge grizzly bear, standing upright, its long teeth pulled back in a snarl, its glass eyes glittering angrily. It was stuffed and dressed in a ridiculous Cupid outfit complete with glittery wings and a quiver filled with arrows that had red hearts rather than feathers stuck into the shafts. Worse yet, the huge creature was swaddled in a pink diaper and a bow had been propped into one clawed paw.
Whose dim idea was that? “Your bathroom?” she asked a tall girl with a ponytail and a sour expression who was standing at the hostess station.
“It’s just for customers.”
“I plan on being one. And, if you don’t want me to pee all over your floor in front of that ridiculous creature”—Calypso jabbed a long finger at the bear— “you’ll point me in the direction.” At that moment, she saw the sign with the little cut-out woman in the dress indicating the women’s room. She didn’t bother explaining further and barreled down the short hallway, with the pissy-faced hostess calling after her.
“Hey! Wait!”
Calypso ignored her. Please don’t let it be occupied, she thought, pushing against the broad panels. She breathed a sigh of relief as the door swung inward and, just in time, she dashed into one of the two empty stalls. “Thank you, God,” she whispered as she yanked down her jeans and thong in one swift movement, then relieved herself.
She almost sighed in ecstasy as the sensation was as close to orgasmic as she’d ever want to feel in a public restroom.
Once she’d cleaned up and regained some of her dignity, she walked back into the foyer where the damn bear seemed to be leering at her.
“As I said before, I’m a customer, and now I’d like dinner,” she said with a haughty lift of her chin.
“Right this way.” The hostess led her to a table in a cavernous room where stuffed animals abounded. A moose head and a stalking puma graced one wall; antelope and deer faces glared down at her from another. A porcupine was balanced on a shelf to her right, while wagon wheel chandeliers and paddle fans hung from the wide expanse of ceiling.
“This place is beyond rustic and weird as hell,” she observed, sliding into a booth. She was relieved to see that no family with a raft of little children was seated anywhere near her. “I mean, seriously, dead, dusty stuffed animals don’t exactly spark one’s appetite.”
“People seem to like them,” the hostess said as she slid a menu onto the table.
“No one from PETA, I bet.”
The girl looked lost. “From where?”
“Never mind.”
“Would you like to hear the specials?”
“Sure,” Calypso said and slid her reading glasses out of her purse to scan the menu quickly while half-listening as the girl mentioned something about monkfish and wild trout and . . . God, did she actually say reindeer? A shiver ran through Calypso.
Scowling as she read the menu, she was about to say something about the taxidermy and putting dead animals on display being so nineteenth century and totally un-PC, but the hostess had disappeared. “How rude,” she muttered under her breath, then checked her cell phone, searching for a message from that jerk Reggie.
Another girl, one with a smile plastered to her young face which indicated she, at least, had learned the valuable lesson about customers and tips, slid a water glass onto her table. “Did Tiffany tell you about the specials?” she asked.
“If Tiffany was that sour-faced hostess, then, yes, she did, but I’m not interested in reindeer for God’s sake. What’s wrong with you people?” Calypso asked, setting her phone down after one last peek. “And this,” she indicated the menu with a flip of her wrist to point at the plastic-covered sheets. “You’re a little heavy here on the meat, aren’t you?” She gazed over the half lenses of her glasses. “I mean, do you have anything remotely vegetarian or whole grain or healthy? Or gluten-free? Something that won’t send my cholesterol into the stratosphere?”
The girl opened her mouth, closed it, and finally said, “All . . . all of our entrees are—”
“Oh, forget it. Just get me a cup of coffee. Black. Wait. Is it Starbucks?”
“No. I’m sorry, we use—”
“Doesn’t matter,” Calypso said, sighing through her nose. “Just bring me some skim milk with it. None of that powdered shi—stuff, okay? That’s nothing but chemicals, and I won’t drink it. I’m talking real milk. Make sure it’s not one percent!” She thought about ordering her usual, a house salad with balsamic vinegar dressing, but it didn’t sound appealing in the least, despite her need to always diet. Oh, what she wouldn’t do for a slight case of bulimia, slight being the operative word.
She glanced around the room at the stuffed beasts again, noticing a long-whiskered bobcat posed on a ledge as if ready to pounce on a ring-necked pheasant. Oh, God, soooo barbaric! Then she saw the slowly spinning pie case located on the counter and her stomach nearly rumbled. Chocolate. Strawberry. Key lime. She couldn’t resist. “And a piece of the lemon meringue pie.” She needed to indulge. Just a little. “Oh. Wait. Is it fresh? Made with real lemons?”
“Baked this morning,” the smiling waitress said. Her name tag read TERI with one R.
“Organic, though? Yes?”
“I-I don’t know.”
Well, at least the twit was honest. Calypso pursed her lips, then reminded herself not to, that she was just begging for those nasty little wrinkles around her mouth. That was the main reason she’d given up smoking. God, she missed that guilty little pleasure. She caught the waitress staring at her. “Oh, okay. The pie will do, I suppose.”
