An Equal Measure of Murder

by B. T. Lord

  The novella first mentions the murder of the five teenagers back in 1954 that featured in this latest Twin Ponds mystery. You don’t need to read it to follow what happens here, but it’s a freebie and we all love freebies!

  Because I enjoy reading and writing paranormals, I am SO excited to announce that Deputy Ellis Martin and the Coffin Islands will be featured in their own series. Don’t worry, I’m not abandoning Cammie and Twin Ponds. She’s been through a lot lately, and I think she and Jace can use a well-deserved rest. My plan is to alternate between both series – one Twin Ponds Mystery, followed by a Coffin Islands Paranormal Mystery, then back to Twin Ponds and so on. I hope you enjoy Ellis and his adventures as much as you’ve enjoyed Cammie’s.

  In the meantime, please feel free to like my Facebook page https://www.facebook.com/BTLordWriter/

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  If you like these books, please think about leaving a review on Amazon. Your reviews help others find their way to Twin Ponds and the Coffin Islands. Thanks so much!

  And now, without further ado, here is a preview of the first Coffin Islands Paranormal Mystery, The Man in the Snow.

  Book 1 in the

  Coffin Islands Paranormal Mysteries

  ***

  The Man in the Snow

  ***

  Available June 2018

  PROLOGUE

  Sarke Island, part of

  The Coffin Islands off the coast of Maine

  Winter had finally come to Sarke Island.

  Leona Fenwick pushed aside the lace curtains and looked out at the snow. It had started six hours earlier as a light dusting. Now it was falling at a thicker pace, creating almost white-out conditions whenever the wind blew up.

  The microwave dinged, and Leona let the curtain fall back in place. She padded to the kitchen in her stocking feet and set about making herself a nice warm cup of tea. In weather like this, she liked nothing better than to curl up in front of the wood stove and sip her cardamom cinnamon tea while reading the newest New York Times bestseller.

  Looking about her, she once again felt validated in her push to get her new home finished before the snows fell. Leona was a woman who knew what she wanted, when she wanted and allowed no one to get in her way. She ignored the workers’ warnings that they’d never get her modular home up according to her time table. She especially ignored the warnings she’d received from the locals over the location she’d picked to construct her new home. They couldn’t possibly understand that, after living for the past forty years in a closet that passed for an apartment in Manhattan, this location and house was her dream. A dream she wouldn’t permit anyone to keep from being realized.

  She stood at the granite counter and poured a packet of raw stevia into her steeping tea. She thought back to the arguments she’d had with her neighbors over her decision to take down a grove of old growth trees in order to have a pond constructed.

  “You don’t know what you’ll be unleashing,” she’d been told. “There are things in those woods that shouldn’t be disturbed.”

  She’d laughed in their faces. This was her property, and if she wanted to tear down every damned tree on her seven acres, she’d do it. No ridiculous superstition was going to prevent her from turning her vision into reality.

  It didn’t matter that her vision materialized only last year when she’d randomly flipped through a magazine in her dentist’s office and come across an article on the Coffin Islands. There were four isles that made up the Coffins; Sarke was the largest and it was the photographs of the beautiful, almost primeval forest in the interior of the island that mesmerized her. Was it possible that such a tranquil oasis existed just two hours off the coast of Portland, Maine?

  She was so taken with the article that she stuffed the magazine inside her pocketbook when no one was looking. Shortly afterwards, her father passed away, leaving her enough of an inheritance that she could sell her art gallery. As far as she was concerned, the sudden bequest was a sign to her to escape the rat race and retire to a peaceful, bucolic location. Sarke fit the bill perfectly.

  Leona took a sip of tea and smiled. It had been a nightmare badgering the men to get the house completed, but in the end, it was worth it. While the snows fiercely blew outside, inside her cozy home, she was warm and comfortable. Surrounded by her favorite artwork and books, she’d finally found a little piece of paradise.

  She padded back across the huge open concept room and grabbed her hardcover. The wind came up, setting off the lovely sound of the wind chimes she’d set up on her porch. She glanced out the window one more time, looking up at the increasingly heavy snow fall. Thankfully she had a man who would come by when the storm was over and plow her out. She’d also been smart enough to have a generator rigged up to a switch that would allow her to keep her electricity in case it went out. All she needed to do was ride out the storm ensconced in her snug cocoon.

  She started to turn away when a movement caught her eye. Looking down the small incline at the back of her house that led towards the pond, she scowled.

  “That’s impossible,” she said aloud to herself as she squinted though the glass.

