Snow is not the Time

by Wendy Meadows

  Amanda opened her eyes, looked up at Chief Messings, and stood up. “Sorry I made that joke back at the hotel,” she said.

  “It’s okay. That chair deserved it,” Chief Messings said with a wry grin. He focused his attention back on Sarah. “I don’t think you fully understand,” he told her. “Detective Garland, Winneshabba is such a small town here in Minnesota that if you weren’t looking, you’d just drive right past the town and not even know it was here. If it weren’t for the chain hotels and restaurants out there on the interstate, no one would even know Winneshabba existed.”

  “What are you trying to say?” Sarah asked.

  Chief Messings ran his hand through his hair again. “Who could I, the police chief of this tiny, insignificant town, have gone to for help, if my own boss and mayor is corrupt? The state police, where Snyder has more of his people who can make investigations just... disappear? The state attorney general, who gets campaign contributions from Snyder every year? I didn’t want to help Mr. Smith... the thug... but what choice did I have? And I had my wife to think about.”

  Conrad walked over to Chief Messings and put a hand on the man’s shoulder. “I think any jury will see it the same way,” he promised. “You did the best you could between a rock and a hard place. And I’m going to do everything in my power to help you.”

  Chief Messings turned and shook Conrad’s hand with enthusiasm. “Thank you,” he said sincerely. “I was thinking, if I’m cleared, then I’ll take my wife and move away to someplace that’s safe for us.”

  Sarah walked over to Chief Messings and looked him in his eyes. “We still need your help, Chief Messings. Please. Someone killed Hank Dean and we have to find out who.”

  “My men will have you six feet under by nightfall,” Snyder warned Sarah, twisting in his uncomfortable prone position on the filthy carpet to try to fix them with a glare. “Messings, you’re a dead man. All of you are dead.”

  “Oh, change the record,” Amanda griped. “You know you’ve been caught. You sound like a child moaning over spilt milk. Why don’t you crawl back into the alley you came out of, you slimy rat?”

  Chief Messings regarded Snyder with a look of dread. “But he means it. He’ll order his men to kill us, even from behind bars, and they will.”

  “Right now, let’s focus on who killed Hank Dean,” Conrad said. “In the meantime, let’s lock Snyder in a closet. If he can’t be found, he can’t order his men to kill, now can he?”

  Chief Messings actually smiled. “No, I guess they can’t.”

  “Come on and help me,” Conrad said. Sarah found a bottle of rubbing alcohol and a clean rag in the corner of the front counter and used it to rinse Snyder’s bloody hand, still handcuffed. She wrapped the rag expertly around his hand to staunch the blood and secured it in a firm knot.

  Sarah watched Conrad and Chief Messings pick Snyder up and stand him on his feet. “Take him to one of the motel rooms and lock him in a bathroom,” she said. “His hand will need some more attention later, but he’ll live for now.”

  “And then what?” Chief Messings asked, holding Snyder in place with a tough hand.

  “Then,” Sarah said, “pretend Snyder didn’t happen here. Call your people and deal with the murder. Act like you don’t know anything.” Sarah turned to Snyder. “The person who killed Hank Dean called you, didn’t they? And that person told you we were here at the motel, too.”

  “You’re a very bright woman,” Snyder said sarcastically, “but your brains won’t keep you alive, Detective Garland.” His eyes shifted from side to side as if expecting someone to burst into the room any moment.

  “Maybe... maybe not,” Sarah replied, watching Snyder, “but I think it’s safe to say that the person who killed Hank Dean is close by.” She looked at Conrad. “Go ahead and lock him away.”

  “You’re dead,” Snyder said in a final threat. Sarah could hear the note of desperation in Snyder’s voice but she detected something else, as well – an undercurrent of fear. Could it be that whoever killed Hank Dean was also a threat to Snyder?

  “Let’s go,” Conrad said. He and Chief Messings pulled Snyder outside into the harsh, pouring rain.

  Chapter Six

  Two hours later, Sarah and Amanda walked into a cozy coffee shop situated near the tea house on Main Street. Sitting down at a wood table nestled in a corner, Sarah took in a deep breath of the rich, dark aroma of coffee. “Smells wonderful in here,” she sighed as she removed her coat.

