Murder on Ice

by B. T. Lord

  Across the ice, a group of teenagers were playing a game of pick up hockey. Their yells and whoops echoed over the pond as she backed the truck into a spot beneath a grove of tall pine trees. With the engine idling and the heat on full blast, she took the envelope out of her pocket and stared down at it. There was a sizeable lump in the corner of the envelope. She turned it over and over in her hand, gathering her courage to read whatever Eli had thought important to tell her.

  After a few moments of fumbling with the envelope, she uttered an impatient sigh. She could sit here all day and play with the damned thing, or just get it over with. With a heavy heart, she tore open the envelope and withdrew a folded sheet of cream colored paper. She then turned the envelope upside down and watched as two huge diamond encrusted rings fell into her lap. She felt a catch in her throat as she slowly picked up the heavy rings and held them in her palm, marveling at the weight and opulence of Eli’s two Stanley Cup rings. In the middle of each were the logos of the teams he’d played for when they’d won the Stanley Cup; the symbols covered in diamonds and precious gems. She whistled under her breath as she realized she could probably tear down her tiny log cabin and build a mansion on the price of just one of these rings.

  She put them down on the passenger seat, and turned her attention to the sheet of paper. She slowly unfolded it, instantly recognizing Eli’s scratchy handwriting that hadn’t changed much since they were in high school. She hesitated, wanting so much to just fold the note back up and never look at what it said. But she couldn’t. No matter what he’d written, she couldn’t turn her back on the last words of his she’d ever hear.

  The surroundings, the distant hockey game, everything disappeared as she slowly began to read.

  I have no excuse for what I did to you. Saying I was young and ambitious, or that I honestly didn’t know how much you suffered doesn’t cut it and I know that now. If I could do it all over again, I would have taken you with me. Whenever I was interviewed, the question always came up why I’d never married. The assumption was that I enjoyed being a ladies man. The truth is, I never found a woman who could compete with you.

  I remember when I first saw you. You were ten and building a snowman near the entrance to the school. I think I fell in love with you then, Cam, and I never fell out of love with you. As usual, I’m telling you too late and I’m not sure you’ll believe me anyway. But I did love you, I do love you and I will always love you. Money doesn’t begin to make up for the mess I caused, but maybe it will help ease your life a bit.

  As for the rings, you deserve them more than I do. Without that slap shot you helped me improve on, I never would have made it in the NHL. Wear them knowing they’re rightfully yours.

  She refolded the note and held it in her hand. Instead of sorrow, an unexpected rage coursed through Cammie. Before she knew what she was doing, she crumpled Eli’s note into a ball, and threw it into the back seat. She rolled down the window, grabbed the rings and was about to hurl them out into the snow when common sense took over.

  Breathing heavily, she rolled the window back up and jammed the rings into her parka pocket. She then leaned her forehead against the steering wheel.

  “You lousy, stinking, son of a bitch,” she muttered, as hot angry tears ran down her face. “You fucking, fucking bastard.”

  After days of trying to hold it together, she finally and mercifully allowed herself a good, hard cry. All the anger, the guilt, the disappointments she’d carried for so long seeped out of her soul and into the warm air of the Explorer. Intermingled with her regrets over Eli was her sorrow over Jace. The two became one as the anguish over their behavior roared up and swamped her.

  When she was done, she sat up and wiped the tears away with the sleeves of her parka. She didn’t exactly feel better; the crying had left her hollowed out and empty. But the heaviness in her heart had dissipated, and she felt clear headed for the first time since receiving the unexpected news of her inheritance.

  Christ, the inheritance. Eli must have been feeling especially guilty to give her an additional $400,000 without telling Lehane. What the hell was she going to do with all that money? She knew he’d meant well leaving it to her, but she didn’t need it. Or want it. She liked her life the way it was. Money was only going to change it, and not for the better. Wealth had a habit of turning people into gross, greedy caricatures of themselves. She herself was ambivalent about the half a mil, but what about her friends and acquaintances? Would they all suddenly be looking for a handout?

