by Ami Diane
After much hissing through her teeth and struggling, she managed to grab the horn of the saddle, stick a snow boot in a stirrup, and kick a leg over. She rolled her shoulders back, smiling.
“You’re sitting backward.”
Her smile remained fixed but strained at the corners. She dropped her eyes, noting that the horse’s flanks were indeed where its head should be.
“I know,” she said, still showing all of her teeth. “That’s how we do it where I’m from.”
Chapman leaned forward, resting his arms on the saddle horn. “That so?”
His eyes traveled the road ahead. He seemed both as antsy as a kid hopped up on sugar and as slow as honey on a cold day.
“But since I live here now, I suppose I should ride the way you all do. When in Rome, right?”
Slowly, he fixed her with a stare and blinked. “We’re not in Rome.” He glanced at the towering, craggy mountains surrounding the town. “My memory ain’t what it used to be, but this isn’t what it looked like the last time we flashed there.”
“I meant… doesn’t matter.” By now, she’d turned the proper direction on the horse. “Let’s get this show on the road.”
His expression never changed from the chiseled, weathered look it had affected, but she assumed he understood what she meant because he flicked the reins in his hands.
The horse named Horse clopped along Main Street, his tail swishing behind him. A moment later, Horse left behind a steaming pile of excrement which Ella’s steed deftly stepped over.
The first part of the journey went surprisingly well. The animal beneath her seemed to sense her trepidation and knew it wouldn’t be getting any help from her, so it chose to follow Horse instead.
Chapman led them in the direction of the park. Once the tension in Ella’s shoulders eased and she didn’t have a death grip on the reins, she rather enjoyed the ride.
Large flakes fell, coating a monochromatic world of white and cobalt blue. A deadened silence pressed against her ears. It was as if Keystone held its breath in anticipation of things to come.
The old-fashioned lamp posts dotting the lake had flickered on, casting their amber glows across the lake.
Ella took in an icy breath, reveling in the moment. With the backdrop of the mountains, it was like living in a snow globe, a scene that rivaled the best postcard. And in that breath, the murders she’d seen faded and Keystone Village was perfect.
The picture perfect moment dissolved when Chapman angled them away from the park and towards the forest and she was reminded of the reason for their outing.
The tension returned to her shoulders, and she leaned forward, her eyes darting around the evergreens. She hadn’t been amongst these trees since she’d first arrived and Six had tried to kill her.
Only a foot of snow had managed to reach the forest floor in places. Branches clung to the Chapman’s brown canvas duster then whipped into Ella’s face after he passed.
“I didn’t know anyone lived in here.” Her voice came out soft, almost reverent.
Maybe it was the snow, but something about the place had changed. The towering ponderosa pines, cedars, and firs whispered of years that stretched deep into time.
“There were a few cabins scattered about here before the first hop. Now, the town owns this land, ‘cept for the cabins. Nobody can build or chop here without their approval.”
“Too precious of a resource?”
“Something like that.”
After a few more minutes, they reached a clearing. A small cabin made out of logs sat in the center, smoke curling up from its chimney.
Chapman dismounted, and Ella tried to follow suit, only tumbling once. Wincing, she stretched and massaged her muscles. Something told her she wouldn’t be able to do much sitting for the next couple of days.
After unstrapping a leather bundle from the side of Horse, he motioned for her to follow.
“What that?”
“You’ll see.”
The two steps that led to the porch were barely more than roughly hewn logs. Chapman bypassed them and stepped onto the rickety porch. It creaked and groaned as he pounded on the door.
Behind him, Ella shifted nervously, straining to hear any noise. She didn’t know why she was on edge. Maybe it was the stillness of the forest or the old cabin or the fact that they were about to tell a Viking his friend was dead.
“Must be out hunting,” Ella said, already backing down the steps.
He motioned for her to stop then leaned closer to the door. “It’s Sheriff Chapman, Leif. Open up.” He rapped a massive fist on the tired wood again.
