“Sheriff Dana Drew! The next one might come through the roof! Or, even worse, the big branch over the power lines that I told you about last year might hit the lines!”
Again Dana thought about how cold it was outside, and wasn’t sure that the latter was even worse than the former, but he found himself nodding anyway.
“Do you know how cold it is out there? Miffy and I will freeze—”
Dana realized that he had holding the receiver tight to his head, and now his ear was hot, throbbing, and sweaty.
“Okay, Mrs. Wharfburn, just calm down. I’ll tell you what, one of my deputies—”
A flicker of movement caught his eye and he looked up. Both deputies were leaning on Deputy Coggins’ desk, but now they were making dramatic throat-cutting gestures with the blades of their hands. Deputy Coggins had a big, goofy grin on his face, and the sheriff found himself fighting back a smile of his own. And these were the good boys.
“I’ll tell you what,” he repeated slowly, “I’ll come out there myself to make sure your generator is ready to go, just in case.”
“You better!” the elderly woman on the end of the phone nearly shouted. “Because last time, you said—”
Sheriff Dana Drew hung up.
Even though he knew his deputies were staring at him, their eyes desperate for an explanation, he methodically turned and retrieved his coat from the rack without acknowledging them. With his back turned, a small smile crossed his lips. Finally, after almost a minute of fiddling with his keys in his coat pocket, Deputy Coggins couldn’t take it anymore.
“Dana! What the hell happened?”
The sheriff turned.
“What?” he asked, trying to look innocent but unable to completely conceal his smile. “Okay,” he said, finally relenting. “A branch crashed through Mrs. Wharfburn’s porch and scared her half to death.”
Both deputies groaned.
“That’s it?”
Dana shrugged.
“She is paranoid that the power is going to cut out, so I am going to head out there to make sure her generator is all set up.”
Deputy White chuckled, which was surprising because the big fella hardly ever laughed.
“Good luck,” the deputy said, and turned back to his desk.
“You bums do some work while I’m gone. And no arguing about hockey, for Christ’s sake.”
He waited for them to answer, to acknowledge him, but when it was clear that there was none forth coming, he shook his head.
The good boys.
Dana adjusted his coat and hat and made his way toward the door, mentally preparing himself for the wind and snow. But before he left, a thought occurred to him and he turned before exiting.
“Paul, see if you can get a hold of Alice, would you?”
“Sure thing.”
He turned again, but Deputy Coggins’ voice drew him back.
“Hey, Sheriff?”
Coggins’ arm was bent up over his head, and when the sheriff turned, he brought it down in front of his face, adding a whoosh sound as he simulated a falling branch.
“Dana, get down!” he shouted in a terrible accent.
Sheriff Dana Drew laughed and left the station.
8.
The Snow Was So thick now, both in the air and on the ground, that Cody Lawrence did not immediately see his brother when he pulled into the small train station parking lot. After driving the SUV in a small lap around the lot and still not finding him, he wondered if perhaps his brother’s train had been delayed, or worse, postponed. A quick glance at the clock and he realized that they were more than a half hour late; if Oxford wasn’t here yet, the likelihood of him coming tonight was dismal. Cody was about to ask his wife if she could check her phone or pop inside the lobby to inquire about the train, but the woman’s normally round features were pinched, and she didn’t even appear aware that they had arrived—he decided against asking her.
Then, on his second—and what was to be his last—lap around the parking lot, Cody finally saw him.
What the fuck?
Oxford was standing alone, his back against the wall, wearing a fall coat and sporting only a thin wool cap. The man’s hands were bare, the digits nearly as white as the surrounding snow, and they were clutching what looked like a magazine and some sort of stuffed animal.
“Corina, please open the door for your uncle,” Cody asked more enthusiastically than he had intended.
Corina, who had been staring out the window at the heavy snowfall in near wonderment, did as she was asked. A stinging cold entered the vehicle, and Cody instinctively turned the heat up a few notches.
