by Jane Hinchey
Climbing out of the truck, my feet had barely touched the ground when they slid out from beneath me, and I did a mad wobble and grab maneuver to keep from landing on my butt. I could hear Galloway laughing as he rounded the truck and saw me, legs splayed, door handle in a death grip, trying to valiantly keep my balance. “Ice,” I grunted, tongue between my teeth.
“Sure,” he nodded, then strode up as if the driveway wasn’t covered in ice and righted me, hands tucked in my armpits. “Maybe just hold on to me.”
Affronted that he didn’t think I could walk in the snow and ice without his assistance, I pushed past him, nudging him out of the way with my elbow, only to lose my footing again. “Fine!” I grumbled, not bothering to look at him, knowing he’d be silently laughing. And who could blame him, really? I’m sure I was very comical in my efforts to stay upright under such conditions. Grabbing hold of his arm, I clung on for dear life as we made our way to the front door.
“What?” Bobby Vaughn almost knocked me down with his body odor when he flung open the door in response to Galloways knock. Trying not to gag, I eyeballed him. I was about the same age as his son, Charlie, which probably put Bobby somewhere in his sixties, although he looked waaaay older. He had a riot of gray hair that stuck up in every direction and looked like it hadn’t seen a comb in decades. A torn green and gray flannelette shirt stretched across his huge girth, some of the buttons having lost the battle against the strain, revealing a stained blue singlet beneath.
“Mr. Vaughn?” Galloway took control, I was too busy trying not to vomit into my mouth, for now that I was getting over the shock of his body odor, more smells were wafting from the house. Did he have a dead body in there, for it sure smelled like decomposition to me? “I’m Detective Galloway, I’m assisting the Sheriff in a homicide.” Galloway introduced himself, although saying we were assisting the Sheriff was a bit of a stretch. I gave him the side-eye, but he ignored me.
“Homicide?” Bobby barked.
“Who is it, Bobby?” Greta Vaughn yelled from somewhere inside the house. Her thundering footsteps shook the very foundations as she came to stand beside her husband. Greta was equally wide, only not as tall. She wore a filthy day coat over a nightie, socks that reached her knees, and tattered slippers. Her hair was set in neon green rollers, and a cigarette hung out the corner of her mouth.
“Cops,” Bobby grunted.
“What they want?”
“Somin’ about a… someone die, you say?” he directed his attention back to Galloway.
“That’s right. Henry Peterson was shot. We believe the shooter was positioned on this side of the lake.”
“You accusing me of killing that old codger!” Bobby blustered, shoving out his chest, which resulted in his belly sticking out even further and another button popping, flinging off to hit the door frame with a ping.
“Not at all,” Galloway replied. “But you have an excellent vantage point of who comes in and out of the national park, and I noticed you have CCTV rigged up. Operational?”
Bobby wiped his nose on his sleeve. “Sure is.”
“Would you mind if we took a look at your footage from the last twenty-four hours?”
“We?” Bobby finally looked down at me, holding Galloway's arm in a death grip to keep from sliding all over the stoop. “You one of those Fitzgerald kids?” He narrowed his eyes.
Uh-oh. Now I remembered why his house looked familiar.
“You egged my house!” He took a threatening step forward, and I hurriedly hid behind Galloway.
“Wasn’t me,” I lied. I’d been ten years old, and we’d been kids getting into mischief. Bobby Vaughn had given Dustin a clip over the head earlier that day in the grocery store because he claimed Dustin was deliberately blocking the aisle. We’d figured egging his house was suitable retribution. Mom and Dad had made us come and apologize to the Vaughn’s and scrub their house clean. I can’t believe I’d forgotten. Must have washed that particular memory from my mind. But did their house smell this bad back then?
Galloway squared off with Bobby, settling into a protective stance in front of me. “Sir?”
“I ain’t helping no Fitzgerald, trash. And I don’t care none for that Henry Peterson either. He fleeced my Charlie on his grades. He deserves anything he has coming to him.”
“What?” Galloway and I said in unison. Henry Peterson had long since retired from school teaching, and Charlie Vaughn was a grown-ass adult in his thirties. I couldn’t believe Bobby Vaughn was still holding a grudge decades later. On school grades of all things.