  As for Twin Ponds itself, she could just hear the gossip mill revving up for another go round. Instead of murdering him as some sort of revenge for their past, she’d murdered him to get her hands on his money.

  God, what a mess.

  She looked out the windshield towards the hockey players and sighed. There was nothing left to do but keep moving forward. People were going to say what they were going to say, regardless of whether it was the truth, or even remotely resembling the truth. The best thing to do was to forget about the money for now and concentrate on finding Paltrow and Carolyn.

  Having made that decision, she turned towards the back seat to retrieve the crumpled note.

  And found herself staring at the missing Night Hawks trophy that had once adorned Eli’s mantel.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  “What are you going to do with all that money?”

  Cammie’s jaw dropped as she handed Rick the wrapped trophy to be sent down to Augusta for fingerprint analysis.

  “This has to be a world record. I only found out –“ she looked at her watch – “forty-five minutes ago.”

  “Mike’s secretary is Emmy’s aunt, don’t you remember? As soon as you got told, I guess she figured it was alright to spill the beans.”

  Cammie rolled her eyes. “That’s great. This means that in an hour the whole of Twin Ponds will know. And in two hours, they should be hearing about it in Portland.”

  Rick shrugged. “Hey, it isn’t every day a Maine sheriff inherits half a mil. Maybe now you can buy a new couch and get rid of that piece of shit. My back still aches.”

  “That’s probably due more to your determination to do the horizontal anywhere and everywhere whenever the mood hits.”

  Rick thought about it for a moment. “Yeah, you’re probably right. Doing it in a closet full of exercise equipment--” He stopped when he saw her look. “Hey, we were celebrating the Night Hawks win and her parents came home early--”

  “I don’t want to hear it. She was at least eighteen, right?”

  “Of course. We celebrated her birthday just that morning.”

  “Let’s get the trophy down to forensics ASAP. In the meantime, I’m going home to change for the funeral tonight. And don’t tell me I shouldn’t go.”

  “Well, there is the matter of you inheriting all that money and people’s reaction to it—“

  Cammie clicked her tongue in disgust. “It will look worse if I don’t go.”

  And, she added silently to herself. I owe it to both Eli and myself to say a final good-bye.

  “I’ll have your back.” Her saw her expression. “Okay, okay. No snipers.”

  At that moment, the door to her office burst open and Emmy dashed inside. She threw herself into Cammie’s arms, and buried her sobbing face in the sheriff’s shoulder.

  “Please don’t leave us, Sheriff! You can’t quit. I won’t let you! I won’t!”

  Cammie looked down at her dispatcher in astonishment. “Emmy, what are you talking about?”

  “You’re the best boss I’ve ever had. You can’t quit,” she repeated through gulping tears.

  “Who told you I was quitting?”

  “You don’t have to work anymore. You’re – you’re rich!”

  Cammie mentally counted to three, then gently took Emmy’s shoulders and pulled the young woman away from her. “Emmy, look at me.” Emmy raised her tear rimmed eyes until they met Cammie’s. “I’m not quitting.”

  “Honest?” sh
e quivered.

  “Honest.”

  “But all that money Mr. Kelley left you--”

  “Eli could have left me two million dollars, and it wouldn’t change anything. I have no intention of leaving my job. Not now, not ever. Or at least,” she added, “until the people of Twin Ponds vote me out.”

  “They won’t. You’ll solve this crime and everybody will love you again. You’ll see.”

  If only Cammie shared Emmy’s optimism. After calming the dispatcher down with more promises that she wasn’t going to quit, and after promising Rick the first thing she was going to buy when this was all over was a new couch, she started to leave when Emmy ran back to her office.

  “These just came in. They’re Eli and Carolyn’s phone records.”

  Cammie scanned them, saw what she needed to see, made one more phone call, then hurriedly left to go home to change for the funeral.

  Her insides felt heavy - with news of the inheritance, the changes that was going to bring, the reaction townspeople were going to have when they found out, the reaction Jace was going to have when he found out, the investigation itself and lastly, Eli’s last words to her. All the emotion, all the drama, all the worries jumbled and coursed through her until she wanted nothing more than to turn the Explorer around and just keep driving until she disappeared into the sunset, never to be seen again.

