The Snowman Killer (Alaska Cozy Mystery Book 1)

by Wendy Meadows

  “Get us out of here,” Amanda begged.

  Sarah threw the Subaru into reverse and pressed the gas pedal. The car struggled to move backward. The tires began to kick snow into the air in furious fits. “Come on... come on...” Sarah begged, pressing on the gas pedal.

  “The snow is too high,” Amanda said in a defeated voice.

  Sarah didn't give up. She threw the Subaru into first gear and drove forward as much as the snow allowed, then backed up at full speed. She performed this routine numerous times until, at last, the Subaru was able to climb backwards, over the snow. “Here we go,” Sarah told Amanda, sliding to a stop in the road and throwing the car into first gear again.

  Amanda held her breath. Surely, she thought, the Subaru would become stuck. But when it lunged forward, she yelled and clapped her hands in victory. “You did it!”

  Sarah flicked on the windshield wipers. The windshield still had a good amount of snow on it, but the wipers began throwing it off. “To town we go,” she told Amanda in a voice that sounded as if she was choking back vomit.

  “Are you okay?” Amanda asked.

  Sarah’s voice came in tense bursts. “For a minute... I thought... the snowman had come alive... somehow...”

  Amanda reached over and rubbed Sarah's shoulder. She didn't speak until Sarah pulled up in front of the coffee shop. Conrad was sitting in his truck, waiting. “I suggest we sleep in town tonight,” Amanda said as she unbuckled her seat belt.

  “I couldn't agree more,” Sarah agreed.

  She opened the driver's door and got out of the car. A powerful gust of icy wind caused her to close her eyes, and she saw the hideous snowman again. “You're just snow... nothing more,” she told it. “It's the flesh that's real.”

  Amanda walked around the Subaru to Sarah. “Here's your purse.”

  “Thanks,” Sarah said. “Some morning, huh?”

  “The day is still young,” Amanda replied and nodded at Conrad, who was getting out of his truck.

  “Let's get into the coffee shop.”

  Amanda looked at Conrad. The man wasn't wearing the black ski mask he had been wearing the night before. Instead, he had seemingly matured into a sensible black winter hat with ear guards that complemented his black coat. “Good morning,” she called out and pointed at the front door of the coffee shop.

  Conrad nodded and walked to the front door, pushing his legs through the knee-deep snow covering the sidewalk. Once inside, he waited until Sarah turned on the lights and then walked to the same table he had been sitting at the day before and grabbed a chair. “Coffee?” Sarah asked, taking off her coat.

  Amanda shook the green thermos in her hands at Conrad. “Best coffee in the world,” she promised.

  “Sure,” Conrad said and watched Sarah examine the back of her coat. By the way Sarah’s brows were scrunched together in a frown, he could tell something had gone down at her cabin. He waited until Sarah brought three cups to the table before speaking. “Anything you want to tell me?” he asked, watching her open the thermos.

  “We had a visitor this morning,” Amanda confessed, sitting down across from Conrad, leaving Sarah to sit down beside him. She took off her coat and looked at Sarah. “Sarah was great, though. A real mama bear.”

  Sarah handed Amanda her cup of coffee and then handed a second cup to Conrad. As she sat down, she grabbed her own cup of coffee and looked toward the front door. “The stalker was at my cabin,” she told Conrad. There was a pause.

  Conrad looked at Amanda. Amanda slowly nodded. “Threw snowballs with rocks hidden in them at the back door and then threw a snowball at the Subaru as we were making our daring escape.”

  “A snowball hit me in the back. I unloaded a full clip in the direction it came from,” Sarah added in a distant voice. “I'm not sure if I hit my target… I doubt it.”

  “Can I show the detective the photos you took of the boot prints?” Amanda asked.

  Sarah nodded. Amanda put down her coffee, opened Sarah's purse, dug out the cell phone, brought up the photos of the boot prints, and handed the cell phone to Conrad. Conrad studied the photos. “Small feet,” he said.

  Sarah closed her eyes. “I know,” she said in a miserable voice.

  “Small feet... what does that mean? Oh, the tracks were made by a woman, is that it?” Amanda asked.