“Now git!” he slammed the door so hard the twig Christmas wreath detached, landing at our feet. Galloway glanced over his shoulder at me.
“Care to tell me what that was all about?” he drawled, one eyebrow arched.
“Sure. Back in the truck. I don’t think I can stand the stench much longer. What do you think they have in there? Roadkill? Cos it sure smelled like something was dead.”
Guiding me back to the car and giving me a boost into the passenger seat, Galloway strode around the hood with ease, no slipping and sliding for him. I waited until he was seated next to me before briefly explaining the time when Laura, Dustin, and I had ridden our bikes to the Vaughn house and thrown eggs at it. I still remember how angry Mom had been. And embarrassed. Dad had softened his stance somewhat when we’d explained it was in retaliation for Bobby Vaughn raising his hand to Dustin, but he’d ultimately sided with Mom. Two wrongs did not make a right.
Galloway placed his arm along the back of my seat, one hand on the wheel, and reversed out of the driveway. “Wanna go exploring?” His words were magic to my ears. My smile was so wide, my cheeks hurt.
“Sure,” I shrugged, trying to downplay my enthusiasm. Shoving the truck from reverse into drive, he glanced down at me. “Trying to play down your excitement?”
“Yep.”
“Got it.” I loved how he got me. Just like my best friend, Ben got me. Galloway and I clicked, and while my heart swelled with love, fear wasn’t far behind. All the what-if games our minds like to play on us. What if this doesn’t work out? What if he doesn’t love me half as much as I love him? What if he wants kids? What if he doesn’t? What if I lost him like I lost Ben? An incorporeal boyfriend wasn’t something on my wish list. Not that Ben had ever been my boyfriend. But I’d have given anything to have my best friend alive and by my side.
“You’re doing it again,” Galloway softly traced a knuckle over my cheek before shoving the truck into gear and heading into the National Park. “Overthinking.”
I sighed a long and heartfelt sigh. “I know.”
“Tell me what’s going on in that head of yours.”
“Seriously? You don’t wanna know.”
“Try me.”
I let the silence stretch between us for several moments, watching as his strong fingers steered us deeper into the park. “I’m learning that worrying isn’t just for mothers.” I finally said.
His brows shot up. “Oh? What’s got you worried?”
“Well, I started out worrying that the Vaughn’s are cooking up roadkill in their house because that’s the only explanation I can come up with for that god awful smell. Then I worried that we hadn’t gotten a look at the footage from their CCTV. Then I worried that I… care for you… more than you care for me.”
“I don’t care for you, Fitz.” My heart plummeted to my toes, and I looked at him, mouth agape. He glanced at me, his eyes warm, his smile wide. “I’m absolutely, positively, one hundred percent in love with you. So to say I care for you? That doesn’t even begin to cover it.”
“You love me?” I squeaked.
“I love you.” He confirmed.
Best. Christmas. Ever. We’d never said those words to each other before, and while I sat here with a goofy look on my face, I realized I hadn’t said them back to him. Oops.
“Me too.” I blurted, then smacked my forehead. “I mean, I love you too.”
He reached over and sq
ueezed my hand. “I know.” Pulling the truck over to the side of the road, he left the engine running. “I’m assuming Ben isn’t here? That we’re alone?”
“We’re alone,” I confirmed.
“Good. Cos I really need to kiss you.”
I fumbled with my seatbelt in my haste until his hands brushed mine aside, the belt unclicked, and he tugged me into his arms, his mouth coming down hard on mine. All my worries fled as I was held in his arms. He was my safe place, my harbor from the world. All we had left to do was finish the investigation into corrupt cops, and my world would be perfect. Oh, and solve Henry’s murder.
Easing back, Galloway dropped a kiss on my nose before depositing me back on my own seat. “Much as I enjoy steaming up the windows with you, we’d better get back to it. Someone is wandering around out here with a rifle. The sooner we catch them, the better.”