Eventually, they heard movement from inside. Chapman tipped his derby hat back as the door inched open.
A shudder racked Ella’s body, and she slid back, her head craning back to take in the giant of a figure currently filling the doorway. She’d seen Leif around town but never up close. The guy was massive and made up entirely of muscles. His nostrils had muscles, for goodness sakes.
He wore a wool tunic which fluttered above trousers and pointed wool and leather shoes.
Chapman greeted them and then pointed inside. The Norseman eyed them both down his chiseled nose. Slowly, he stepped back, and they slipped inside.
The cabin was less rustic than she had anticipated in that it had wooden boards which vibrated with the giant’s footsteps, and, oddly enough, one of the log walls had been painted. And not just any color.
Ella gaped at the hue. It was between the color of bologna and salmon pink.
“Oh, geez,” she whispered to Chapman as the Viking ushered them to a table. “It’s like regurgitated Pepto-Bismol.”
The sheriff’s mustache twitched, the only indication he had heard her.
They settled into intricately carved wooden chairs around a beautifully varnished table. With a dull thunk, Chapman lay his parcel on top.
Her fingers danced over the surface of the table and brushed the pattern carved into the side.
With a glance, she took in the rest of the one room. A large bed that rivaled a California King size sat wedged in the nearest corner, obviously custom made to fit the ginormous specimen of a man. Between it and the wall of pink vomit, sat a small bookshelf full of knickknacks, surprisingly some from a more modern era. A couple of puzzles, a radio, a potted plant, and a snow globe.
Along the colorful wall, a fireplace roared with heat. Behind the door, on hooks and leaning against the log wall were several weapons—most of them axes, one sword, and at least three rifles of varying shades of steel and walnut stock.
Leif spoke a couple of words.
Chapman looked straight at Ella. “What’d he say?”
“No clue. I need more. Can you get him talking? Say something about Erik.”
At the mention of the other Norseman’s name, Leif straightened, causing his chair to whimper. He spoke rapidly, and Ella leaned on her elbows, tilting her head.
The words sounded slightly Germanic, or like many modern Scandinavian languages, but most closely resembled Icelandic and was highly inflective.
Her Old Norse was limited, but because she had a tentative grasp on Icelandic, she was able to ascertain the gist of what he said.
“I think he wants to know if something’s wrong.”
Chapman slipped off his hat and laid it on the table, running a hand through his gray hair. “Why’s he think that?”
Ella interpreted, listened, then said, “Because they were supposed to go out hunting together, and he never showed.”
“Tell him we found Erik’s body.”
Ella glanced sideways at Chapman before she caught her bottom lip between her teeth, fixing the large man across from her with a concerning look. In her best, halting Icelandic, she told him Erik was dead.
Translated, it probably sounded like, “Erik live no more. Sorry.”
Under the circumstances, and without a dictionary, it was the best she could do.
Leif’s thick brows drew together, and he slid his eye
s to Chapman. She repeated what she said and tried her best to explain where they had found the body.
When she finished, Leif stared out the dusty window and sat perfectly still.
After a moment, Chapman spoke. “You know of any reason why Erik was out there, probably during the middle of the night or early morning?” His gaze flitted to Ella to be sure she interpreted.
When she relayed the question, Leif stirred. She caught the word verja. “Protection? Protection from what?” She caught herself and repeated the question in Icelandic, hoping the words weren’t too far off from Old Norse.
He spoke rapidly, and Ella shook her head, not catching any of it save for a name: Mrs. Faraday.
She and Chapman exchanged a glance. Ella had heard the name of the lead horticulturist for the greenhouses bandied about but had never actually met the woman.
“Ask him where he was last night.”
Ella let out a slow breath and repeated the question.
The Norseman said one word and gestured to his bed.
“He was here.”
Chapman’s chair creaked as he leaned forward, his eyes, the color of storms and boiling oceans, bore into the Viking’s. When he seemed satisfied that Leif was telling the truth, his weathered hand unwrapped the parcel.