  On the other side of the frozen water, near where she’d put a bench was what looked suspiciously like a snowman peeking out from the trees. It was the red scarf tied around its neck that grabbed her attention.

  That was strange. She didn’t remember seeing it there earlier. Then again, she hadn’t exactly been looking for a snowman each time she’d peeked outside to gauge the intensity of the storm.

  Her temper immediately ignited. She’d posted No Trespassing signs up everywhere. How dare the local kids think they could come onto her land and build a wretched snowman? Especially when there were hundreds of acres elsewhere they could choose to build one on.

  They’re trying to scare me. They need me to believe their nonsense about this land being cursed.

  It wasn’t happening. She didn’t scare easily. Living in Manhattan all those years made her confident she could deal with a bunch of rowdy kids. Whoever built the snowman had to still be out there. And she intended to let them know, in no uncertain terms, that she would not allow trespassing on her property.

  Putting her tea down on a nearby end table, Leona stomped over to the backdoor where she threw on her hat, coat and gloves. Shoving her feet into a pair of boots, she let herself out onto the back porch. She was immediately assaulted by the driving wind and snow. Yet, her anger remained implacable. If she didn’t put a stop to this now, they’d think they could come onto her land whenever they wanted, disrespecting her and her home.

  She carefully pushed her way through the snow that had accumulated on the back stairs. Unable to see where the last step was, she continually felt with the toe of her boot to make sure she was on solid ground. Once she was sure she was at the bottom, she waded through the drifts that reached up past her knees.

  She stopped once when the wind blew up, sending tiny needles of cold snow against her cheeks and down the back of her coat. Her discomfort only egged on her resentment. If it wasn’t for these damned kids ignoring the law, she’d be inside her warm house, drinking a soothing cup of tea and losing herself in the pages of her book. Instead she was tramping along in knee-high snow during the middle of a violent snowstorm.

  It took Leona several minutes to awkwardly make her way towards the pond. Once she arrived, she pursed her half-frozen lips in frustration.

  The snowman was gone.

  Had she imagined it?

  Her eyes scanned the white landscape as she tried to decide what to do. She could always head back to the shelter of her house, or she could loop around the pond and see what was going on. It had to be locals having fun at her expense. The sooner she put a stop to this, the sooner they
’d realize she was not a woman to be trifled with. Once she made that clear, they’d leave her and her property alone.

  Leona pushed herself through the snow. Her muscles ached with exertion as she struggled to walk. She stopped to catch her breath and looked out to the other side of the pond.

  There it is again!

  “Get off my land right now before I call the police!” she shouted. The snowman stood perfectly still, blending in with the snow, the edges of his shape blurring together with the falling wall of white.

  They stood staring at each other across the small body of frozen water. Then it disappeared again behind a gust of wind driven snow.

  This only fueled her fury. Without thinking, Leona forced herself forward, ignoring the cold, the snow, the numbness in her toes and face. She was going to have it out with whoever was here. Then she was going to call the police and have them arrest this trespasser.

  She reached the spot where the snowman had been. She looked around, shielding her eyes from the snow with her gloved hand.

  “What kind of a coward are you?” she screamed. “You can’t come out here and face me?”

  Her eyes roamed the woods. Still she saw nothing. She looked back and noticed the trail she’d made through the accumulating snow to reach this spot. She turned to where she’d seen the figure. For the first time she realized there was no trail where the snowman had been standing. No bootprints, no disturbance of the snow. Nothing.

  What the hell?

  Had she honestly imagined seeing the snowman? Had the storm somehow created some kind of an optical illusion?

  The wind pummeled against her as she stood in the ever-growing pile of snow.

  Well, hadn’t that been a ridiculous adventure? All that work of trudging through a snowstorm only to find out it was all a waste of time. It was a trick of the storm. Nothing more.

  She needed to head back. She was exhausted, she could no longer feel her extremities, and she still needed to dig into whatever reserves of energy she had left to trudge through the snow to get to the porch.

  Leona turned and started retracing her steps through the trail she’d forged. She came to an abrupt stop when she saw the snowman standing just where the trail looped around the pond.

  It was closer.

  The wind died down enough for her to see it fully for the first time. Her heart pounded when she realized it wasn’t a snowman. Nor was it local kids playing a prank.

  It was a man, dressed in white fur, his face hidden within a hood.

  She blinked.

  He was gone.

  Oh my God. Were the locals right? Is this land cursed?

  Fear set in. Leona turned and plowed her way in the opposite direction, her arms flailing as she struggled to make her way through the ever deepening snow. It was falling heavier now, blinding her, weighing her down. Her breath was ragged and painful. She fought to ignore it. She had to make it around the pond. She didn’t know how or why, but if she could get past the pond, she’d be safe. That whoever was out there wouldn’t follow her. The pond was the boundary he would not cross.

