But I had to get in better shape. I’d promised Cecile. I’d promised myself. I was going to get as strong as I could, be in the best shape possible. I couldn’t help but think a face-off was coming. I was going to be ready.
I hadn’t heard from Mill again. I hoped she was okay. I suspected she was. The police had lost the man she’d shot; everyone was working from the assumption that he had, indeed, been Travis Walker, my kidnapper.
I hadn’t told anyone about the memory of my kidnapper’s words: None of you Rivers people ever listen. Along with my physical fitness, I was working on my memories. I wanted to remember—maybe that would be enough. Maybe wanting to face terrible things would allow them to surface, and then go away again when I wanted them to. I was either getting better or worse, but I hadn’t been able to bring back that moment.
Dr. Genero was calling me later today, just to check in, she said. I would tell her I was fine.
Wanda was gone. Randy was trying to understand what had happened. He was struggling with what Paul, Audrey, and his wife had done, and also how Wanda had been right there the whole time. He knew he should have recognized his cousin’s wife’s body. He should have known it was Audrey, but even now, he couldn’t see the woman he’d once known as being the frozen body found in the shed. Gril reminded Randy that he hadn’t recognized the body, either, and he had met Audrey briefly before leaving town to attend to his wife’s funeral. Denial mixed with the passing of time were all they could chalk it up to. Donner didn’t recognize or remember her either, and he got the best look at her body. He hadn’t been working with Gril six years earlier, but he’d lived in Benedict.
Denial. Boy, I knew plenty about that.
Lane was … I wasn’t sure. Gril would figure out a way for him to remain living where he was, but it would take some policy changes; the land did, indeed, belong to the State of Alaska.
The road was clear, though, and he was going to see more people coming his direction. He’d been fine making his way into town if he needed something, and then hiking back home. He’d enjoyed the road to his place being cut off, and I guessed he wished for another mudslide to keep traffic away. He had lots of healing to do himself. Wanda had messed up many lives.
I had run all the way to the Petition. Well, almost. I stopped just as I caught sight of Orin’s truck at the library. He was fine. In fact, he’d been not only shot before, but stabbed, too. He’d shown me the scars, proudly.
I was relieved he was okay, but every time I tried to say those words aloud, tears burned behind my eyes. I couldn’t bear the thought of him not being here.
Satisfied that he would stop by later for a shot of whiskey and some conversation, I turned my attention to the Petition building—just as someone was walking out of its door. There was no vehicle parked outside my shed.
“Hey!” I said as I hurried toward Tex Southern.
He looked over at me, smiled, and waved. “Beth, hello.”
“How did you get in there?”
“I just turned the knob,” he said. “It was unlocked. I left you a note, but I’m glad to see you in person.”
I was rattled. I’d left the door unlocked? To my knowledge, I’d never left any Benedict doors unlocked. I looked at Tex, at the door, back at Tex. He didn’t seem to be making it up.
“I usually lock the door.”
“Um. I apologize if I shouldn’t have gone inside.”
“No, no, it’s okay,” I said. I should have invited him in again, but I couldn’t rouse up any manners. “What’s up?”
“Oh. I just wanted to thank you. You saved my daughters.”
“Well, I don’t know about that, but it was certainly a pleasure to meet you all.” I tried to smile. The panic was dissipating a little. I looked down the road. “Mind if I ask what’s going to happen with Lane?”
“Sure. We’re working things out.” Tex looked out toward Lane’s, too. “The girls are at his house now. I walked here. By the time I get back, they’ll be ready to go home, back to Brayn. Your town doctor has been working with them. They have both said a few words. It’s going to take some time, but I think we’ll get there.”
“That’s the best news I’ve ever heard,” I said. “Really wonderful.”
“Well, thank you again, Beth,” he said as he slipped his hands into his jeans pockets. “I … uh, wondered if you’d like to join us in Brayn for dinner. I’m a really good cook and the girls want to see you again.”
I blinked at Tex. Our eyes locked for a moment, and just like in those sappy movies, the rest of the world fell away. But just for an instant. My reality always found its way back.
“I would love to. Thank you.” I sounded so excited, but I didn’t care. Not that I ever had been, but I certainly wasn’t into games or playing hard to get now. I was going to live authentic moments. If I was excited, I was going to damn well show it.
“Wow.” Tex cleared his throat. “I mean, that’s wonderful. Maybe this Saturday?”
“I’ll be there. What can I bring?”
“Just you, Beth. That will be perfect. I’ll come get you.”
“No, I’ll drive there. I like the drive.”
“Great. See you then.” Tex turned and started walking down the road, toward Lane’s house and those fateful mudslides.
I watched him a long moment.
“What just happened?” I muttered quietly. I answered myself just as quietly. “Well, this should be interesting.”