Ella’s mouth fell agape as she stared at the murder weapon. It had been cleaned mostly but flecks of blood still marred the surface.
“Do you recognize this ax?”
“Já.”
“Who’s is it?”
The Viking’s eyes fell to the weapon, and he spread his meaty hands on the table. He spoke three words.
Ella swallowed. “He said it’s Erik’s.”
A pregnant silence followed, filled only by the crackling fire.
Slowly, Chapman picked up his hat then folded the leather over Erik’s ax before picking it up.
“Tell him that’s all for now.”
After standing, they gathered near the door. Leif kept his distance, his hands stroking his beard as he stared absently out the window. Although his features were set in a hard expression, there was no mistaking the loss in his eyes.
Cold air crept through the open doorway, and Chapman’s tall frame silhouetted against the evening light as he waited for Ella.
Against all evidence and reason, she felt Leif innocent. She had nothing to support this theory other than her gut and the fact that it was hard to fake that kind of pain.
Reaching out, she rested her hand on the giant’s forearm. He flinched but didn’t pull away.
“Fyrirgefðu.” It wasn’t much, and she didn’t even know if the modern Icelandic for “I’m sorry” would be understood, but she couldn’t just walk away.
The corners of his mouth widened slightly, and he dipped his head in acknowledgment, seeming to appreciate the gesture.
Outside, Ella zipped her jacket up to her chin and waited for the cabin door to close behind them. When she heard it latch shut, she said, “Did you notice all those weapons?”
“Enough to make Ms. Henderson green with envy, I suppose.”
As they returned to the horses, she considered the poetic injustice of being killed by one’s own weapon.
“What next?”
“I plan on having a sit down with Mrs. Faraday.” The sheriff kicked his leg over the side of his Appaloosa and settled into his saddle.
After a good three minutes of struggling and repeating every curse word she knew, Ella sat astride her horse, her chest heaving from the exertion. Flicking his reins, Chapman led them back the way they had come.
“Can I go with you to talk to Mrs. Faraday?”
“No.”
“Please. You won’t even notice me.”
“I doubt that.”
“I’ll be a fly on the wall.”
“Thorn in my side.”
Ella let out a long-suffering sigh. “You know, your people skills leave a lot to be desired.”
After a silence that she let stretch on for thirty seconds, she said, “You sure you won’t let me accompany you?”
“Yes.”
“Okay, then. I’ve been thinking back on what Leif said—”
“Miss Barton, in the two minutes since we’ve left his cabin, how have you had time to think when your mouth’s been jawing nonstop?”
“Well, if you’re going to be like that, I won’t tell you what he said that I thought was important.”
They fell silent. The sheriff hissed out a long breath and spoke through clenched teeth. “Alright, what’d he say that’s so important?”
“The word he used for ‘protection’. At first, I thought it meant the kind of protection that’s to help or to shield, but I was wrong. He said ‘verja’. It means to defend.”
It was a long moment before the sheriff spoke. “What was he defending?”
CHAPTER 5
BACK AT THE inn, Ella hurriedly changed then raced into the kitchen to help with dinner. Rose flitted about behind the stove, using both hands to stir two different pots at a frenetic pace while Flo helpfully sat at the island, critiquing the innkeeper’s cooking.
Rose’s cat eye glasses fogged up as she bent over the stove. “Ella, be a dear and check on Wink, would you? She hasn’t come back from the diner, and we eat in half an hour.”
“Sure thing.” Ella shot the pot on the stove a furtive glance, her nose testing the air for a hint of what they would be having. At the back door, she lifted the community coat from its hook, revealing a long-barreled rifle. “Uh, Rose? You know there’s a gun right here?”
“Yes, I do.” The innkeeper’s lips pursed, and she leveled a glare in Flo’s direction. “I thought I told you to put that thing away.”
“What? Edwin just brought it back. Haven’t had time to put it any place.”