  She sighed. That only happened in the movies.

  Right now, she was far from being John Wayne, or Clint Eastwood. Calamity Jane was more like it.

  She leaned over to turn the radio on, hoping music could lift her spirits when her phone rang. She picked it up and flipped it open.

  “Sheriff Farnsworth here.”

  “Sheriff, this is Caleb Quinn from the Crime Lab. I’ve got some forensic results you might be interested in.”

  Cammie couldn’t remember the last time she’d worn a dress, and her legs froze as the icy wind cut through her black stockings. She’d read somewhere long ago that a woman’s wardrobe wasn’t complete without the essential little black dress. She’d bought hers back in Seattle and lugged it with her when she’d made the cross country trip back to Boston, then up to Maine. To her surprise and delight, it still fit.

  As expected, the parking lot to the high school was packed. Knowing the crowds Eli’s funeral was going to attract, Lehane had opted to have the services performed in the biggest building in Twin Ponds, the high school gymnasium. Although Cammie got there early, she still had to park several streets away, and silently cursed the crowds as she carefully made her way over the icy sidewalks in her black pumps. It didn’t help that her ankle was beginning to ache in the unaccustomed footwear.

  Drawing closer, she was horrified to see at least three television crews interviewing various townspeople as they tried to enter. Lehane had prudently stationed two burly bodyguards at the door who checked everyone’s identification. No one who was not from Twin Ponds was allowed inside. However, with reporters interfering with the process, the line was growing longer as mourners attempted to attend the services.

  A wave of sadness swept through her as she saw Eli’s funeral being turned into a full blown media circus. Twin Ponds had never seen anything like this and was ill prepared to deal with the crush of people and media. She immediately got on her cell and called in reinforcements to deal with crowd control.

  Soon she was coordinating her deputies to deal with traffic which was becoming worse as more people poured in to either attend the funeral or gawk at the reporters. She recognized some famous faces from network news, which only added to the insanity.

  Worried that her appearance would inflame an already crazy situation, she called Lehane and got him to have one of the bodyguards smuggle her in through the side door.

  Inside, it was wall to wall people. At the far end of the gym, Eli’s open casket was laid out atop a velvet green covered bier. Near the head and foot of the casket, someone had placed a five foot candleholder that held a burning white candle. Chairs were set up in neat rows, with a podium in front of the bier from which the minister would conduct the service.

  There were vases of flowers surrounding the casket as well. Cammie knew it must have cost the Tylers a great deal of money to fly in the flowers in the dead of winter, but at the same time, she was grateful for their gesture. Despite the surroundings, with high school banners suspended from the ceiling, and the cavernous nature of the building, the Tylers had done their best to bring a dignified air to the funeral service.

  Struggling to make her way towards the makeshift altar, she noticed the topics of conversation appeared to be evenly divided between the missing Paltrow and her sudden inheritance. She also noticed the attention to her seemed to be evenly divided as well. Some people greeted her warmly, while others turned their back.

  Yet here and there were pockets of other conversations. Wriggling to get through a particularly tight band of people, she heard snippets of dialogue swirling around her. The loudest was coming from a small group of women gathered to the right of the bier. An unmistakably high pitched giggle caught her attention and she didn’t need to look over to know Audella was at the center of the group. Drawing closer, she saw she was right.

  Holding court in the midst of the slightly drab, subdued women, Audella was dressed in a gorgeous black velvet dress that clung to her curvaceous body. Around the high collar was a necklace of dazzling diamonds that caught and shimmered in the light. Her companions stood, awestruck as Audella jumped from subject to subject, answering their questions about her clothing and her jet set lifestyle, and quickly adding her opinion to strings of other conversations. It was dizzying and as Cammie slid past them, wafts of a New York accent, mixed with strong Maine accents, drifted over her.