“Nothing else?”
“Just the coffee. With skim? Remember?” Then Calypso pointed at her watch. “And I’m in a bit of a hurry.”
The girl hurried off and Calypso leaned against the back of the booth to close her eyes for a second. She was fighting a headache again and knew she should eat something more substantial, but really, was that even possible in this den of death? The weird meats that were on the menu, rabbit and pheasant and bison, were probably laced with salmonella or E. coli or God knew what else. She probably shouldn’t have any more coffee considering that it was the overwhelming urge to relieve herself that had brought her to this place. Usually, though, she had a bladder of steel and she needed to stay awake for the rest of the drive. It was already pushing eleven. That’s why the dining area was shutting down, she realized, though there were still a few straggling customers scattered within the restaurant, most of them lingering over a drink or a cup of coffee and the remains of their meals.
She probably should find a room for the night. She’d been driving for hours as it was and it really didn’t matter if she landed in Spokane later tonight or early in the morning, but the thought of searching out a decent, clean, safe hotel in this little burg was daunting. She checked her cell phone for local hotels. Decent hotels. Or even damn motels. Maybe she could make it as far as M
issoula and then—
“Here ya go.” The waitress was back with a cup of coffee, tiny pitcher of milk, and a thick wedge of lemon pie topped with three inches of meringue that Calypso would have loved to plunge her face into as she was suddenly starving.
“Anything else?”
“Not right now,” Calypso said and the girl, grin intact, stepped backward, leaving her with a few minutes of heaven as she poured the skim milk slowly into her cup, took a sip and then dug into the scrumptious dessert. “Mmm.” She couldn’t help sighing, then caught herself as a text message came in. Reggie.
She felt a warming jolt of satisfaction, but thought, No thanks.
Reginald Larue didn’t know it yet, but they were o-v-e-r.
His text, a sloppy apology for standing her up twice in one week, pissed her off, so she deleted it and turned her phone off so that she could concentrate on the pie. “Sorry, my ass,” she said under her breath then put Reggie—oh, excuse me. Reginald A. Larue III—where he belonged. Completely out of her mind.
Well, almost.
There was a part of her that wanted to see him grovel, to twist and turn in utter despair over losing her, crawl on his knees to beg her forgiveness. Not that she’d give him another chance. No-effin’-way. She was thirty-six for Christ’s sake and though she ignored the tick, tick, tick of her biological clock, she still wanted to get married and have someone else take care of her. She couldn’t keep up this pace forever. Yes, she was a corporate attorney and a damn good one, but smart as she was, she wasn’t into working sixteen hours out of twenty-four. She’d hoped, actually planned, to find Mr. Right in law school or in the firm she joined in Seattle, but so far it hadn’t worked out that way.
She glanced down at her left hand where her grandmother’s engagement ring with its huge diamond glittered under the cheesy wagon-wheel lights. She always wore the ring when she was out and, the funny thing was, it didn’t appear to discourage men from hitting on her in bars. In fact, sometimes it seemed as if she posed a challenge.
That’s how she’d met stupid, two-timing Reggie. Figured. He was probably stepping out on someone else when he’d tried to pick her up. She’d played hard to get until she’d checked him out and found that he was set to inherit a fortune from oil wells. But she knew he would never settle down with one woman, and when she got married, that lucky son of a bitch who claimed her as his bride had goddamn better be faithful. Or she’d have to cut off his balls.
She blinked and realized that she’d been daydreaming again. She’d nearly finished her pie without even savoring every bite. All because of Reggie. She studied the last morsel but pushed her plate aside, then finished her coffee in one gulp. She lifted her hand and signed to the smiley-faced waitress that she wanted her check, then sent a lingering look at the last bit of pie. But no. She always left at least one bite on her plate, no matter how hungry she thought she was. It was a matter of mind over matter.
“Would you like anything else?” Teri asked.
“No. Just the check. I think I mentioned I’m in a hurry.”
The girl whipped out the folder with a piece of paper and a pen inside and Calypso handed her a credit card with a mere glance at the bill.
Two minutes later the transaction was finished, and Calypso was heading outside to the wintry streets of Grizzly Falls once more. Pathetic town, she thought, winding her scarf more tightly around her neck as the snow fell. She headed back the way she’d come and for the first time since parking illegally hoped beyond hope that her car hadn’t been towed. The sidewalk was uneven, her boots slipping a little as she walked, head bent against an icy wind that chilled her to the bone.
Maybe a hotel wasn’t such a bad idea after all. Cinching the belt of her wool coat a little tighter, she tried not to notice that the trail of mashed down snow was a little eerie, the back side of the ancient buildings dark, the loading bays empty. Only a few lights from apartments on the upper stories were visible. One streetlight hadn’t illuminated and another was fading slowly in and out as if it were soon to die. No other pedestrians were out at this time of night, not even some idiot walking his dog in the damn snow.