  Leona’s tears froze to her cheeks as she came around the far side of the pond. She could just make out the porch and the path she’d made earlier. Just a little further and she’d be alright. Once she was inside, she’d call the police and insist they come out there to investigate.

  The wind came up in a roar, howling in her ears. The trees bent and swayed beneath its fury. Suddenly, an excruciating cold shot through her chest. Frigidness spread throughout her body. She tried to force herself to keep going, to get around the pond and safety, but her body refused to move any further. It crumpled in on itself and she found herself falling to the ground like a broken rag doll. Leona struggled to breathe as the cold within her spread throughout her lungs.

  A shadow fell over her. She looked up and tried to scream, but the relentless cold was in her throat. No sound escaped, not even a whimper.

  Her thoughts raced in a thousand different directions, trying to make sense of the nonsensical. One thought stood out from the others, hammering at her.

  Oh God, the stories were true. They were actually true!

  A face bent down over hers, blending in and out of the snow. She tried to beg for her life, to beg for forgiveness, to promise she would tear down her house and never return.

  But it was too late.

  Leona saw the white settle upon her, suffocating her until there was no breath left.

  The last thing she saw was the hideous grin until that too blended in with the falling snow.

  A few days later, Joss and Cheryl Simmons were driving down the road towards the small school where they were teachers. After days of intermittent snow fall and warming temperatures, the sun was now out, almost blinding them as it shone against the white snow.

  They were running late, a fact that left Cheryl in an irritated state. She hated being late for school – she taught fifth grade English and always liked to be in the classroom before the bell in case some of the students needed to speak to her. She’d developed a rapport with her kids, and it wasn’t unusual for them to pop in just before class to talk about an assignment. There was one girl in particular who Cheryl had her eye on. She knew the youngster was having a hard time with her parents’ divorce and she’d reached out several times. She had a feeling she was finally getting through the girl’s hard exterior that she knew hid a hurting heart. Her instincts told her the girl would be seeking her out, which added to her frustration at being late.

  It was Joss’s fault. He’d forgotten to set the alarm the night before. Now they were risking their SUV going off the snow packed road in order to get to work on time.

  Along the road they travelled lay a huge pond. Cheryl never tired of looking at its serene beauty, no matter the season. Despite her exasperation, she turned in her seat and looked across Joss to take it in. It was then she saw it.

  “Joss, look!” she exclaimed. He slowed down and gazed out his window.

  “Oh gosh,” he murmured. He immediately pulled over.

  A Canadian goose flapped its wings furiously, desperate to tear its feet free from the ice where it had become trapped.

  “We have to do something!” Cheryl insisted.

  They were both animal lovers. Joss didn’t need his wife’s prompting to jump out of the SUV and run around to the back.

  Cheryl joined him just as he took out a towel and a chainsaw.

  “You’re going to need to put the towel over the goose while I cut away the ice,” he ordered. “Be careful. They can be very dangerous, and we don’t want to stress it any more than we have to.”

  The two carefully made their way over the ice as the goose began to squawk even louder. Cheryl managed to get the towel around its body and head, holding on for dear life as the goose fought against her.

  “Hurry!” she called out. “I don’t know how much longer I can hold on!”

  Joss immediately got the chainsaw going and began to cut into the ice. Despite the loud, jarring noise, Cheryl cooed to the bird and managed to calm it somewhat. Watching her husband work, all thought of getting to school on time was forgotten as she prayed they’d get the bird to the vet in time to save it.

  Suddenly Joss cried out in fright. He backed up so quickly, the chainsaw flew out of his hands as he lost his footing on the ice and fell backwards.

  “Oh my Lord!” he bellowed.

  “What is it? What’s happened?” Cheryl shouted.

  “There’s – there’s a face under the ice!”

  “That’s impossible.”

  He got up, turned off the chainsaw and came over to his wife. “Take a look for yourself while I hold the bird.”

  Cheryl looked into his eyes and saw the tension and dismay. Still convinced he was imagining things, they switched places. She stepped slowly towards the spot where he’d been working. Brushing away the shaved ice brought up by the chainsaw, she peered down. The teacher swallowed the scream as she clapped her gloved h
and over her mouth. At that moment, Cheryl wished she’d never doubted her husband.

  The face of a woman lay just beneath the surface, her lifeless eyes staring up through the cracked ice. It was her features though that would haunt Cheryl for the rest of her life. Her expression was frozen into a grotesque contortion of fear and horror.