“Using Master Tripp’s rustic bread,” River began, “I spread a blend of butter and mayonnaise on the exterior and filled the interior with generous and equal amounts of grated Colby, Monterey Jack, and sharp white cheddar.”
“You can’t get much more Wisconsin than that.” Rosalyn gave him a thumbs up and then cut her grilled cheese into four strips.
River watched her. “I don’t recall ever seeing anyone slice a sandwich in that fashion.”
“She’s been doing that since she was a kid,” I told him. “She calls them divers.”
“That’s because they dive into the soup.” Rosalyn demonstrated the proper technique of dunking the strip into her bowl, hovering it there to release any drips, and finally swooping it up to her mouth.
“I’d forgotten you do that.” Dad gave her a nostalgic smile and followed suit.
This was the perfect comforting lunch for a snowy day. Everyone chatted with those next to them about miscellaneous topics. Millie seemed enchanted by Morgan and was asking her question after question about what it was like to be pregnant. Dad and Briar leaned toward each other, chatting and laughing, and I wondered for the hundredth time why they’d never gotten together. Tripp and Rosalyn took turns grilling Jonah about the political world in Madison.
When River asked me, “How did your excursion to find the missing vehicle turn out?” talk around the table ceased, and all eyes turned to me.
I didn’t want to open a discussion about the alleged missing car. There were too many unknowns, and I was still trying to answer the same three questions. Had the woman upstairs, whether driver or passenger, been thrown and there really was a vehicle in a snowbank somewhere? Had she been pushed, and the driver drove off? Or had the woman jumped and wandered through the blizzard?
Since I had more questions than answers, I left it at, “We didn’t find a vehicle or even any sign of one. We did find Benji, though.”
“Benji?” Briar repeated. “What happened to him?”
I gave them the abbreviated version of that near fiasco and praised Tripp for thinking of the heater vent.
“Thank the Goddess you found him.” Briar placed her knobby hands over her heart. “And perhaps the vehicle in question didn’t crash.”
“Yes,” Morgan agreed. “Let’s hope everyone involved made it safely through the storm.”
“The problem is—” I stopped myself before saying anything more about the woman upstairs or how she ended up here. “Nothing. Yes, let’s hope you’re right, Briar.”
Jonah cleared his throat. “Since you didn’t find anything, have you considered that there may be nothing to find? You’re assuming there was a car accident. How do you know she didn’t escape a house and stumble through the woods?”
“Are you insinuating,” Morgan began, “that she was held by one of the villagers?”
Jonah, ever the lawyer, held his hands in the air, planting reasonable doubt in the jury’s mind but making no real accusations.
Murmurs of disagreement from those who knew this village floated around the table. I didn’t believe that was what had happened either, but I couldn’t dismiss it as impossible. After all, until today I never would’ve expected Abner to do what he’d done to Benji.
Lifting a spoonful of soup to my mouth, I glanced across the table and found a familiar judgmental expression on Jonah’s face. It immediately took me back to any political event we’d ever gone to together. Those who knew I was an officer inevitably asked about cases. People loved to hear stories, the stranger or gorier the better. Jonah started to realize that if a crowd had gathered around me, it was because I was relaying a story. He’d come stand by my side, his hand at my back with his fingertips digging in. That was the sign that he didn’t approve of my behavior.
“They asked,” I’d say in my own defense when we got in the car later.
“That doesn’t mean you need to take the stage like a sideshow act. It’s not proper.”
“It’s a local law enforcement officer assuring the public that we’re doing our jobs and protecting them from the bad guy. How is that improper?”
He’d turn and glare at me. “At my events, I dictate the conversations. If you and your brothers in blue ever invite me to anything, you can talk about whatever you want.”
That was the look coming at me now from across the table. Somewhere between, “You always need to be in the spotlight, don’t you?” and “This is not a discussion a lady should be having.”
When we’d finished eating, we all cleared the table, and then I helped with clean up.
