Snow Cat

by Edward Kendrick

  Snow Cat

  By Edward Kendrick

  Published by JMS Books LLC

  Visit jms-books.com for more information.

  Copyright 2018 Edward Kendrick

  ISBN 9781634866002

  Cover Design: Written Ink Designs | written-ink.com

  Image(s) used under a Standard Royalty-Free License.

  All rights reserved.

  WARNING: This book is not transferable. It is for your own personal use. If it is sold, shared, or given away, it is an infringement of the copyright of this work and violators will be prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law.

  No portion of this book may be transmitted or reproduced in any form, or by any means, without permission in writing from the publisher, with the exception of brief excerpts used for the purposes of review.

  This book is for ADULT AUDIENCES ONLY. It may contain sexually explicit scenes and graphic language which might be considered offensive by some readers. Please store your files where they cannot be accessed by minors.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are solely the product of the author’s imagination and/or are used fictitiously, though reference may be made to actual historical events or existing locations. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Published in the United States of America.

  * * * *

  To Shy, for her able assistance and input.

  * * * *

  Snow Cat

  By Edward Kendrick

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 1

  It was cold. The snow lay thick on the forest floor, marred only by the footprints of a large cat. If anyone had been following them, they would have discovered the prints headed toward a cave buried deep in the side of the mountain—a cave whose entrance was practically invisible unless someone knew exactly where to look.

  The cat knew. Wary, as always, he approached cautiously. He sensed the presence of a pair of rabbits hidden under the snow-bent boughs of a nearby bush but he wasn’t hungry so he ignored them.

  Finally deeming it safe, the cat crawled through the small entrance on his belly then stood again once he was through the narrow tunnel that led to the cave itself. While almost invisible against the snow outside, his muscular, white body stood out in stark contrast against the dark walls inside as he paced softly to his den.

  Once there, he settled down on a thick pile of leaves that formed his bed. Curling his short tail around his body, he fell asleep.

  * * * *

  “You’re sure she knew what she was talking about?” Mick’s deputy asked.

  Mick nodded, his whiskey brown eyes scanning the road ahead of them through the falling snow for the accident site. “Ms. Lewis said she saw a car off to the side of the road, nose into a tree, just after she passed what sounded from her description like the Miller’s place.”

  “Let’s hope she’s right. In this weather I for damned sure wouldn’t want to be trapped and injured in a wrecked car for longer than necessary. How come she didn’t stop and check it out?”

  Mick chuckled. “Ms. Lewis is eighty if she’s a day. I’m surprised she saw anything at all. If she did.”

  “She did.” John pointed to a dark shape a few yards ahead of them.

  Mick pulled onto the snowy verge beside the road and the two men got out. The car, an older model Chevy, had indeed plowed into a tree. The front right tire looked like it had blown at impact and one door was hanging open. They quickly discovered the car was empty. Mick took his flashlight from his belt, turned it on, and checked the ground around the door then the interior of the driver’s side of the car. There was a smear of blood on the cracked windshield but nothing else to indicate how injured the driver might have been.

  “If he took off on foot, and it looks like he did—” Mick pointed the flashlight at some footprints, which were rapidly disappearing under a layer of falling snow, “—then let’s hope he—or she, I guess—made it to the Miller’s place.”

  “He, from the car registration,” John replied after checking the glove compartment. “Walt Murphy.”

  “All right. Let’s get down to the Miller’s then and see.”

  As soon as they got back to the patrol car Mick called in to report what they’d found and ask for a wrecker to come pick up the damaged vehicle. A few minutes later they pulled into the driveway leading up to a neat, white farmhouse. Behind it, through the swirling snow, Mick could see the large barn he knew housed the Miller’s few head of dairy cows.

  After stomping the snow off their boots on the porch of the house, Mick knocked on the door. It opened almost immediately to reveal a middle-aged woman wearing jeans and a heavy flannel shirt.

  “Sheriff Greene, what are you doing out on a day like this.”

  Mick smiled. “I’m always out, Jilly. You know that. However, this time there’s a specific reason. There was a one-car accident a couple of miles from here but the driver wasn’t in the car when we got there. I don’t suppose he showed up here, did he?”

  “Oh my.” She shook her head. “He didn’t. I haven’t seen anyone around except my husband. He’s out in the barn if you want to go and ask him about it, though I’m sure he’d have told me if someone had come around, especially if they were hurt.”

  “Thanks, we’ll do that.”

  They found Fred Miller in the barn, tending to his cows. He came over to greet them and shook his head when Mick asked if he’d seen anyone around. “Ain’t seen or heard nothing ‘cept the yowl of a large cat. Probably that damned bobcat that’s been wandering around here. It ain’t attacked any of my cows but I’m still keeping an eye out for it.”

  “Let’s hope the man we’re looking for doesn’t run into it,” Mick replied. “Though they don’t usually attack anything as big as a human—or a cow,” he added a bit pointedly—a comment that went right over Fred Miller’s head.