  “Could be a man... but most likely a woman,” Conrad answered as he methodically studied the photos Sarah had taken. He stopped when he accidentally scrolled too far and came upon a photo of Sarah dressed in a white wedding gown, hugging her ex-husband. Embarrassed, he handed the phone back to her. “Sarah, what do you think?”

  Forcing her mind to reload, Sarah focused on Conrad. “The way the snowman was built... the height... the stalker is between 5'5” and 5'8”. The boot prints are between a women's size 7-8. The stalker doesn't weigh very much because the boot prints—”

  “Aren't as heavy as a man's would be,” Conrad finished for her.

  “So this slime ball is a woman,” Amanda said.

  “Most likely, but it's always wise to assume this person could be a man, too,” Conrad replied.

  “The stalker is probably a woman, though,” Sarah confirmed. “The snowball she threw hit me in the back, but the power in the throw wasn’t very strong.”

  Conrad sipped his coffee. “Who are you thinking it could be?”

  “Tori Lucas... maybe? After all, we did end on a bad note back in Los Angeles,” Sarah confessed. “There's one way to find out.”

  “Make the call,” Conrad said.

  Sarah stood up. “I'll be in the office.”

  “Want me to come with you?” Amanda asked.

  “No,” Sarah smiled at Amanda, “you stay here with Detective Spencer.”

  Chapter Nine

  Sarah made her way into the kitchen. “Lucas... Tori Lucas, are you behind this?” she whispered. She opened the door to the cramped office and sat down at the desk. Pulling off her gloves, she tossed them down and began tapping the desk with her right pointer finger. “Tori Lucas...” she repeated and looked at the office phone sitting on the desk. “Okay, let's call some old friends.”

  Sarah picked up the phone and called someone who she knew was still working as a homicide detective in Los Angeles. Peter Greenfield picked up on the third ring. “Hello, stranger,” he said in a gruff voice. Sitting far away in his stuffy office in Los Angeles with a cigar in his mouth, Peter tossed down a brown folder and put his cell phone on speakerphone. “To what do I owe the honor?”

  “Hey Pete,” Sarah said in a relieved voice, “I'm glad you took my call. I know I haven't called—”

  “I should hang up and mail my boot to your backside,” Peter griped. He puffed on his cigar. At the age of sixty-two, the man wasn't in any mood to show manners toward a friend who had essentially tossed cold water in his face.

  “I know, I know...” Sarah admitted in a guilty voice. “What can I say, Pete? The divorce took the wind out of my sails. You can hate me and hang up now.”

  Peter looked down at his cell phone. Compassion broke his heart. He took the cigar out of his mouth and set it down in a metal ashtray, rubbed his thick gray beard, and then shook his head. “You know I can't turn my back on you, Cat.”

  Sarah chuckled. “No one has called me by that name in a long time. I have a close friend now who calls me 'Los Angeles',” Sarah told Peter and nearly started to cry. “Listen, Pete,” she said, fighting back her tears, “I need a favor. Can you see if Sergeant Tori Lucas is still on the force?”

  Peter picked up his cell phone, swiveled around in his black office chair and looked out of the dusty window at a view of the mysterious city people in southern California called home. “Sergeant Lucas is still playing errand girl for the ties and suits around here. I saw her fetching coffee this morning.”

  Sarah didn't know whether to be relieved or upset. “Are you sure? What am I asking... of course you're sure.”

  “What's going on, Cat?” Peter
asked, alarmed. “Why the sudden interest in that nosy goat?”

  “Nothing I can't handle, Pete,” Sarah promised. “It's sure great hearing your voice. How is Beth?”

  “Fussy,” Peter replied and rolled his eyes. “That woman finds more to fuss about in one minute than I can in an entire lifetime. Thank goodness for overtime.”

  Sarah smiled. Hearing Peter's voice was great. Old memories began strolling into her worried mind. “You sure taught me a lot, you old grouch.”

  “And you sure were green behind the ears,” Peter retorted. “Now cut the act and tell me what's going on up there with the polar bears. I heard some hotshot from New York moved into your neck of the woods, and now you're talking about Lucas. Spill the beans, Cat.”

  “I wish I could, Pete, I really do... but the truth is, I don't know what's going on. I thought maybe Lucas might have had a vendetta against me.”

  “Because you chewed her down to size?” Peter asked.

  “I was in a very bad mood that day, Pete. I shouldn't have been so hard on the woman.”

