by Linda Berry
The Dead Chill
Book Two of the Sidney Becker Mysteries
LINDA BERRY
Copyright © 2019 by Linda Berry
The Dead Chill is a work of fiction. All characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or in any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the publisher.
ISBN-13: 978-0-9998538-3-2
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To Mark—for three decades
of unconditional love and support.
Other books by Linda Berry
Hidden Part One
Hidden Part Two
Pretty Corpse
The Killing Woods
The Dead Chill
To learn of new releases and discounts,
Add your name to Linda’s mailing list:
www.lindaberry.net
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
A wonderful community of friends and family assisted in making this a suspenseful and entertaining work of fiction.
I owe a debt of gratitude to my editors and readers, whose fearless comments kept me on the straight and narrow: Denice Hughes, Mark Fasnacht, Jeanine Pollak, Donna Berry, Trish Wilkinson, Jamie Carpenter, Cathey Kahlie, Sharon Grow, Cherie Bethe, Connie Edwards, Rob Hall, Cindy Davis, Vonnie Wignall, and LaLoni Kirkland.
I greatly appreciate the assistance of Police Chief Rob Hall (ret.) for his insightful counsel on law enforcement procedures.
TABLE OF CONTENTS
Acknowledgments
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
Chapter Forty
Chapter Forty-One
Chapter Forty-Two
Chapter Forty-Three
Chapter Forty-Four
Chapter Forty-Five
Chapter One—The Killing Woods
About the Author
Every day that a cop puts on his gun, he does so
with the knowledge that he may have to take someone’s life that day.
Every time he puts on his badge, he does so with the knowledge
that someone may take his. ~ Police Chief Rob Hall (ret.)
CHAPTER ONE
HE ALWAYS CAME at night. A soft, creeping terror surfaced in that realm between sleep and consciousness, startling Selena awake. She sensed the man’s presence in the room like a force field, standing in the deep shadows, watching. In one smooth, practiced movement, her fingers gripped the hilt of the Beretta M9 under her spare pillow and aimed. She switched on the light. The shadows disappeared. The room was empty. The only sound was her labored breathing. Wide-eyed, she sat trembling until her pulse quieted, then she lowered the gun.
This behavior was irrational. The man who viciously attacked her four weeks ago was locked in a cage in Jackson County Jail. Yet his presence never faded. His shadow lurked on the fringe of her vision. His smell lingered. She felt his sour breath on her face, even when she was surrounded by students in her yoga class or barricaded here at home. The new state-of-the-art security system didn’t vanquish ghosts.
Hearing footsteps scuff the hardwood floor outside her bedroom, Selena slid the pistol back under the pillow. The door opened and her sister appeared. Sidney’s twelve-hour shift as Garnerville’s police chief had just ended at midnight.
“You okay?” Dressed in her uniform with her hair tightly knotted at the back of her neck, Sidney possessed an aura of authority and toughness. She was born to be a cop. Duty and service were encoded in her DNA—passed down from their dad—Garnerville’s Police Chief for twenty years while they were growing up. “I saw your light come on.”
Selena swallowed and found her voice, which sounded calmer than she felt. “Just the usual mind-bending nightmare.”
Sidney’s expression softened. “Bad dreams fade with time.” She was the voice of experience. A former homicide detective in Oakland, California, she had a decade’s worth of grisly crime scenes embedded in her psyche. “Want some company?”
“Only if you need to talk about work.”
“Nope. Uneventful. All the criminals took the day off.”
“It’s the snow,” Selena said soberly. “Everyone’s hibernating. Dad used to say a crime lull was the quiet before the storm.”
“Yeah, he did.” Sidney smiled. “No doubt the bad guys are gearing up for Armageddon.” She glanced toward the window. “More of the fluffy white stuff is coming down as we speak. We’ll have another six inches by morning.”
Selena followed her gaze. The wind-driven flakes slanted past the glass on a mission to create more havoc on the roads. “Yippie. More shoveling.”
“Good exercise. I won’t have to go to the gym.”
Selena was momentarily struck by how much Sidney resembled their father. Tall and athletic, she had his strong nose and chin, and deep-set hazel eyes. A full mouth softened her features. Though not pretty in a traditional sense, Sidney had an indefinable appeal that attracted men, and more importantly, commanded respect.
Sidney tugged the tie from her ponytail and her wavy, auburn hair tumbled around her shoulders. The aura of toughness all but vanished. “Want a cup of chamomile tea?”
“Don’t worry about me, Sid. I’m okay.” Selena settled back under her covers and turned off the light. “Get some rest. You’ll need it for the crime spree tomorrow.”
Her sister laughed as she backed out of the room.
Feeling safer with her sister home, Selena ruminated on the irony of their current circumstances. After years of separation, she and Sidney had completed a cycle of husband and boyfriends and career pivots and made their way back to each other. With their father dead and their mother in a memory care center—early onset Alzheimer’s—she and Sidney now lived as roommates in their childhood home. When they were kids, Sidney had been Selena’s protector, patching scraped knees and warding off bullies. That fierce instinct still burned strong. If Sidney wasn’t a highly skilled detective, and if she hadn’t arrived in the woods at the precise moment she did, Selena would be dead. The debt she owed her sister was staggering. Someday she would find a way to repay her.
CHAPTER TWO
SELENA’S SHOULDER MUSCLES burned with tension as her mare groped for solid footing on the icy trail. Granger Wyatt rode a
horse length ahead, the collar of his sheepskin jacket turned up, western hat pulled low, his strong body swaying with the rhythm of his gelding. The horses trod on a narrow trail snaking through the Sacamoosh Forest, their breath steaming in the crisp mountain air. Snowdrifts shimmered in the filtered light. The serene beauty of this interior world didn’t ease Selena’s anxiety. The pungent smell of juniper was suffocating.
