by Kathi Daley
I nodded. My throat was too clogged with emotion for me to answer.
“I should have realized this would be hard for you. I’m sorry. Maybe I should have dropped you off at the office before I responded.”
“No,” I choked out. “It was fine. And I was glad I was there to help out with the dogs and the children. Will their mother be okay?”
“She will. She hit her head, which caused her to temporarily lose consciousness, but other than a cut on her head and a slight concussion, she’s fine. She and her husband are both very grateful that you were there to calm the children.”
“I was happy to help out.” I swallowed hard. “I saw the white sheet. Someone died.”
Colt’s lips tightened. He started the engine and pulled away before he spoke. “The man who caused the accident had been walking on the highway. A tractor-trailer that never should have been on the road swerved to try to avoid him, which started a twenty-car pileup. Others were injured, though thankfully, the man on the road was the only fatality.”
“I wonder why he was walking on the highway during a snowstorm.”
“We found a disabled car down the road. It looks like he must have broken down and, instead of waiting for help, he set off on foot. With the blowing snow, visibility was almost nil at times. It’s amazing he made it as far as he did before getting hit.”
“I guess the road must have been closed when he started walking, but if that was true, why was he on the road in the first place?”
Colt blew out a breath. “I suspect he went around the barrier. Some people do. Some people see that the road is closed due to hazardous conditions, and instead of realizing closing it down is for their own protection, they decide that they should be the exception to the rule. You talk to folks after accidents have occurred, and they tell stories of knowing how to drive in the snow, therefore assuming that the barrier should only apply to others who don’t. If they believe that, they are wrong. If I had to guess, the fatality came upon the barrier to the east of us and decided it didn’t apply to him. I imagine that at some point along the way, he broke down, and when he realized that no one was going to be coming along to help him, he started walking. I also imagine that at some point, the road was opened to single-axle vehicles, and the barrier to the west was removed, which is why there were other vehicles on the road. There was no way a big rig should have been there, but I imagine he thought he was the exception too. A lot of lives have been impacted tonight by folks thinking the rules don’t apply to them.”
I laid my hand over Colt’s arm. The poor guy looked exhausted. I guessed two hours in a blizzard triaging injured people would do that to a man.
Chapter 11
By the time Colt dropped Rufus and me off at the cottage, I was exhausted. What a day. A sick cat, a murder investigation, and a major pileup on the highway, and it wasn’t even dinnertime yet. Thankfully, the vet had given Rufus a clean bill of health. He provided supplements to add to his food, which sounded to me to be some sort of natural antidepressant for cats. It seemed that the winter blues weren’t just a people thing.
As it had been the previous evening, dinner was a lively event as the authors shared their work and their newly gained insights after taking the seminars Dax offered between breakout sessions. I could remember the energy generated when ideas were flowing and storylines existed in the realm of pure potential. I also noticed a tiny bit of friction between sisters Connie and Silvia. I knew several writing teams who seemed to make it work, but I’d never felt that I was the sort to want to give up part of my creative decision-making to another person. Yet I supposed that was exactly what Connie and Silvia and Larry and Laverne did every day. Perhaps it had been a mistake to break up the teams. Dax felt that all four of them would get more out of pairing Connie and Larry and Silvia and Laverne rather than keeping the writing teams intact. And maybe he was right in his assumption. But as I watched the sisters trying hard to avoid each other, I realized that bringing a third and even a fourth voice into an established pair might not have been the best choice.
Of course, Larry and Laverne seemed to be doing fine with the setup. In fact, the charismatic pair seemed to be the life of the party. When I first met them, I was immediately transported back in time. They reminded me so much of the image I held in my mind of the sixties when everything was awesome, and everyone loved one another, and the only thing that was truly important was free will and creative expression. Both Larry and Laverne seemed to be the sort to pull you in with a warm smile and a long, hard hug. I’d never seen them when they weren’t smiling, and their overall demeanor was one of joy toward all that life had to offer.
“So in the interest of research, Larry decided to jump fully clothed into the icy cold water,” Laverne informed the others as she shared the story of their Christmas trip to Alaska to research a story about a family who lived off the grid after escaping the stress of the big city. “Of course, he sank like a log, and the folks standing on the pier had to fish him out, getting everyone wet in the process.” She turned and glanced at her husband with a look of pure adoration. “I think we are banned from the entire state after that trip, but what a trip it was. We saw the northern lights, snowshoed through a deserted forest, and even spent the night in one of those domes under the stars.”
Larry smiled at his wife, and I spotted him squeezing her hand under the table. It seemed obvious to me that the couple really did welcome the chance to experience all life had to offer.
“How was it staying in a place where the sun never shines for weeks on end?” Piper asked.
“It was actually spiritually enlightening to spend such a large part of each day in the dark. We stayed near Seward for part of the trip. That is where Larry took his polar plunge. And they do have light for several hours a day. But then we headed north, and the days got shorter, and as the days got shorter, I felt my senses begin to come to life in a way they never had before.” She smiled at her husband, her expression softening as her deep brown eyes lingered. “The trip turned out to be one of the most sensual trips of my life.”