Jesus, it’s cold.
Following a wrought-iron fence that separated the pedestrian path and the sheer drop-off to the river below, she shivered against a wind that drove icy snow pellets right into her face, stinging her cheeks.
That decided it. She would find a place to stay, a motel close to the freeway. Hadn’t she seen one on the way into this funky little town? A Holiday Inn or Motel 6? She’d backtrack in her car, follow the route she’d taken into town, find that motel, grab a room, then take off early in the morning after a hot shower, a few hours rest, and a cup of crappy motel coffee. That would be the smart thing to do.
Another bitter gust.
“God, it’s cold.” And nerve-wracking.
Even the tread of the pathway she was following was beginning to be covered with a thick layer of snow. Worse yet, between the whoosh of the wind and the rushing sound of the damn falls, she couldn’t hear anything. Not really a surprise as her aching ears felt as if they were nearly frozen solid. It was as if she were the only person in the arctic world.
Just get to the damn car.
She stepped a little quicker, though she reminded herself there was nothing to be freaked out about. So I’m alone? So it’s weirdly dark? So what?
Squinting against the harsh wind, she caught a glimpse of her Mercedes parked where she’d left it under the bridge.
Things were looking up.
She hit the unlock button on her remote key and her car’s headlights flashed, though, if the lock had dinged, she couldn’t hear it. Didn’t matter. She just had a few more feet and—
Thump! Thump! Thump!
Her heart nearly stopped.
What was that? What the hell was that?
Footsteps?
Looking over her shoulder, she saw nothing but swirling snow.
Get over yourself!
She was nearly at the bridge.
Thump! Thump!
Adrenaline pumped through her blood and she broke into a jog.
For the love of Christ!
Just a few more steps!
Bam!
Someone torpedoed her from the back!
Her feet slid wildly in the snow and she fell forward, desperately trying to keep her balance.
Impossible. He was too heavy.
His weight slammed her forward. Down she went.
Crack!
Her knees slammed into the icy pavement, pain jarring through her body, her purse and keys sailing into the darkness.
No. Oh, God no!
This couldn’t be happening. “Get off me!”
A gloved hand clamped over her mouth and she bit hard, struggling, kicking, fighting the weight upon her back. Oh, Jesus, he’s so heavy! He drove her face into the snow. Pain ripped through her and she had trouble breathing.
No way! No way was she going to let this fucker harm her!
Wrenching her body, she struggled. Where the hell was another pedestrian, or a business owner locking up or a goddamn cop? Her lungs were burning and she thought she might pass out. No no no! Twisting, she tried to get a glimpse of him, but all she saw was a huge figure dressed in black, snow dancing around him, his body pinning her mercilessly. “Bastard!” she tried to scream, but her voice was muffled.
“Let me go!” she yelled. Again her plea was only a muted mumble. Fear spurted through her. This jerk wad wasn’t giving up. Oh, God, is he going to kill me? Shit, no! She struggled, but his thumb pinched her nostrils together, his body pressing her flatter onto the path. Her lungs were beginning to burn. She whipped around, trying to force air through her nasal passage, but it was impossible. No no no!
Panic took over, but she was losing strength, her flailing arms more sluggish. It occurred to her that she might actually perish in this godforsaken town with a psycho squeezing the life out of her.
She fought valiantly u
ntil the blackness pulled her deep, her arms and legs becoming sluggish and clumsy, not obeying her mind. Her eyes rolled upward and she was vaguely aware of her body growing limp, her appendages useless. The last thing she remembered was being rolled onto her back and seeing the monster above her. In one hand he held something . . . a knife? Before she could make one last attempt to struggle, he grabbed her by the throat again and slowly, deliberately squeezed and squeezed and squeezed.
Chapter 15
“We might have caught a break,” Alvarez said to Pescoli the minute she walked into her office. Her hair was pulled back into a knot at her nape, gold hoops dangling from her earlobes, and she was carrying two steaming cups. “Decaf.” She set that one on the corner of Pescoli’s desk.
“Thanks. What break?”
“The autopsy report is back. You’ve got a copy in your e-mail. Strangulation. Hyoid bone crushed. Not much water or foam in the airways.” Alvarez took a sip from her cup. “She was definitely killed first, then tossed into the stream.”
Pescoli hung up her jacket and unwound the scarf at her neck. “Not a surprise. And not exactly a ‘break.’ ”
“There’s something else.”
“Yeah?” she picked up her cup, took a sip, found the coffee hot even if it didn’t have a kick.
“Half a mile downstream on the Barstow property, the farmer found a shoe nearly covered by snow. Wedged between some roots.”
“You think it’s our victim’s?”
“Woman’s red heel. Covered with prints.”
Pescoli was interested. “Sheree Cantnor’s?”
“All except one partial which has been run with no hits. But it’s something. There’s a crew out scouring the area, hoping to find the other shoe, her purse, phone.” She rolled a palm upward. “Whatever.”