“Cold, Daddy,” Henrietta informed him.
Cody glanced over at his wife and frowned. In response to either their youngest daughter’s complaint, or maybe it was the cold air itself, Marley’s face had become even more pinched, if such a thing was even possible.
“Hurry!” Cody shouted. “Get in!”
The cold air abated momentarily as Oxford first filled the doorway, then awkwardly climbed into the car. To his surprise, Corina, who had been practically manic depressive after having had her phone taken away from her, was smiling broadly. Fully in the vehicle now, Cody’s brother pulled the door shut and they were all granted a reprieve from the cold.
“Uncle Ox!” Corina exclaimed loudly.
And then, surprising even the sour-faced Marley, Corina inexplicably turned and hugged her uncle. The embrace was an awkward one given the fact that they were both seated, and it was clear that Oxford had not been expecting this show of affection.
“Hi,” he said hesitantly after disengaging from Corina.
“Hi, Ox,” Cody said. Marley followed with a grumbled facsimile of ‘hello’.
In the rearview mirror, he caught Oxford’s light brown eyebrows rise an inch up his forehead, but Cody spoke quickly before his brother had a chance to address Marley’s coldness. If he knew his brother, it was likely that he would have made an ill-timed joke, which, if he knew his wife, would not have gone over well.
“That’s all you’ve got?” Cody asked, letting his eyes flick down to the green duffel bag in his brother’s lap. “Where’s your winter jacket? And your gloves?”
The word ‘gloves’ reminded Oxford that he was still holding something in each of his numb hands.
“Here,” he said to Corina, handing her the magazine.
Corina beamed.
“Thanks!” she exclaimed loudly.
Cody turned back to the road, desperately spraying washer fluid to try to clear the icy smudge that streaked the windshield.
“And this is for you, little Henrietta,” Oxford said, handing over the stuffed owl.
“Hoooo, hoooo!” Henrietta said excitedly. “Owl!”
She took the toy and held it away from her face by the wings, inspecting it.
“Say thank you,” Marley reminded their youngest daughter, not bothering to turn.
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome, munchkin.”
As Cody pulled back onto the main road, he offered another glance at his brother.
“Is that all you brought?” he asked again.
Oxford smiled, revealing his teeth, which Cody realized all of a sudden almost seemed too crowded. Then he tapped the green bag on his lap.
“All I need,” he replied, then, looking to change the subject, he added, “My goodness it’s cold out there.”
Cody quickly glanced over at Marley to judge her reaction, but once again his wife was just staring blankly out the window and seemed not to register the comment.
What is her problem?
To make things worse, Oxford turned to Corina and said, “The storm is coming!”
Clearly, he had meant it as a playful comment, in an ‘Are you excited?’ kind of way, but Cody cringed nevertheless; he had said the exact opposite to Marley this morning: Don’t worry, honey, everything will be fine—the storm’s not coming.
This time when he looked at his
wife, she was staring back at him, her face still tight as if she had sucked on the juice of a thousand lemons. Cody took a deep breath and decided that he was not going to let Marley ruin his—their—Christmas.
“Okay,” he started, “look, I’m sorry. The weatherman said that it might blow by us, that this ‘polar vortex’ or whatever they are calling it might not hit Askergan County.”
In the backseat, Oxford turned to Corina and made a comical ‘o’ face, his eyebrows raising high on his stark white forehead.
He’s got frostbite.
Corina laughed.
“We are not going to let a little cold air—”
Marley scoffed, but Cody ignored her and continued.
“—we are not going to let a little cold and snow ruin the Lawrence family Christmas, now are we, girls?”
* * *
Surprisingly, Cody’s little ‘pep talk’ seemed to have worked; Marley’s mood had improved significantly and she and Oxford had actually started chatting. That in and of itself was a bit strange, as she had repeatedly told him that she was uncomfortable having Oxford around the kids. Cody supposed that the fact that they had gone a half hour out of their way to pick Oxford up in a ‘storm that was not coming’ had probably contributed to her foul mood and short temper. In retrospect, it had likely been a mistake waiting until this morning to inform her of the extra stop.