  “Tell you what. I see the man, I’ll give you a call. Not much else I can say,” Fred told them before going back to what he’d been doing.

  Taking that as their dismissal, Mick thanked him and he and John returned to their car.

  “I have a bad feeling we won’t find Mr. Murphy until the snow melts, unless he got lucky and hitched a ride,” John said.

  “And in this weather, that’s probably not too likely,” Mick agreed.

  * * * *

  The cat stretched, yawned, and got to his feet. He was hungry, a situation easily remedied if the two rabbits were still outside the cave. If not, he would hunt.

  They were gone, not that it surprised him much. So he worked his way slowly down the gradually sloping mountainside, finding a rabbit and a squirrel that had been foolish enough to leave its nest.

  His hunger sated for the moment, the cat continued on, moving stealthily through the trees on its way to the highway. It had things to do that couldn’t be accomplished where it was—or in the form it now held.

  Chapter 2

  “I take it whoever was in that car hasn’t shown up,” John said when he came into Mick’s office.

  “Not that anyone’s reported. I guess we hope he did catch a ride, probably with someone passing through on their way down the m
ountain.”

  “Better than thinking he wandered off somewhere and died from hyperthermia.”

  Mick nodded in agreement. “I stopped by Paulie’s garage where they took the car. The plates are from Utah—Roosevelt, to be exact—which matches the registration. On the off chance, I called the cops there. The man I spoke with had no idea who the owner of the vehicle was. He checked their files. There are no wants or warrants out on Mr. Murphy. Interesting thing is, the address on the registration is for a rooming house, he said.”

  “He going to keep an eye out for him? It would be nice to know if he survived.”

  “Yeah, he said he would and let us know.” Mick shrugged. “Guess that’s the best we can do unless Murphy shows up here to claim his car.”

  “It could happen, I suppose, though you’d think he would have already. It’s been a day since the accident.”

  “True. Nothing we can do about it now however. And on a different note, Beth over at the hardware store said it looked like someone tried to break in. Pete’s checking it out. Other than that, it’s situation normal, so let’s get out there and make sure it remains that way.”

  * * * *

  “Can I help you, sir?” Carly asked as she stood beside the booth, one hip thrust out, ready to take the man’s order.

  Wynn looked up from the menu, asking with a smile, “What would you recommend?”

  “The chicken-fried steak is good. So is the meatloaf.”

  “Meatloaf it is, with mashed potatoes and no vegetables.”

  “Coffee?”

  “Please, with creamer.”

  “You know,” Carly blurted out, negating her well-practiced image as a world-weary diner waitress, “you don’t look old enough to have white hair.”

  Wynn chuckled, his pale blue eyes sparkling with amusement. “So I’ve been told. It’s genetic.”

  “You could dye it, you know.”

  He shrugged. “I’m used to it.”

  “Um, okay. Sorry. I shouldn’t have said anything.”

  “Trust me. You’re not the first or I’m sure, the last, to do so.” He smiled as he watched her leave then went back to reading the local paper he’d picked up on his way to the diner.

  He wouldn’t have been here at all if he hadn’t wanted to find out if anyone had found his car and maybe had it towed it into town. He suspected even if they had, the front end was probably too badly mangled for it to be drivable—which would be annoying but he’d deal. There was nothing in the paper about an accident on the highway. After checking the date at the top of the page, he realized why. It was a weekly and had come out yesterday morning before the accident.

  Folding the paper, he turned his attention to what was going on outside the diner’s large front window. The streets were plowed after yesterday’s storm and most of the sidewalks had been shoveled. People bustled along, winter coats wrapped tight, hoods or caps covering their heads. As he watched, a police car pulled up and parked, two men in brown uniforms getting out. They paused for a moment, looking around with cop’s wary eyes, then came toward the front door of the diner.

  * * * *

  Mick checked out the diner as he and John entered. He smiled, nudging John. “Looks like your lady’s working today.”

  “Carly is not ‘my lady’,” John grumbled, but his eyes lit up when he saw her. “We’ve been on two dates is all.”

  “So, go ask her for a third while I grab us a booth.”

  John hesitated then wandered over to where Carly was standing. Two minutes later he joined Mick in a booth, taking off his jacket while smiling happily. “We’re going to a show tomorrow night after she gets off work.”

  “So that makes her your lady now, right?” Mick replied with a grin.

  “Maybe, sort of. Or not.” John reached for the menu to defuse Mick’s interest.

  Mick didn’t bother with a menu; he knew it by heart. But he did look at the chalkboard with the daily specials, just in case there actually was one—which there wasn’t. At the same time, he saw someone he didn’t know sitting in the back booth. “I wonder if that’s our Mr. Murphy,” he murmured, almost to himself.

  John overheard him and glanced around. “The guy with the long, white hair? Could be, I suppose.”

  Mick studied the man, who seemed to be concentrating on whatever was going on outside of the diner. “If it is, he wasn’t as badly hurt as the blood on the windshield of the car might indicate. I don’t see any damage to his face.”