“No need for you to do that, Proprietress,” River insisted and tried to remove the dishcloth from my hands.
I held on tight. “I want to. The soup helped a lot, but I’m still chilled from being out in the storm. Washing dishes in hot soapy water will finish the job.”
“Very well.” He bowed and stepped away. When Morgan wouldn’t let him take over for her, he asked, “Is there nothing I can do to assist?”
“He’s becoming so domestic.” Morgan handed him a damp dishcloth. “You can wipe off the dining room table and set it for dinner.” She ruffled his hair. “Then you can go play with the other boys.”
He kissed her mouth and then her belly and murmured to its occupant, “Your mommy is trying to get rid of me.”
“Only so I can have some girl time with Jayne.” When he left to take care of his task, she moved closer to me. “What are you looking at? I noticed you were studying the group quite intently while we ate, and now something in the great room has your attention. Is it the comment Jonah made about a villager holding the woman hostage?”
“I wouldn’t be doing my job if I didn’t consider all options, but no, I don’t think that’s what happened. I’m looking at Jonah and Millie.” I pointed to where they stood near the windows facing the lake. “They’re not together.”
She cocked her head to the side, searching for what I saw. “Why do you say that?”
“Rosalyn told me she’d heard of Millie before. I guess she and Jonah were the up-and-coming ‘it’ couple in the Madison political circles. If you watch them here, though, there’s not a lot of interaction between them. There’s no physical contact, not even hand holding. If they do talk to each other, there’s little eye contact, and he tends to turn away from her. He also lowers his head when she speaks to him.”
Something, I just realized, he used to do to me if I tried to talk about my day at work.
Morgan watched them and hummed her agreement. “I see what you mean. What is head lowering indicative of?”
I touched the top of my head. “This is the hardest part of the skull. Animals butt the crowns of their heads together when fighting.”
“You think he’s looking for a fight?”
I laughed. “Jonah always loved a good debate. It could also mean he’s expecting a confrontation and is preparing for it.”
“Couldn’t it also be a sign of submission?”
I hadn’t considered that. “I would never describe Jonah Price as submissive, but you’re right.”
“Either way, it sounds as though you may be on to something. Perhaps they’re having problems or Jonah is stressed.” She observed them for a moment. Looking for more of the indicators I’d pointed out? “It could also be a simple argument. Or Millie may be uncomfortable being in your home. She must know about Jonah’s history with you.”
“I hadn’t thought of that. I’ll try to have a chat with her.”
Maybe Millie could tell me why they were here. I assumed that Jonah instigated the visit, but it’s possible it was her doing. Why, though? To learn more about the woman from Jonah’s past? To poke at me for some reason? Did she think I regretted leaving him and would be jealous that she now had him? Or it might have nothing to do with me. Why come here then? There were thousands of other options between Madison and St. Cloud no matter which route was taken.
Try shifting your perspective, Jayne in my head suggested. Let Sheriff Jayne ta
ke a look.
Okay. Sheriff Jayne saw the potential signs of an abuser. Or, at minimum, a control freak. Dictating what I could talk about at parties. Trying to transform me into the kind of woman he wanted. Being unsupportive to the point of derogatory about the career I loved. His obvious dislike of Meeka and the thinly veiled threat against her. Blaming me or someone else for him getting upset. It was always someone else’s fault.
My blood ran cold. Both for myself and Millie because I hadn’t seen it before. I’d been so focused on helping the public and proving myself worthy of being named detective, especially after Frisky Fox died, that I didn’t see the signs. I brushed it off as him being as stressed as I was. Toward the end, we were both working crazy hours and barely saw each other. My gut knew, though. If I hadn’t listened to my instincts and left when I did, what would my life be now?
We were almost done with kitchen cleanup when Mr. Powell’s voice called for me over the walkie talkie.
“The county plows are here making a pass along the highway. Hate to call you back out, but you’ll want to come.”
Just when I’d finally warmed up. “Why? What’s going on?”
Everyone had stopped talking and gathered a little closer to hear the answer.