“Oh, and we have to head to North Askergan to get Oxford from the train station before we go to Mom’s,” he had said, keeping his eyes fixed on the hot coffee that he was swirling gently in his mug.
“What?”
Swirl. Swirl.
“Cody, you know how I feel about him being around the girls.”
He looked up at her then and saw that she was torn; Marley and Oxford got along well enough, and she had always had a soft spot for people with, well, problems.
“He’s clean now, Marley. Been that way for almost six months.”
Swirl.
“And besides, he would never—never—expose the girls to anything.”
A small nod.
Good, she was weakening.
Swirl. Swirl.
“But with the snow? Is the driving in butt-plug Askergan going to be safe? I mean, do they even plow those roads?”
Swirl. Swirl. Swirl. Shrug.
“I am not too worried. The storm is not coming.”
Cody sprayed more washer fluid, and the low fluid indicator beside the speedometer suddenly flashed.
Ungh.
Maybe Marley was just cutting him some slack given that this would be the first Christmas since Dad died. Then he remembered her nearly perpetual sour expression—or maybe not. Things had been dicey between them ever since his publisher had informed him that the advance on his next book was going to be slashed. But this—this was, well, unwarranted.
Cody glanced in the mirror and realized that although they had picked up Oxford almost an hour ago, his skin had not returned to a healthy pink color. He hoped it was just the cold—a small touch of frostbite.
Clean for six months.
The words resonated in his head.
He better be.
9.
This Is Going To be a disaster, Sheriff Dana Drew thought, the corners of his mouth pulled down so far that it looked like he had jowls.
The white wall that met him almost immediately upon leaving the station seemed to only intensify during his drive east to Mrs. Wharfburn’s residence. And it was cold—damn cold. In fact, it was so cold that even with the heater of his old Buick cruiser set to high, he still had to keep his gloves on for fear of freezing his hands to the steering wheel.
The sheriff picked up the radio and punched the talk button. It took him three attempts with his thick, cumbersome gloves.
Static.
He clicked the button three more times, and when he was still greeted with only static, he swore under his breath.
“Deputy White? Coggins? Pick up the damn radio,” he spat before replacing the handheld back in its holster on the dash.
Off to his right, he saw a car skid and almost swerve into the ditch before the driver managed to right the vehicle.
Fuck. A disaster is right.
As a warning, he flicked on his lights, but kept the sirens off. He would drive the rest of the way with them on, the sheriff decided, hoping that whatever completely and utterly blind driver failed to notice the inclement weather would notice his lights and take heed.
The radio crackled.
“Come in, Sheriff.”
Dana recognized Paul’s low and slow voice. He picked up the radio.
“Listen, Paul, the roads are a bloody mess out here—just an absolute disaster.” He paused, debating what course of action to take. “I want you and Coggins to be on high alert. Also, give a call to all the plow guys in town; tell them to make their way out to Highway 2 and start clearing.”
Dana released the talk button and waited.
“Yeah, ugh, this will be the ninth plow this month and the plow quota has already been met.”
Dana grimaced—leave it to Deputy White to be the practical one.
“The guys are going to want double for this one, boss.”
Fuck.
Dana pressed the talk button again, shaking his head.
“Doesn’t matter—roads are a disaster. We will find the money somewhere.”
His mind turned to the vehicle that he had seen swerve moments ago.
“There is no way I want someone to go off the road and freeze to death under four feet of snow while they wait to be rescued.”
When Dana let go of the talk button, he heard a click, then dead air, and then another click, as if Deputy White had an inclination to add something before deciding against it.
Dana tried to press the talk button, but his gloves were too clumsy and he dropped the handheld to the floor, the cord snagging on the gearshift.