“Why kill Henry, though? I don’t understand the motive. Is it the holiday season? They hate Christmas that much they felt compelled to shoot Santa.” I paused, my thoughts racing. “In which case, we need to warn Ken. He could be in danger.”
“We’ll talk to Ken, don’t worry.”
“Wasn’t he at the house earlier? Henry said he heard him?”
“What, the lake house you mean? No. It was just your family.”
I frowned, casting my mind back. I swore Henry had rushed off because he’d heard Ken arrive. But maybe he’d been mistaken? Shrugging it off, I turned my attention to the dirt road we were currently bouncing down.
“How far around do you think?” I asked.
“Not far. Look, up ahead. A parking lot and a trail.”
“Convenient.”
“It’s where I’d park. No one is going to think anything of a set of tire tracks here. But if they’d pulled off the side of the road, then you’d be drawing attention. Plus,” he swiveled his head, peering through the trees, “I think the angle is about right.”
The parking lot was tiny, room for five cars tops, and was bordered by a knee-high log fence. Giant potholes full of mud and melted snow dotted the ground. Pulling up next to the signpost that pointed to the lake, we climbed out. Galloway studied the ground. “Can’t make out any fresh tire tracks,” he said, then grabbed my hand and led me through the narrow opening in the fence down the path heading toward the lake.
I was still in la-la land after our declaration of love to be fully paying attention to what we were there for—solving Henry’s murder, so when Galloway stopped and knelt to examine something on the ground, I was totally unprepared. My own forward propulsion, coupled with my grip on his hand, had me swinging through the air and around in a half-circle before landing on my knees on the hard ground.
“Ouch!”
Galloway looked up in concern. “You okay?”
“I’m fine.” I was used to taking multiple spills a day. Still, it’d be nice to get through at least one day without adding to my bruises. “What did you find?”
“Check out this boot print.” I looked toward where he was pointing. The path was a combination of melted snow, slush, and mud, and to the side was a clear boot print, followed by another print that had been smudged around, followed by a bare footprint.
“They stepped out of their boot.”
“Mmmhmm, and I think I know why,” he said.
“Why?”
“The actual boot print is what? Size eleven, men's?”
I cocked my head and examined it. “Yeah, I guess about that.”
“But the actual footprint? Much smaller.”
He was right. The bare footprint was significantly smaller. “Is that a child’s?”
He stood, hands-on-hips as he examined the ground. “Yeah. I’m guessing some kid borrowed his dad's boots, which of course, are miles too big.”
Disappointed that what we thought was a clue wasn’t one at all, we continued on to the lake hand in hand. The path eventually wound around to a small clearing at the edge of the lake, almost identical to the one where I’d camped as a child on the opposite side. The same spot where Henry had died. Galloway stood on the shore for a moment, cupping his eyes against the glare of the sun reflected off the ice, before dropping his arms and scouring the ground.
“Too bad it snowed,” he sighed. “Even though it wasn’t a heavy downfall, it’s enough to obscure fresh tracks and hide any shell casings.”
I followed his line of sight. You could see where someone had walked, possibly the kid with his dad's boots. There was certainly a lot of traffic back and forth, but the snow had partially filled in the boot prints, and there were some larger indentations too. I pointed to one. “What do you think that’s from?”
“Either someone kneeling or sitting perhaps?” He guessed.
“In the snow?”
“Could be the kid, sitting to pull his boots back on. I bet he went home with wet socks and cold feet.”
“It was lucky he didn’t stumble across the shooter.” It was a troubling thought. Would the shooter have killed a kid to keep his identity a secret? If he’d been prepared to shoot poor innocent Henry who’d never hurt a fly, I shuddered to think what would have happened if the child and the killer had crossed paths.
“This is something we can work with, though,” Galloway said. “Whoever’s kid was out here yesterday may have seen something, heard something.”
“We really need to get a look at Bobby Vaughn’s CCTV.” There were no clues to be gathered from here, other than evidence that someone had been in this spot, directly opposite where Henry had been shot, sometime within the last twenty-four hours. Bobby’s camera, the way it was positioned at the driveway, would capture every car that passed. And any kid on a bike.