“Well, after we eat, then. But, so help me, if I still see it tomorrow when I come in for breakfast, you’ll be sorry.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Flo’s tone reeked of sarcasm.
“Why’d Edwin borrow it?” Ella asked, trying to get a bead on what the older boarder did with his downtime.
Flo shrugged. “How should I know?”
“Someone asks to borrow one of your firearms, and you don’t ask why?”
“Nope.”
Shaking her head, Ella stepped out into the frigid air and onto the terrace. She shoved her hands in her pockets, regretting not grabbing her hat and scarf. Tiny snowflakes fell and nipped at her skin.
The sky was a deep blue, almost black. Light poured out from the kitchen’s picture window, creating a rectangle of light for her to see by.
As her right leg sunk into snow up to her knee, she became aware of a scraping sound from somewhere above. Ella struggled to get above the snow while simultaneously craning her neck around to identify the noise.
She realized a second too late what it was as a shovel-full of snow flew from the roof like the world’s biggest snowball and landed on her head. She landed on her back, groaning.
“Ella? Are you okay?” a voice called from above.
She swiped the snow off her face, grateful she’d skipped the mascara that day.
“Hey, Jimmy. How can you even see up there?”
“Apparently, I can’t.”
She clawed her way to her feet then tipped her head back to see the innkeeper on the roof two stories above. “Clearing the way for Santa?”
He chuckled. “I wish. Gotta get this weight off. If another storm like this last blows through, I’m afraid it’ll cause damage.”
Ella didn’t think it was a matter of if a storm rolled in, but when.
“Fair enough. Dinner in half an hour. I’m going to fetch Wink.”
The snow stretched before her like untouched frosting, coating the world with a heavy brush. After practically dragging her frazzled boss from the diner, they returned to the old mansion and stomped the snow off their boots before stepping inside.
Ella helped carry a basket of rolls over to the table then settled in between
Will and Flo.
After exchanging a smile with the inventor, Ella twisted around to the woman with the mass of hair beside her. “You seem relatively…”
“Ravishing tonight?” Flo fluffed her hair and winked at Will, who made a concerted effort to look the other way.
“Ew, no,” Ella said. “Sober. I was going to say sober.”
“Oh, that. I slept it off.”
“Very productive use of your time.” Ella unfolded her napkin and prepared her tastebuds for whatever Rose had made. This consisted largely of giving them a pep talk and promising to feed them pie if it turned out to be another gelatin mold.
“Well, while you were sleeping, I was helping the sheriff.”
Wink carried a string bean casserole over from the oven. Bending into the fridge, Rose rooted around inside, and the room fell silent.
Jimmy whispered a prayer under his breath, a mantra Ella could hear across the table, begging it not to be another mold. She could only imagine the number of wobbly meals he’d consumed over the years.
Rose’s dress sashayed as she turned and walked to the table carrying a platter. Laying it gently in the center, she lifted the lid, stood back, and spread her ruby lips into a dazzling smile that showed all her perfectly white teeth.
A giant mold the color of blue mouthwash and the size of Fluffy wobbled on top.
Will recoiled. Ella squeezed her eyes shut, whispering, “Sweet Santa.”
Beside her, Flo let out a string of swear words while Wink did her best to smile encouragingly.
Jimmy swallowed and blinked his eyes rapidly. He either had a sudden fit of allergies or was a breath away from crying.
Never much for words, the third boarder, Edwin, stabbed a fork into the mass. The undulating blue monster swallowed the utensil and almost took his hand as well.
“My God, it’s alive.”
Ella shuffled her plate closer to the casserole and away from the fork-eating, possibly sentient dish. “Rose, I’m almost afraid to ask, but what’s in there? Besides Edwin’s fork.”
Everyone but Rose held a collective breath.
The innkeeper had a knack for adding ingredients to her gelatins, things that had no business being near them. Basically, if it clashed with the flavor, then it went in. Ella’s tongue still retracted at the memory of mint-flavored gelatin with bits of rainbow trout dispersed throughout.