  “Yeah, you should have. Everyone in this department is sick and tired of Lucas sneaking around with her hungry eyes.”

  “The important thing is that I was wrong,” Sarah said.

  “Wrong about what?” Peter demanded.

  “I'm not sure yet?” Sarah confessed. She wanted to tell Peter about being Milly Stevens, about the 'The Snowman Killer from Frostworth' series she was writing, about the hideous snowman... the rock snowballs... everything... but she couldn't. “Do me a favor, will you?”

  “If I can, Cat. I'm in the middle of a case right now. A John Doe was found washed up on the beach yesterday.”

  “See if anyone I sent off to prison has been paroled recently, will you? If anyone we know has been set free, give me a call, okay?” Sarah tried to control her voice, but it wavered with fear.

  “Sure, sure,” Peter said, hearing the desperation in his old partner's voice. “I'll give you a call back in a few hours.”

  “Call my cell phone.” Sarah gave him her cell phone number. “If you can't get through, try the number I'm calling you on now.”

  “Cat,” Peter said in a stern voice, “if you're in trouble and you're not telling me, so help me, I'll drive up to that frozen tundra you're calling home and put my foot up your backside.”

  “Thanks, Pete,” Sarah said in a grateful voice. “Call me, okay?”

  “Sure, sure,” Peter sighed. “Give me a few hours.”

  “You're the best, Pete. Bye.” Sarah hung up the phone and wiped tears away from her eyes. “I miss you, Pete,” she whispered.

  Sarah returned to the front room. “Sergeant Lucas is currently in Los Angeles,” she informed Conrad and sat down.

  Conrad rubbed his chin. “Okay, but that still doesn't take away that the person in question is a woman.”

  “I know,” Sarah said. She focused on Amanda. “I'm starving. What about you?”

  “Famished,” Amanda said. Hearing a snow plow go by outside, she smiled. “The diner should be open.”

  “Sounds good to me.”

  “Wait a minute,” Conrad interjected. “Last night I found out the leather jacket wrapped around that snowman sitting on your front lawn came from the department store here in town. I have Andrew at the store right now.”

  “Doing what?” Amanda asked.

  “Back-checking the purchase,” Sarah explained. “Andrew will check to see how many leather jackets were sold, when, and by what means—cash, check or credit card.”

  “Maybe we can track down a specific time and catch the person who bought the leather jacket on camera. I heard this Old Man O'Mally is very paranoid about theft,” Conrad said. He finished off his coffee. It was way too strong, but he didn't mind.

  “Paranoid, but cheap,” Amanda pointed out in a frustrated voice. “O'Mally's store has dummy cameras set up everywhere. As far as checks or credit cards, forget it. He makes everyone pay with cash only. And every purchase in his store is rung up on an old-fashioned, dinosaur cash register.”

  “Oh dear, I totally forgot about that,” Sarah agreed. “About the only thing Andrew is going to track down is a dead end. And he knows that, so why would he go in the first place?” Sarah wondered. Then another thought struck her. “Unless... he knows something we don't. Amanda, we'll grab a candy bar at O'Mally's. Come on.”

  “Wait a minute,” Conrad told Sarah. “Calm down. Let Andrew do his job. He'll report his findings to me and I'll share them with you.”

  “No thanks,” Sarah said and stood up. “Detective Spencer... once a cop, always a cop. I have work to do. You're either with me or sitting on the sidelines.”

  “You go, girl,” Amanda said proudly and jumped to her feet.

  Conrad slowly stood up as well and locked eyes with Sarah. “We work as a team from this point forward. Are we clear?”

  “A team,” Sarah agreed. “But Amanda is part of our team. Is that clear?”

  Conrad looked at Amanda. The British woman put her arm around Sarah's shoulder. “We come as a duo, take it or leave it.”

  “Don't shoot yourself in the foot,” Conrad told Amanda and walked outside.

  “Don't shoot yourself in the foot,” Amanda fussed, imitating Conrad’s voice, and made a snarly face at his retreating back. “Pip, pip, cheerio.”

  “Grab your coat and come on,” Sarah said. “We've got work to do, partner.”