“They found a car in the ditch out past the hotels.”
Chapter 15
Once again, Schmitty met Tripp and me at the intersection of the driveway and the highway. He didn’t even ask where we were going this time. He already knew and motioned for us to follow. A quarter mile past the row of four hotels right along the lake, we found another snowplow and a pickup truck. Someone had set up road flares, for all the good they did in these conditions. A bonfire would have better served the purpose today.
The accident was technically outside my jurisdiction. The hotel closest to the village marked the end of Whispering Pines’ border, but since law enforcement officers could assist with crimes anywhere, it was fine that I took this call. It didn’t make sense for anyone else—most likely Deputy Evan Atkins since they always sent him here—to risk their lives when I could get there faster. Although, speed was a relative concept today.
Tripp gave a low whistle when we pulled up next to the other vehicles. “Amazing what a shift of the wind can do. We drove right past it and had no idea it was here.”
The car, a red Honda Civic according to the tag on the rear, had settled into the ditch which put it about five feet lower than the road. It had come to a stop next to a medium-sized pine tree. I’d noticed the tree earlier because the snow and ice had weighed its branches down so much it was bent at almost a forty-five-degree angle. There had been no indication of a vehicle being down there, however.
Schmitty told me the other plow driver found the car, so I climbed into the cab of the county truck to speak with him.
“I only saw the back end,” Henry Abbott stated. “There wasn’t a whole lot of it exposed. If it was a lighter color, silver or white, in particular, I might not have seen it at all. I tried calling your office but got no answer. I know Mr. Powell, have for years, and figured he’d be able to reach you.”
“This will probably be a strange question,” I began, “but was there anyone around? Or anything unusual that you noticed?”
“You mean other than the woman in the driver’s seat?”
My head snapped toward him. Mr. Powell only mentioned the vehicle. He hadn’t said anything about a driver. “The driver’s in there?”
“Yeah.” He paused, staring at the site. “Because of all the blowing snow, I couldn’t tell if it had just happened or if she’d been there a while. I’ve come across all sorts of accidents while plowing so know not to assume anything. I hurried over there with a shovel and pulled the snow away from the door.” He paused, turning a little green. “Sorta wished I hadn’t done that.”
“Did you touch her at all?”
“You mean to check for a pulse or whatever? No! God no. No need to.”
My heart stuttered at his reaction. “What do you mean?”
He nodded at the wreck. “Go see for yourself.”
I asked if he’d stick around for a bit in case we needed his help with anything or if I had more questions. He turned from a little green to pea-green but agreed to stay.
Mr. Powell had also trudged through the snow—knee-deep in some places, thigh-deep in others—so there was a halfway decent pathway for me to walk through.
Tripp, in full protector mode and therefore not willing to be more than five feet from me, followed me along the path. Echoing Henry’s thoughts, I sorta wished he hadn’t.
He half-gasped, half-groaned when we got close. He stared, shocked and unblinking.
Not only had the car come to rest by the tree, one of the branches had gone through the windshield. Having lived with Wiccans for eight months now, I couldn’t help but wonder which events were simply bad luck and which were karma having its way with a person. Or if there was even a difference. The branch went directly through the center of the woman’s chest. If I’d ever seen a “died instantly” accident, this was it. At least I sure hoped she died instantly.
“You okay?” I stood in front of Tripp to block his view and raised my voice over the sometimes-howling wind.
He nodded but didn’t respond verbally.
“Go back to the road. You don’t need to be here.”
“I’m okay,” he insisted more to motivate himself than to convince me. “You might need help.”
His bodyguard persona was very sweet, but this accident was intense. The roadside was five feet away. There was no reason he had to stay right at my side.
“Then at least turn away,” I ordered. I had, unfortunately, seen my fair share of dead bodies in various conditions. It never got any easier, but I had learned to deal with it over the years. Looking around the worst parts rather than directly at them helped a lot. Human curiosity would keep drawing Tripp’s eyes to the exact wrong spot. He didn’t need that in his head.