  “--I bought this dress at a little boutique on Fifth Avenue. They have the most beautiful things from all over the world!”

  “--Didn’t you know that northern lights are portents of evil? I told you so. And I was right. Poor Eli lost his life on the night those lights appeared.”

  “--Those are lovely shoes, Mrs. Tyler.”

  “--I thought they were quite beautiful.”

  “--Did you get those shoes at the boutique where you bought your dress?”

  “--Oh Lord no. These are Jimmy Choos, you know.”

  “--Jimmy who?”

  “--Did you hear that Pat Vickery bagged himself a swamp donkey the other day down on the other side of Waban.”

  “--A what?”

  “--Sorry. Swamp donkeys are what we call moose around here.”

  Audella twittered. “Everybody must be born with a gun up here! I’ll bet you’re all good shots.”

  “--That poor Mr. Tyler. He’s really taking Eli’s death hard.”

  At the sound of Lehane’s name, Cammie scoured the crowd for him. Her heels and tall height allowed her to see over many of the mourners’ heads. She soon spied him sitting in a dark corner near the casket. Her heart went out to him when she saw him doubled over, his face covered by a handkerchief, his shoulders shaking with deep, emotional grief. Cammie made her way to him and knelt down beside him.

  “Is there anything I can get you?” she asked.

  Lehane looked up and she was taken aback by how ashen and gaunt he looked. His face was red and streaked with tears and she worried that he was on the brink of a break-down.

  “I can’t believe it. Seeing him laid out like that…knowing what happened. It’s just so final. I never thought I’d end up having to bury my best friend, my brother--” He couldn’t finish as he once again broke down in sobs.

  Cammie didn’t know what to say. Death was never easy and she lacked the words, if any existed, that would bring comfort to Lehane. She resorted to patting his knee in consolation.

  Someone came up behind her and looking up, she saw it was Rick. She stood up and immediately pulled him aside.

  “Whoa, I hope you don’t take this the wrong way, being my boss and all, but you look foxy in a dress.”

 
“Thanks, I think. Would you do me a favor and see if you can find Doc? Lehane’s in a bad way. Maybe he can give the man something to calm him down.”

  Rick glanced at the sobbing sports agent and shook his head. “I’ve never seen anybody take a death so hard. I hope someone cries like that for me when it’s my turn to go.”

  “I’m sure this place will be overflowing with all your conquests mourning your demise.”

  After Rick left, Cammie pulled up a chair next to Lehane. Not sure what to do, she awkwardly draped her arm around the weeping man’s shoulder. She tried to catch Audella’s eye to signal her over, but the woman was involved in describing, to her spellbound audience, a party she’d attended at Tom Cruise’s home in Telluride, and either didn’t see or ignored Cammie’s waves.

  Finally, after what seemed like hours, Doc materialized out of the crowd. Gratefully, she left the increasingly hysterical man to abler hands.

  There was no one at the casket and she took the opportunity to pay her respects. Reaching the bier, she felt Rick come up behind her. “Do you mind? I’d like a private moment,” she replied sternly.

  “Sorry, no can do. You’re a sitting duck standing up here all alone.”

  “Rick, I appreciate your concern, but I doubt someone is going to whip out their Uzi and mow me down.”

  Rick’s eyes scanned the crowd. “You never know, Sheriff. You just never know.”

  Cammie suppressed a frustrated sigh. Instead, she turned to her deputy and said, “Tell you what. Stand about three feet with your back to me and keep your eyes peeled. That way if someone makes a move towards me, you’ll see them.”

  “I’m on it.”

  She watched to make sure he didn’t take his gun out of his holster, then at long last turned her attention to Eli.

  Except for the fact that he looked slightly shriveled, she had to admit the mortician had done a decent job. He was dressed in a charcoal grey suit, with a light grey shirt and gold tie. His blonde hair was neatly combed and it if weren’t for the prune-like wrinkles around his mouth and hands, he would have looked as though he were asleep. Someone had thoughtfully placed a hockey puck in his folded hands, a fitting tribute to a man who’d become a legend shooting those things down ice.