  Back at Sarah's cabin, two cold hands worked to build a second snowman. “One snowman to go, Sarah... and then the snow will stop falling for you... for good...” the voice whispered. Then it began to sing. Ten minutes later, a snowman appeared wearing a leather jacket and chewing on a peppermint candy cane.

  Chapter Ten

  As he stood in the toy aisle, Andrew was surprised to see Conrad walking toward him. He quickly put down the toy baby he’d been holding. “Hello, Detective... I was...”

  “Looking for a toy for your two-year-old niece who has a birthday coming up next week,” Amanda winked at Andrew.

  Andrew held out his wrists. “Guilty as charged.”

  “Find out anything?” Conrad asked. He felt uneasy standing in an aisle lined with baby dolls, staring at him with creepy, lifelike eyes. He could never understand why parents bought their young ones creepy baby dolls.

  Sarah studied Andrew's kind face. Grateful to be in a warm department store surrounded by friends, she felt prepared to tackle this case bravely with both hands. “Detective Spencer and I are working together.”

  Andrew looked at Conrad. Conrad nodded. “Okay,” Andrew said and rubbed the back of his neck from exhaustion. “I talked with Old Man O'Mally about twenty minutes ago. He said unless I had a warrant, he wasn't going to give one single crumb of information. Sorry, I hit a brick wall, guys.”

  “Where is he now?” Conrad demanded in a tough voice.

  “Now calm down, Detective,” Andrew said and held his hands up in the air. “Old Man O'Mally has every right to be tight-lipped. And unless we go get a warrant from Judge McKay, all we can do in his store is shop or leave.”

  Sarah looked up at the ceiling, which was lined with rows and rows of fluorescent light bulbs. The light falling down from the ceiling felt cold even though warm air was blasting from overhead air vents. “Amanda, let's take a walk and go have a look at the leather jackets.”

  Andrew rubbed the back of his neck again. “Listen, guys, I've only had a couple of hours of sleep. I think I'll head back to the station and grab a nap in one of the cells. My mind feels like slush right now.”

  “Yeah, go ahead,” Conrad said, sounding irritated, “but before you do, call Judge McKay and get that warrant. I want Old Man O'Mally singing like a canary.”

  Andrew nodded and walked away.

  “Let's go,” Sarah told Amanda.

  Together, Sarah and Amanda walked toward the back right-hand side of the store where Old Man O'Mally had placed the women's clothing department. The store was empty of cust
omers, which Sarah appreciated. “Why do you want to see the leather jackets?” Amanda asked.

  “Maybe some glitter,” Sarah answered, spotting a wooden clothing rack lined with black leather jackets. “It's almost like being back in Los Angeles,” she told Amanda in a nostalgia voice. “The stores... the people... the traffic... the smells... the sounds...”

  Amanda looked around. All her eyes saw were clothing racks lined with overpriced women’s clothes that were mostly tacky. “If you say so, Los Angeles, but what does glitter have to do with all of this chaos?”

  Sarah approached the leather jackets and stopped. Looking around the clothing section, she spotted a rack of cheesy nightgowns with goofy cartoon figures on them. “The rock snowballs had glitter in them,” she explained.

  Amanda casually touched a leather jacket. “You must have eyes like a hawk.”

  “Actually, I wear reading glasses,” Sarah confessed humorously. She turned her full attention to the leather jackets. With focused eyes and skilled hands, she checked each jacket carefully. Amanda stepped back and watched. “I didn't see buckets of glitter... just little pieces,” Sarah explained. “When we arrived in town, I noticed a few pieces of glitter on the windshield of my Subaru. I also noticed some glitter on the back of my coat.”

  “What does that mean?” Amanda asked.

  Sarah stopped at a certain leather jacket. Narrowing her eyes, she focused on the inside tag. With her right pointer finger, she gently pushed the tag upward. “Bingo,” she said. “Look at this, June Bug.”

  Amanda hurried over to Sarah. Excitement filled her heart instead of fear. It felt incredible to actually be tracking down clues instead of running scared. “By golly, I believe you've found something,” she said, spotting a few pieces of glitter on the tag.

  Sarah grabbed the wooden hanger the leather jacket was hanging on. “Let's find—”

  “Mr. Incognito,” Amanda sighed and tossed a thumb at the rack of cheesy gowns. Conrad was standing next to the gowns watching Sarah.