“You know what else is puzzling?” It was a rhetorical question since I already had the answer. “Why a kid was out this far in the first place. It’s a heck of a long way to come, either on foot or bicycle. So if you were some kid wanting to go exploring in the woods, play in the snow, there are far closer places.”
“Maybe someone else lives out this way now? I know Dwight said the Vaughn’s were the only ones, but it’s worth looking into. You said you only come out to the lake house at Christmas now. A lot of things can change between visits.” Galloway pointed out. He was right, so many things could have changed within the space of a year—probably had.
It started to snow, soft flakes dropping on my hair and face, and I grinned, turning my face up to the sky. Galloway placed a cool kiss on my cheek and grabbed my hand. “Come on, let’s head back before this flurry becomes anything more serious.”
“We going back to the Vaughn’s?” I asked, accepting his help to stay upright as we trudged through the snow back to the parking lot. He shook his head.
“Not yet. Something tells me they aren’t too amenable to your presence. I’ll go back later, or point the Sheriff in the right direction if he hasn’t figured it out for himself.”
I snorted. Doubtful Dwight would think to call in on the Vaughn’s concerning Henry’s murder.
“Where to then?”
“Into town for a hot chocolate.”
While I liked the sound of that, it didn’t seem like he was in any hurry to find Henry’s killer. “We should have brought a thermos,” I muttered.
“Not ‘cos I’m thirsty. Where else can we get all the gossip on what’s happened in Willow Lake in the last twelve months, hmmm?”
“Oh! The bakery!”
“Exactly.”
6
I stood inside the door of the local bakery, breathing in the scent of freshly baked goods, and, my nirvana, coffee. Memories of my childhood flooded my mind. Dustin, Laura, and I had spent many a morning or afternoon here, milkshakes in the summertime, hot chocolate in winter. Back then, we’d come to the lake house several times a year, and it saddened me that our visits had slowly dwindled to the Christmas holidays. Galloway was right. A lot could change, heck, a lot had changed.
Heads swiveled when the bell above the door jangled, announci
ng our presence. After a brief silence and perusal of the new arrivals, the noise and chatter started up again. Easing out of my coat, I hung it up on the rack by the door, tugging off my gloves to shove them in my coat pockets.
“Audrey Fitzgerald, good to see you, Love.” I glanced up to see Blanche Donnelly approaching.
“Ms. Donnelly,” I smiled, delighted to see the older woman. She was tall and willowy, her gray hair pulled up into a bun, yet the way she moved told me she was fit, not riddled with pain and arthritis as some women her age. I put her to be somewhere in her seventies now. “Good to see you too. How have you been?”
“Oh, can’t complain. Well, I could,” she winked, “but no one would listen.”
“Pft, don’t listen to her.” Elspeth Copeland joined us. Elspeth was the same vintage as Blanche, somewhere in her seventies, but physically they were chalk and cheese. Whereas Blanche was tall and slim, her pants neatly pressed with a crease down the front, her blouse and blazer immaculate, Elspeth was just shy of five feet, with a stocky build and dreadlocks. Her pants were wrinkled, her hand-knitted sweater stained, her glasses rocking a cat wing design with diamantes at the corners. She was far from restrained, and yet the unlikely duo were best friends. I vaguely remember hearing they’d served in the war together, Vietnam, I think, and had cemented their friendship amongst gunfire and bloodied bodies. Or so I’d heard.
“Ms. Copeland,” I smiled at the disheveled woman. ‘It’s fantastic to see you again.”
“And who is this young man?” Elspeth asked, eyeing Galloway as if he were a cold glass of water, and she was parched.
“You know full well who that is, Elspeth,” Blanche admonished. “Willow Lake is buzzing with gossip that young Audrey here finally has a beau.”
My face heated with embarrassment, and I wished the ground would open up and swallow me whole. Gah, I wasn’t even thirty yet, hardly a spinster. Galloway wrapped his arm around my waist and squeezed.
“Kade Galloway at your service,” he introduced himself.
“I’m Blanche Donnelly, and this is Elspeth Copeland,” Blanche shot me a look, silently admonishing me for my lack of manners. My face got even hotter.