He turned as I asked him to, and I returned my attention to the vehicle. The crime scene kit was at the station, but honestly, there wasn’t much to investigate. Any indication of what had caused the vehicle to go off the road was long gone. Maybe an animal had wandered through. My wolf friend perhaps. Or a gust of wind could have struck at the wrong moment. Either way, the only thing I had with me was my cell phone and a pair of latex gloves I had on beneath my winter gloves—a trick I’d learned from medical examiner Wolf Bundy for minimizing exposure to the elements. I pulled out my phone and clicked as many pictures as I could. I’d take a couple more from the roadside when we were back up there.
The woman had on a heavy sweater and wasn’t wearing a jacket despite the sub-zero temperature. A glance at the console showed the heat indicator slid to hot and the fan speed on high, so the sweater must have been enough. I made my way around the car, high stepping in some spots and plowing my snow-pants-covered legs through the drift to clear a path where the snow was too deep to walk through. Tripp followed right behind me every step of the way.
On the passenger’s side, the rear door was closed but not latched, as though someone had exited the rear but hadn’t slammed the door shut. Had a passenger, presumably the woman in the Jack room, been riding in the back seat? Or had she climbed into the back because the front half of the car was buried in the snow? Doing my best to not look at the woman two feet away in the driver’s seat, I stuck my head inside the vehicle. An olive-green wool coat lay in the back seat along with a well-used brick-red backpack and a hot-pink leather purse. I retrieved the purse first. Even though it was a generously sized satchel, it didn’t contain much. A hairbrush with dark-brown strands stuck in the bristles. A tube of cherry Chapstick and another of lipstick. Miscellaneous sales receipts. And a matching pink coin purse that served as a wallet. Inside the coin purse were four one-dollar bills, a five, and three cards—a library card for the Madison Public Library, a debit card for a Madison area credit union, and a driver’s license.
&nbs
p; “Finally,” I half-cheered. “An identity.”
“For the mystery woman?” Tripp looked over my shoulder.
I nodded. Leslie Lamar was quite attractive when not covered in bruises. Soon as we were home, I’d call down to MPD and see if they had any reports of her being missing. A quick search of the backpack revealed a laptop computer, notebooks, and other various office supplies. An ID from the backpack’s front pocket belonged to the driver, Esther Rowe.
Not a very common name anymore. This had to be the Esther from Leslie’s night terror. She wasn’t so scary anymore. Death equalized us all.
“What are we going to do with this?” I asked mostly myself but Tripp as well.
“Let’s get back in the truck and warm up. We’ll brainstorm there.”
I gestured for Mr. Powell, Schmitty, and Henry to stay where they were while we made our way through the snow again. Grateful to get out of the wind and cold, Tripp turned the heat up a notch.
“We can’t leave her here alone,” I told him. “Chances are nothing will mess with her, not in this weather. We have a lot of wild animals roaming around, though.”
“Like the wolf wandering near the house. Have you heard it?”
“Heard him and seen him several times. His name is Farkas.”
At Tripp’s confused expression, I explained how I knew that.
He shivered. “Why is the howl of a wolf such a lonely sound?”
Waving off that discussion for another time, I returned to the topic of Ms. Rowe and her wrecked Civic. “It’ll be sometime tomorrow before Dr. Bundy can get here to retrieve her. I won’t ask anyone to stand guard in a blizzard overnight.”
“Can we tow the car somewhere?”
The best-case procedural scenario was for me to maintain possession of the body and all evidence. How was I going to do that?
Reading my mind, Tripp suggested, “We could put her in the garage.”
“At Pine Time?” Was that an option? As in, a good one? I wasn’t about to try to remove Rowe from the vehicle, not that I should anyway. The garage wasn’t heated, so the condition of her body wouldn’t change. My biggest concern was having a car with a corpse on the property with a houseful of people thirty yards away.
Whispering Pines Mysteries Box Set 3 Page 62