  “Lovely,” Amanda agreed, taking in the sight of the mouth-watering pastries sitting in a glass case under the front counter. This coffee shop was far different from Sarah’s shop back home, she thought. Sarah’s coffee shop was more for lumberjacks and hunters, while this one was designed for a very different crowd, apparently. The light brown wallpaper was in an attractive little coffee cup pattern and the floors were a glossy hardwood that reflected an equally glossy expanse of tables and bookshelves. The bookshelves held an impressive array of modern novels and musical instruments. In the back corner were a couple tables with fancy computers where people could check their e-mail while enjoying their coffee. “Not like your coffee shop back home, eh, love?”

  Sarah frowned. “No,” she admitted, explored the place with her eyes. “Maybe I can learn a few lessons from this place. It sure wouldn’t hurt for me to improve the decor of my shop.”

  “I wholeheartedly agree,” Amanda said. “No offense,” she added quickly.

  “None taken.”

  Amanda spotted a pretty, young waitress with short brown hair approaching them. “I hope Conrad is okay.”

  “Me, too,” Sarah said. She put on a fake smile when the waitress neared the table.

  “Hello, my name is Ali,” the waitress smiled. “What can I get you? Today’s special is the Rainy Day Surprise.”

  “Oh?” Sarah asked.

  Ali smiled apologetically and leaned forward. “Coffee flavored with a mixture of cinnamon and iced tea... one of my mother’s creations,” she lowered her voice. “I have to tell customers about it, but... I would recommend another drink.”

  Sarah smiled at Ali. The girl was sweet. “I’ll have a black coffee with a blueberry muffin.”

  “I’ll have the same, love,” Amanda said, “but add a little cream and sugar to mine, please.”

  “Two coffees and two muffins,” Ali said cheerfully and walked away.

  “That old bat back at the hotel could learn a thing or two from that girl,” Amanda told Sarah.

  “I agree,” Sarah grinned. She looked toward the front window. Night was falling, and the rain was slowly turning into snow. “I hope my plan works.”

  “We did find that phone number in the garbage bag,” Amanda pointed out.

  “But that’s all we found,” Sarah countered. “Hank Dean must have been in a panic when he shoved the bag into the stove. The man wasn’t exactly mentally sharp.”

  “But,” Amanda said, “if Dean was trying to get rid of something in the trash bag, he must have known that his life was in danger.”

  Sarah nodded her head. “It seems that way,” she said and rested her chin down onto the palm of her right hand. “The phone number belonged to a payphone. You were listening on the other line when I called, right?” Amanda nodded. “When I called the number a woman answered and then hung up. That’s all we have to go on.”

  “You’re thinking the woman who answered is the same woman who hired that rat Snyder, aren’t you?” Amanda asked.

  “I’m not really sure,” Sarah confessed. “But if the person who killed Hank Dean was watching the motel, he or she might have tailed us here. It’s unlikely anyone from town is making their way out for coffee at this time of day, in this weather.”

  “You mean we may have more eyes watching us than we think.”

  Sarah nodded. “And it all points directly to Mickey Slate.” She bit her lip and looked at Amanda. “Can I confess something to you?”

  “Always,” Amanda said and leaned for
ward curiously. “Okay, Los Angeles, spill the beans. What’s on your mind?”

  “Hank Dean was strangled to death,” she whispered. “And he wasn’t killed by a woman, I know that much. I also know that Snyder was alerted to the fact that we were at the motel. But,” she added, “I think he was sent to the motel to become a victim himself.”

  “You mean whoever killed Dean was hoping we’d get into a shootout with Snyder and kill him into the bargain?”

  “I’m not sure, but it’s a possibility. That’s why I asked Conrad to stay back at the motel and watch the room where Snyder is locked in. June Bug, we’re dealing with multiple people here and we have to play smart.”

  Amanda cleared her throat and nodded her head. “Here comes our order.”

  “Here you go,” Ali smiled as she placed two green coffee mugs down onto the table, then handed Sarah and Amanda two white plates holding delicious blueberry muffins. “We close in about an hour, so there’s no rush.”

  “Thanks,” Sarah said and reached down into her purse. She pulled out a twenty dollar bill and held it up for Ali. “Here’s your tip.”

  “Thank you,” Ali said in a shocked but happy voice.