With a silly skip in my step and Tex out of sight now, I hurried inside the shed. It seemed fine, no different than I’d left it the night before. I thought back to the previous evening. I’d been in a hurry to pick up Ellen for another knitting class. She was already out-knitting me by about twenty scarves. She would probably be here through the winter, and that would be the best thing that ever happened to her. Viola told me that she’d passed her test already. The Benedict House was reopened to low-level female felons. Either I needed to find another place to live, or I was probably going to have more criminal roommates soon. I didn’t want to leave.
I didn’t remember leaving the Petition’s door unlocked, but I didn’t remember the specific moments of locking it, either.
I walked to my desk and saw Tex’s note. No, there were two notes, both of them folded with my name printed on each outside flap. Beth.
I opened the first one. It read, “I stopped by to say thanks. Hope you are well. Talk to you soon. Tex.”
I smiled too goofily for my own good, glad we’d been able to talk in person.
But then I opened the second note. It read “Travis Walker”—and then listed an address in Missouri.
There was no signature. I had no idea who wrote the note, but the only person who possibly should have was Gril. He and I hadn’t discussed Travis’s name, but he might have known, might have talked to Detective Majors. I looked at the door. I looked at the note. Had someone picked the lock and left me the note with the address?
I threw it back onto the desk. Who was giving me Travis Walker’s address?
I fell into my chair, sick to my stomach. Then I stood and locked the door. I slipped a chair under the knob.
I grabbed my burner phone and sent a text, hoping Mill would answer soon.
Acknowledgments
As always, thank you to my agent, Jessica Faust. I continue to be amazed by and grateful for you.
A special thank-you to two editor Hannahs, Hannah Braaten and Hannah O’Grady. I can’t believe how fortunate I am to know and have worked with both of you.
Isn’t this cover amazing? Thank you to Jonathan Bush, the cover designer, who even hand lettered the words. You are so talented.
Thanks to copyeditor Ivy McFadden.
Any mistakes I made and any exaggerations I might have included, particularly about ice caves, are mine alone and things I thought necessary for the story line.
As I finish up the edits of this book, the world is in the middle of unreal events. I’m sure that most writers hope to
offer readers an escape, perhaps something else to think about while we’re staying home, staying safe. Writing these stories certainly helps me cope. If I could have a wish, it would be that reading them also offers some sort of break from reality. Thank you, readers, for coming along for the ride.
My family has been my rock. Thank you to Charlie, Tyler, and Lauren—and even Lola. I love you all, so very much.
ALSO BY PAIGE SHELTON
ALASKA WILD SERIES
Thin Ice
SCOTTISH BOOKSHOP MYSTERY SERIES
The Cracked Spine
Of Books and Bagpipes
A Christmas Tartan (a mini-mystery)
Lost Books and Old Bones
The Loch Ness Papers
The Stolen Letter
COUNTRY COOKING SCHOOL MYSTERY SERIES
If Fried Chicken Could Fly
If Mashed Potatoes Could Dance
If Bread Could Rise to the Occasion
If Catfish Had Nine Lives
If Onions Could Spring Leeks
FARMERS’ MARKET MYSTERY SERIES
Farm Fresh Murder
Fruit of All Evil
Crops and Robbers
A Killer Maize
Red Hot Deadly Peppers (a mini-mystery)
Merry Market Murder
Bushel Full of Murder
DANGEROUS TYPE MYSTERY SERIES
To Helvetica and Back
Bookman Dead Style
Comic Sans Murder
About the Author
PAIGE SHELTON had a nomadic childhood, as her father’s job as a football coach took her family to seven different towns before she was even twelve years old. After college at Drake University in Des Moines, Iowa, she moved to Salt Lake City. She thought she’d only stay a couple years, but instead she fell in love with the mountains and a great guy who became her husband. After many decades in Utah, she and her family moved to Arizona. In addition to the Alaska Wild series, she writes the Scottish Bookshop Mystery series, which begins with The Cracked Spine. Her other series include the Farmers’ Market, Cooking School, and Dangerous Type mystery series.
Find out more at paigeshelton.com, or sign up for email updates here.
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Contents
Title Page
Copyright Notice
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Acknowledgments
Also by Paige Shelton
About the Author
Copyright
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
First published in the United States by Minotaur Books, an imprint of St. Martin’s Publishing Group
COLD WIND. Copyright © 2020 by Paige Shelton. All rights reserved. For information, address St. Martin’s Publishing Group, 120 Broadway, New York, NY 10271.
www.minotaurbooks.com
Cover design by Jonathan Bush
Cover photographs: cabin © plainpicture/Willing-Holt; sky © Kanuman/Shutterstock.com; background © sergio34/Shutterstock.com; ice © dataichi—Simon Dubreuil/Getty Images
The Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available upon request.
ISBN 978-1-250-29531-6 (hardcover)
ISBN 978-1-250-29532-3 (ebook)
eISBN 9781250295323
Our ebooks may be purchased in bulk for promotional, educational, or business use. Please contact your local bookseller or the Macmillan Corporate and Premium Sales Department at 1-800-221-7945, extension 5442, or by email at [email protected].
First Edition: 2020
Cold Wind Page 27