I couldn’t help but glance at Dax. When I saw him staring at me, I couldn’t help but blush. “When will the book you researched be out?” I asked.
“Next Christmas,” Laverne answered. “Larry and I discussed publishing it earlier, but we had so much fun reliving our memories that we decided to take our time with the book, savoring every minute of the journey along the way.”
Wow. Talk about a couple who were really connected. I loved Ben with all my heart, but I was certain that we’d never even for a minute experienced the connection this extraordinary couple seemed to experience every day of their lives.
Alfred jumped in. “I’ve been considering a trip to Europe this summer. I love the idea of a murder mystery set in an area rich with historical significance. I’ve done the touristy thing a time or two, but after listening to tales of Larry and Laverne’s adventures, I know I want to immerse myself in the culture where my story will be set.”
The conversation seemed to drift toward the European experiences others at the table had enjoyed. I found the conversation interesting but not quite interesting enough to hold my attention. Once the main meal was done, I excused myself to head back to the cottage to check on Rufus. Despite the fact that the vet had assured me that all his tests had come back normal, I was still worried.
“Hey, buddy,” I said, settling onto the sofa with my furry companion. “How are you feeling?”
He began to purr.
Okay, that was something.
“The snow seems to be getting worse, so I guess I should take the dogs out while I can, but when I get back, we’ll watch a movie.”
“Meow.”
“Yeah. It does seem as if this winter is colder and snowier than last year, but we have this warm, cozy cottage to hang out in while the storm blows through. It will be fine.”
At least I hoped it would. We hadn’t lost power yet, but I could see that coming, and the
wind had picked up to the point where the entire cottage shook with the gusts. I opened the door for Ramos and Molly, who spent less than a minute outdoors before deciding that perhaps they too would rather wait out the storm inside. Once the dogs were back inside, we all curled up in front of the fire. Rufus climbed into my lap, seeming content, which made me feel a tad better even though he hadn’t eaten his dinner as of yet.
I was halfway asleep when I heard a knock on the door. I set Rufus aside, got up, and answered it. “Dax. What brings you out in the storm?”
“I was hoping to have a chance to chat with you, but you scurried off before I could grab you.”
I stepped aside and waved him inside. “My cat, Rufus, has been acting oddly, so oddly that I took him to the vet today. The vet assured me he just has a case of the winter blues, but I was still worried about him and wanted to check on him. Please, have a seat.”
He sat down on one of the two wingback chairs that framed the sofa on either side.
“Can I offer you something to drink?”
“Coffee if you have it.”
I headed to the kitchen and started a pot. “Based on the enthusiastic exchange of ideas over dinner, it seems as if the writers are really enjoying their time together.”
Dax nodded. “This is as good a group of writers as any I’ve worked with. Alfred has so much knowledge to share when it comes to the forensic side of things. I plan to stay in touch with him after the retreat. I feel like he can help me in an area where I don’t excel.”
“I often come up with questions relating to an autopsy or time of death too. His background really will help him as a novelist.”
“And of course Hazel is a real hoot and has a lot of insight, Larry and Laverne have kept me in stitches all day, and while the sisters are just starting to blossom, I sense their potential.”
“And Piper?” I asked.
Dax frowned. “Her story is haunting and, I’m beginning to suspect, based in fact.”
“Fact? Isn’t she writing about the murder of a child in a small community? Do you think she knew this child?”
“From what she’s said and, more importantly, what she hasn’t said, I suspect that the girl who was viciously murdered in the story may have been someone she knew. Perhaps someone she knew well.”
My hand flew to my mouth. “You don’t think she is the narrator? The witness to the crime?”
Dax paused. “I’m not sure. The story is very good. It is raw and uncensored, and if it is based on fact, more horrific than I can imagine. The narrator seems to have witnessed the death of this child, who we are told was the narrator’s friend, but although she seemed to have been present, she felt helpless to help. As the story unfolds, you begin to realize that the killer wasn’t a stranger to the narrator, but someone she knew well.”
“Knew well? How well?”
“I’m thinking the killer might have been the narrator’s father, or perhaps an older brother. She was horrified by what she saw, but she isn’t necessarily afraid for her own safety. It is almost as if whatever happened to her friend has happened before. I read the first half of the manuscript today, and I definitely came away with the feeling that the reason the narrator wasn’t afraid for herself as she watched this horrific act was because she knew the killer wouldn’t hurt her.”
I groaned, closing my eyes and tilting back my head. “This is going to turn out to be one of those my-father-is-a-serial-killer stories, isn’t it?”
“I think so.”
I opened my eyes and looked directly at Dax. “And you think Piper is writing about her own father?”
He nodded. “Or brother or uncle or someone else close to her. The details are very specific. I asked Alfred about a few things, just to check for forensic accuracy, and he said that her descriptions of the response of the human body to torture were right on.”