  “Now may I ask you a favor?”

  “Sure,” Ali said, taking the twenty-dollar bill.

  “If anyone else comes in for coffee, can you use your cell phone and take a photo of that person for me?” Sarah asked. She briefly introduced herself and explained that she was a detective from out of town. “I don’t want you to be alarmed, okay? All I want you to do is take a few photos for me.”

  Ali stared at Sarah and then, to Sarah’s relief, the girl smiled excitedly. “Oh, finally some excitement in this drab little town! I’ll be happy to take the photos, Detective Garland.”

  “You’re sweet.” Amanda beamed at Ali, reached into her purse and pulled out a second twenty dollar bill. “Here you go, love, you earned it.”

  “Wow, thanks,” Ali said warmly. “Okay, I’ll go hide in the kitchen and peep my head out every few minutes.”

  Just as Ali hurried away, a woman with long red hair wearing a black leather trench coat entered the coffee shop. “Wow,” Amanda breathed, “get a look at her.”

  Sarah watched as the woman sat down at a table close to the front door without removing her jacket. The only item the woman removed was her black leather biker’s cap, which was dusted with a bit of snow. “Don’t stare,” Sarah whispered. She said a quick prayer of thanks over her muffin. “Eat.”

  Amanda picked up her muffin and took a bite. The woman, she saw out of the corner of her eye, looked around the coffee shop and then glanced at their table. “Hey,” Amanda said and offered a friendly wave. “I see it’s starting to snow.”

  The woman ignored Amanda, looked around again, and then stood up. Sarah watched as the woman walked to the front door, engaged the lock, and pulled a gun out of her front jacket pocket. “Hands in the air,” she ordered in an icy voice.

  Sarah felt her blood run cold and tried to control herself, for Amanda’s sake. Her friend’s eyes were wide with shock and she had dropped her muffin mid-bite. They both turned when they heard the kitchen door open. A man with dark black hair then pushed Ali into the main room. “Mickey Slate?” Sarah cried in disbelief, her control gone.

  Mickey Slate walked Ali around the front counter and shoved her toward the table. The man, Sarah saw, was hardened and tough, just as in the photograph Conrad had showed her, yet his eyes seemed to hold a touch of fear and regret. “I didn’t want it to be this way,” he said in a thick Brooklyn accent.

  Sarah watched as Mickey pulled a gun out of the right pocket of his leather jacket. He trained it on Ali and gestured for her to sit with Sarah and Amanda. Under the table, Sarah reached for Ali’s hand and gave her a reassuring squeeze. The poor girl silently shook in fright, but seemed to take comfort.

  Sarah’s mind was racing. “But—the cremation—”

  “Snyder knew he killed the wrong man. That’s why he had the body cremated.”

  “Why would you let Conrad think you were dead? He was grieving.”

  Mickey glanced over at the red-haired woman guarding the door and then back at Sarah. “You have to make tough choices,” he said. “Melinda and I did what we had to in order to protect our daughter.”

  Sarah looked at the red-haired woman in dawning comprehension. So this was Mickey’s wife – and she was in on the whole plan. “You mean to protect your daughter from being kidnapped until you paid your gambling debts,” Sarah countered. “Nobody forced you to gamble all your money away. That was your decision alone.”

  Melinda Slate pointed her gun at Sarah wildly. “My husband made a few mistakes. How’s that any of your business?” she charged.

  Sarah held her hands up in the air. “I’m just trying to figure things out,” she said calmly.

  “So if you’re alive,” Amanda asked Mickey in confusion, ignoring the gun pointed at her, “then what poor bloke was cremated?”

  “A homeless man,” Mickey said in a voice filled with regret. Mickey stared at Sarah. “Snyder had to think I was dead. And so did McCallister’s daughter, who ordered the hit.”

  Sarah nodded her head. “So you were involved with McCallister Security after all.”

  Mickey reached up and scratched his rugged face. “Carly McCallister was selling information to a foreign company. I was the only person who knew.” Mickey looked at his wife in shame. “So I blackmailed her. I... had gambling debts that needed to be paid.”

  Melinda reached out and took Mickey’s free hand. “It’s okay, baby.”