  The man turned, almost as if he’d heard them talking about him, a frown marring his handsome face for a second before vanishing as he smiled at Carly when she set his meal down in front of him.

  Then she came over to take Mick and John’s order. When Mick asked, she said she’d never seen the man before today, which didn’t surprise Mick. Hair like his would have made him stand out in a crowd, especially since Mick figured from his face and build he couldn’t be more than in his late twenties at most.

  “So do we ask?” John said when Carly left.

  “Yep.” Mick got up, indicating John should stay where he was, and walked back to the man’s booth.

  * * * *

  Wynn looked at the dark-haired man who slid into the booth, noting the badge pinned to his shirt. “Can I help you, Sheriff, or are you just welcoming me to town.”

  “A bit of both. I’m Mick Greene and you are…?”

  “Walt Murphy.” Wynn held out his hand and Mick shook it. He had a firm grip, but that didn’t surprise Wynn. Most men in authority did, he’d discovered over the years.

  “I haven’t seen you around before,” Mick commented.

  Wynn smiled. “Probably because this is my first time here.” He paused a moment. “I had an accident yesterday and when I went back, my car was gone. I’m hoping someone towed it here, since this is the closest town.”

  “It’s here, Mr. Murphy. May I ask where you spent your time between when you hit the tree and now? I’d have expected you to show up sooner since you seem to think the car might be here.”

  Wynn frowned. “Some of the time, I’m not sure about. I remember seeing the tree coming at me then running into it. After that it’s a blank until I came to, woke up, whatever, in someone’s barn, buried in a pile of hay. My best guess is I hit my head hard enough to daze me, got out of the car and, hell, maybe was going for help. That’s about all I can tell you. When I woke up, it was almost dawn. I didn’t feel bad, just a headache. No one was around, at least where I could see them, so I plowed my way through the snow to the highway and back to where I thought my car was.”

  He took a drink of coffee before continuing. “Needless to say, it wasn’t there so I started walking. Saw the sign telling me I was close to a town and, well, here I am. I was hungry, so I decided to eat before stopping by the sheriff’s office to see if my car was anywhere around.”

  “It’s at the local garage.” Mick leaned back, studying Wynn. “Not drivable at the moment, I’m afraid.”

  “Didn’t think it would be. Can it be repaired?”

  “You’ll have to ask Paulie. He’s the man who owns the garage.”

  Wynn nodded. “If it is, is there a hotel, boarding house, or what have you where I can put up until it’s fixed?”

  “There’s the Blue Creek Hotel down two blocks and Ms. Lang’s Rooming House just at the edge of town.”

  At that point, Carly had returned to Mick’s table with his and John’s meals so he excused himself, saying, “Stop by the station sometime this afternoon and file a report on the accident, please.”

  “Will do.” Wynn watched him walk away, his gaze landing briefly on the sheriff’s broad shoulders and sliding down to his narrow hips. With a shake of his head, he reminded himself he was here to get what he needed from his car and move on before anyone knew where he’d landed.

  * * * *

  “What do you mean it’s not there?” Wynn asked, trying to tamp down his anger and his panic as he paced the sheriff’s office.

 
; Mick held up his hands almost defensively. “When I stopped by Paulie’s garage on the way back here, he said someone came by this morning with a tow truck and picked it up. According to him, the man showed ID that said he was Walt Murphy. When I described you, though, he said the man didn’t match your description. Now this makes me wonder who’s lying, that guy or you?”

  Wynn dug his wallet out of his pocket, opening it to show the sheriff his driver’s license. “Do I pass?” he asked, somewhat scathingly.

  “It fits with the information I have on you.”

  “What information?”

  “Off your registration and plates. When we couldn’t find you anywhere near the accident site, I figured you might have hitched a ride somewhere to get help. I wanted to get in contact with you about the car and to see if you were all right. The only address I had was off your registration so I checked with the police in Roosevelt, Utah. The officer I spoke with didn’t know who you were. He did say the address belonged to a rooming house and if you showed up there, he’d let me know.”

  “My license could be a forgery, you know,” Wynn commented with flash of a smile. “Like the one used by the person who stole my car.”

  “I suppose yours could be but, for whatever reason, I believe you are the real Walt Murphy. Instinct maybe or just that you didn’t go straight to Paulie’s garage and try to take off with the car yourself.” Mick chuckled. “Not that you could have. Paulie said it wasn’t drivable.”

  “Which whoever took it must have known since they came with the tow truck.”

  “Agreed. Now the question becomes—” Mick looked hard at Wynn, “what was in it that was so important someone wanted to get it before you could? And a corollary to that—was your accident really an accident?”

  Wynn frowned deeply as he tried to remember exactly what had happened. “It was beginning to snow pretty hard. I was taking it fairly slow because I didn’t know the highway and it had several sharp curves.”

  “And?” Mick asked, when Wynn paused.

  “That’s what I’m trying to figure out. I came around a curve and the car seemed to slide out from under me, if that makes sense—like it had hit a patch of ice. I tried to brake but…hell, nothing happened!”