He jammed the forefinger of his right hand into his mouth and grabbed the fabric between his teeth and pulled. He spat the glove onto the passenger seat and picked the radio off the floor. Dana didn’t even bother wiping the layer of slush from the grill.
“And where the hell is Alice?”
* * *
Mrs. Wharfburn was standing in the doorway of her large brown estate when Dana pulled up. He hoped, for her sake, that she had seen his lights as he approached, the alternative being that she had been waiting in the doorway ever since he had hung up the phone over an hour ago. Knowing the woman as he did, Sheriff Drew thought either option was equally as likely.
The Wharfburn Estate was ridiculously large for its sole occupant—or any sole occupant, for that matter. Although it was technically two stories, the central dining and entertainment areas were on the lower level, and at a whopping four-thousand square feet, he doubted that the arthritic woman that stood in the doorway ever had the need, or the will, to go upstairs. In fact, he had heard a rumor that the back part of the house had been completely boarded up, as if she were trying to eliminate those rooms from existence. Out of sight, out of mind, as they say. Sheriff Drew looked at the woman in the doorway again. Or maybe in this case it was out of mind, out of sight.
Dana had been to the Estate twice before, but only on one of those occasions had he entered the house. The other time, roughly four years ago, he had received a call from Dicky Wharfburn about a suspected intruder around back. What they had neglected to mention to Dana was that there was a massive—and unlit—swimming pool ridiculously close to the house, and he had twisted his ankle in an awkward attempt to avoid falling in while chasing a fat and surprisingly deft raccoon. Even then, with the two of them living there, Dana assumed that the majority of rooms went unused and neglected. As it stood, the relatively short driveway was unrecognizable in the snow. It was just as well, Dana surmised, as Mrs. Wharfburn didn’t own a car and hadn’t driven for at least a decade.
A violent gust of wind suddenly rocked Dana’s cruiser.
Jesus!
&
nbsp; His eyes widened and he nearly bumped his chin on the steering wheel when he ducked instinctively.
A giant crack sounded from somewhere in the small, wooded area off to the left of the house. Although Dana didn’t see the branch fall, it must have been large to generate such a massive cloud of snow. When the cloud settled, the falling snow seemed to settle with it, as if chasing the wind like a backdraft, and Dana seized this moment to get out of his car.
Even from where he was standing, more than twenty feet from the woman’s house, he could hear Mrs. Wharfburn’s screechy voice carrying on the tail of the wind.
“See?!” she shouted. “See?!”
Dana kept his head down and slowly made his way across the yard, finding it difficult even with his thick black winter boots to traverse the ankle-deep snow. When he was halfway to the door, he paused to catch his breath and finally raised his eyes.
Mrs. Wharfburn was dressed in only a thin white nightgown, her arms crossed over her narrow chest. The woman’s hair—rust-colored near her scalp transitioning to black at the ends—was frizzy and unkempt, its height in some places seeming to defy gravity. Her eyes, however, were bright and blue, their penetrating gaze in stark contrast to her almost waif-like appearance.
There was another crack, followed by an equally large crash; this time it didn’t come from deep within the woods, though, but near the outer edge.
Dana cautiously turned his gaze upward and eyed the large oak tree with heavy, snow-laden branches that hung ominously above his head. A sudden gust of wind made them sway slowly, almost seductively, like a woman’s flirtatious wave. Dana lowered his eyes again and quickly made his way across the lawn.
When he stopped next, he realized that the woman’s arms weren’t laced across her thin chest solely to keep her warm, although judging by the stark white of the broomsticks the woman passed off as legs, it was undoubtedly a welcome byproduct; tucked into the crook of one of her scrawny elbows was a ball of fur.
“See?”
In response to the woman’s voice, the fur moved, and Sheriff Drew caught himself staring at beady eyes and the wet, black, wriggling nose of what was most likely an overgrown sewer rat.
Insatiable Series Omnibus Edition (Books 1-3) Page 4