  Mickey nodded and looked back at Sarah. “But I pressed McCallister’s daughter too hard and demanded too much money.” Mickey took a breath to steady himself. “She sent someone to kill me, but I escaped. Then she sent someone to kill me and my family, but I was waiting. That’s when she contacted Snyder.”

  “To finish the job,” Sarah said.

  Mickey nodded again. “I knew I wouldn’t stand a chance against Snyder. And as I said, the people I owed money to were already planning to kidnap my daughter unless I paid up. I was in a real mess.”

  “Why did you call Conrad from New York, after the first attempt on your life?” Sarah asked.

  “Yeah,” Amanda chimed in. “Did you think your old street gang would protect you?”

  “So Conrad told you about the Blades, huh?” Mickey said with a tired half-smile. “Yeah, Conrad and I go way back. He was the only person I could turn to for help. I called him because I needed him to watch over my daughter while my wife and I handled Snyder. But I never got the chance to ask Conrad about that.”

  “Where is your daughter now?” Sarah asked.

  “Safe,” Melinda said defensively. “Mickey, we have to do something. We can’t leave them alive. They know too much and we have Macey to think about.”

  “I know,” Mickey said, his eyes suddenly darkening. “You know I killed Hank Dean?” he asked Sarah.

  “Yes.”

  Amanda looked at Melinda suddenly. “Hey, you’re the chick who answered the payphone.”

  “I didn’t know it was you calling,” Melinda explained, keeping her voice cold. “I thought...”

  Sarah waited, but Melinda didn’t continue. “You thought what?” she prompted, curious.

  “None of your business,” Melinda snapped. “Mickey, shoot them and let’s get out of here. We’ll go back to the motel and finish off Snyder.”

  “Conrad is watching Snyder,” Mickey said, his brow furrowing with anger and frustration. “It wasn’t supposed to be this way. I can’t go against my old friend, Melinda.”

  Sarah suddenly understood. “So you’ve come here to kill us in order to lure Conrad away from the motel.” Sarah said.

  “Snyder has to die,” Mickey countered darkly. “Listen, please. I don’t want to hurt anyone, but you have to understand. I was hoping Conrad would finish Snyder off for me; he was always short-tempered and quick to throw the first punch. I t
hought if Snyder showed up armed, then Conrad would lay him out on the ground.”

  “Why didn’t you just kill that sewer rat yourself?” Amanda asked. “You’re pretty good at getting your hands dirty.”

  “Snyder is connected to some powerful men. I couldn’t have his blood on my hands,” Mickey explained. “Right now McCallister’s daughter thinks I’m dead. Only Snyder knows I’m alive. He’s the last loose end to tie up. Until... Conrad... man, I didn’t know he’d take this case so personally.”

  “That’s what friends do when they care about each other,” Sarah countered. “Conrad cares about you and came here to serve justice on your behalf. But now you just want Conrad to do your dirty work for you and take the fall for Snyder’s murder.” Sarah seethed, her mind racing.

  “Are we going to kill them or what?” Melinda interrupted impatiently. “Mickey, Macey is waiting for us and you still have to kill Snyder. And we both know that by now that man’s thugs are probably wondering where their boss is.”

  “I know, I know,” Mickey said as he shook his head. “But not here in front of the windows.” Regretfully, he aimed his gun at Sarah again. “Okay, ladies, into the kitchen,” he said in a grim but sorrowful voice.

  Ali began to cry. Amanda reached out and took her hand. Sarah steadied herself and looked past Mickey toward the last of the daylight outside. She saw the rain finally transform into pure, white, snow.

  Chapter Seven

  Sarah studied the inside of the coffee shop’s walk-in refrigerator as she rubbed her arms. “I knew it. I didn’t think Mickey would have the guts to kill us yet,” she said.

  “Yeah, he’s a real nice guy,” Amanda said sarcastically. “Los Angeles, remind me to stick a sock in my mouth the next time I feel a bit adventurous.”

  “Don’t give up yet,” Sarah reassured her. “We’re still alive. Ali, how are you doing, honey?”

  Ali stood at the back of the cooler, rubbing her cold arms with her hands. “I’m alive... that’s good.”

  “Yes, it is,” Sarah said, offering Ali a supportive smile. “Honey, we’re going to get out of this. Don’t you worry.”