God. If Dax was right and the story was based on something that had actually happened, I couldn’t even begin to imagine what Piper, or whoever was represented by the narrator, must have gone through. “I spoke to Piper briefly last night. She seemed perfectly normal. Not at all the sort who might be harboring the memories someone who had witnessed her father brutally killing her best friend would have to have buried somewhere deep down inside.”
“I don’t disagree. She has been very sweet and caring with Alfred. I haven’t sensed an emotional disturbance of any sort, and it does seem that if someone had been through what the narrator in her manuscript had been through, they would have deep emotional issues. If you read it, you will see what I mean.”
“Do you have a copy of it?” I asked.
“Just the first half. I asked her for the rest, but she told me she wasn’t finished, so she wasn’t ready to have the second half read. But Kate told me it is set to publish this fall, so I have to assume that she is lying about that. Maybe she just doesn’t want the ending leaked before it publishes. She wouldn’t be the first author to hold back the last chapter until the very last minute.”
“Maybe, but I suspect she would be the first author to hold back the final chapter of the very first book she’s published. If you are really interested in the ending, you can ask Kate about it.”
“I might. In the meantime, I thought you could read what I have and tell me what you think. Maybe I am reading more into it than I should.”
“Okay. Do you have the pages?”
“I’ll email them to you.”
“I’ll read them tomorrow. I would do it tonight, but I don’t think I want the last thing on my mind to be a horrific murder before drifting off to sleep.”
Dax chuckled. “This from the woman who recently published one of the most disturbing thrillers I’ve ever read?”
“Yeah. I’m not sure where that came from. I scared myself with that one, although it did outsell any of my tamer novels by a lot.”
“I heard you are working on a second thriller.”
I nodded. “I signed on to do a second one when I was riding the high of the success of the first one, but now I’m having a hard time finishing it. I don’t think I’m the sort who likes to spend a lot of time in a dark place, and I spend a lot of time writing, so if I’m writing a dark novel, my mind tends to linger in the void as well. I won’t do another, but this one is under contract, so I know I have to finish. I just can’t seem to find my mojo.”
“Can I help?”
I nodded. “Maybe you can. If you have time and wouldn’t mind reading what I have, maybe you can help me brainstorm the direction I should be taking. I keep wanting to change the narrative, so the story naturally flows to a brighter and happier place, but bright and happy is not the story I set out to write, nor is it the story I pitched to Kate.”
“I’d be happy to read it. Email what you have to me.”
I got up to grab the coffee, which had stopped brewing, just as a gust of wind slammed into the cottage, making the whole thing shake.
“That was a strong one,” I said as I handed Dax his mug.
“I heard they are calling for gusts of up to a hundred miles an hour overnight. I’m afraid that winds like that are going to bring down a few trees.”
“I hope no one is out in this storm. Between the snow and the wind, the visibility must be close to zero.” I glanced out the window. “In fact, you should wait for a break in the weather to make the trek back to the inn, and I’m going to text Georgia to tell her to wait until things calm down a bit before trying to make her way back here. I honestly feel like it might be possible to get lost between the two buildings the way things are now.”
Of course, even as I said the words, I realized that I’d just committed myself to spend the evening alone with Dax in my cozy little cottage while the storm of the century raged outside. Not that I was worried about that exactly. He’d acted like nothing more than a colleague since he’d been here, and I had no reason to think that the atmosphere created by a warm cottage in a snowstorm would change things in the least. But there was that underl
ying current I couldn’t seem to shake.
“So, how goes your friend, Colt’s, investigation of Train Tyson’s murder?” Dax asked.
“He’s working on it, but I don’t think he has settled on a suspect yet. There are some odd circumstances with this one.”
“Such as?”
“Such as you and the other men who were playing cards with Train all say you went your own way during the break in which Train died. And none of you admit to having run into any of the others during what was about a thirty-minute period. I mean, what are the odds of that being true?”
“It does seem unlikely.”
“You were there. You were one of the five,” I pointed out. “If you agree that it is unlikely that things could have unfolded the way they have been presented by all of you, might you have something to add to your own story?”
“I was outside the entire time. No one else came out, so I’m afraid I can’t help you. Still, I can see why your friend might suspect that one or more of the men are lying.”
“It does seem like one or more of them are lying, and at this point, all five of the men at the poker game are considered to be suspects, including you. I don’t think Colt suspects you strongly because you didn’t even know Train before the night he died, but I do know you are still on his list.”
He took a sip of his coffee. “Oh, I knew him.”
I raised a brow. “You did?”
He nodded. “Tank and my brother, Walter, were college roommates. I think I mentioned that. When they were juniors, they moved out of the dorm and into a house with some other classmates. During the summer between Walter’s junior and senior year, I went to stay with him for a couple of weeks. Train, who was two years younger than Tank, had started at the university the previous fall, and it seemed as if he was either just about to move into the house, or maybe he had recently moved into the house. Anyway, we were both the little brothers, and we were expected to hang out with each other, so we didn’t annoy the guys too much. And we did, although I will say that I was not at all a fan of Train. I started out wanting to be friends with him, but by the time I left, I found myself avoiding him.”