Granger headed into the higher elevation through towering trees. The mare snorted and her ears flicked forward and backward, listening. Picking up signals of danger? Selena touched the bulk under her down jacket and took comfort from the holstered handgun within easy reach. Granger carried his own sidearm, adding another layer of security, and at her request he’d shoved a shotgun into the scabbard on his saddle. A former Marine with combat experience, he was now one of four officers in her sister’s small police department.
A wedge of ice fell from a branch and startled her horse into a quick sidestep off the trail. Selena gasped. The familiar, ghastly terror threatened to surface. With a shiver of revulsion, she fought back the memories and firmly guided her mare back on course.
Stay calm.
Granger stopped where the trail opened to a wide meadow and glanced back, waiting for her dapple-gray mare to catch up to his chestnut bay. He was all-American handsome with an angular face, square chin, and contagious smile. Raised on a cattle ranch just a few miles away, he had a country boy’s down-to-earth sensibility and a cop’s mental toughness. His brow furrowed as her horse pulled alongside his. “You okay?”
Selena realized her face had tightened into a mask. She cracked a smile. “Yes. Fine.”
She wasn’t. Since her attack, she’d felt adrift, floating in an unfamiliar landscape, as though living a life that belonged to someone else. Tears welled at the slightest provocation. Out here in the forest, she felt even more unanchored. “I’m a little nervous, that’s all. Being back in the woods…”
Granger’s eyes were on her, reading her emotions. He had a cop’s sixth sense that could pick up any small sign of deceit. She detected a twinge of guilt in the way he clenched and unclenched his jaw.
“I shouldn’t have brought you out here. It’s too soon.”
“I made the decision to come, Granger. Garnerville is surrounded by forest. I can’t hide in town forever. I need to face my demons.”
His frown deepened.
“Really. This is good for me.” She took a deep breath, trying to reassure herself, as well as him. A month had passed. Granger had no reason to feel guilty. Selena should be moving on, putting the horror behind her. But she rarely left home except to teach her yoga classes. Lounging on the couch in sweats, watching endless Hallmark movies with her four cats, she had lost all sense of time—and her connection to a social life.
Granger routinely stopped by to check on her. It never took much persuasion for him to settle next to her and share popcorn—and though he hid it well, watching fluffy movies with happy endings must have been stupefying. Last night, he gently encouraged her to step out of her safety zone, come out to the family ranch, and partake in a big country breakfast with his parents and brother. On a whim, they saddled two quarter horses and set out to explore this forest wonderland. And now, here she was, quaking in her saddle.
Selena took in the wide, sprawling meadow, open in every direction, and sighed her relief. No one could sneak up on her. Cyclists, hikers, and equestrians used this trail in the summer, and cross-country skiers in the winter, but today no one was in sight. Cascading water drew her attention to the creek winding through the snow. Beneath the partially frozen surface the current moved with force and purpose. In some areas, the water was so still she could see the fine grains of sand at the bottom. “This is Whilamut Creek,” she said, to lighten the mood. “Whilamut is Kalapuyan. It means ‘where the water ripples and runs fast’. Kalapuya people once occupied this entire territory between the Cascades and the Calapooya Mountains.”
“Some still live here. There’s a small Native American community down the road a couple miles.”
She nodded. “On the shore of Nenámooks Lake. One of my friends from high school lived there.” The sun spilled out from behind a cloud and she raised a hand to block the glare. “She moved a decade ago. I haven’t been out there since.”
“I know some of the villagers,” Granger said. “Visit regularly.”
“To keep the peace?”
“Mostly to visit a friend. Tommy Chetwoot.”
“The healer.”
He tipped up the brim of his hat. His eyes, reflecting the sun, were exceptionally clear, like blue glass washed up on the beach. “Guess just about everyone in town knows of Tommy.”
“And his grandmother, the medicine woman. I’ve never seen her, but my friend told me she’s scary, and has strange powers. Supposedly, she’s raised people from the dead.”
“Not sure about the scary part.” Granger smiled. “Paramedics raise people from the dead every day. But she’s definitely not sociable. I caught a glimpse of her once. She’s small, bent over, eyes black as obsidian, white hair streaming down her back. Could be eighty, or a hundred. Hard to say. I’ve never seen anyone so withered. Tommy learned everything about healing from her.”
“Do you see Tommy to get help for your dad?” she asked gently. Granger’s father suffered from Parkinson’s disease. Once a stalwart pillar of the community, he’d gradually retreated from his involvement in the town’s civic affairs.
“Yeah.” Granger’s mouth tightened for a moment. “He makes Dad an herbal concoction that eases the pain.”
“Your dad looked fine this morning.”
“He has good days and bad. Tommy’s potion isn’t a cure-all. Dad’s still getting worse every year.”
“I’m so sorry.” A tremor of sadness passed through her as she thought of her mother, now living among strangers in the memory care center. “I’d love to talk to Tommy.”
Granger gave her a long, steady stare, seeming to assess her motives.
“I know the villagers don’t like outsiders rambling in without an invitation, but maybe he can help my mom.”
He nodded, understanding. “I’ll talk to him. See if I can bring you next time.”
She smiled her thanks.
He gestured with a jut of his chin. “There’s a nice view from that bridge up ahead.”
They tethered the horses to a timbered post and crunched through the snow to the middle of the bridge. To the west, the corridor of water meandered through the meadow and disappeared into the forest. Far below to the east, bloated gray clouds hung over their small town, nestled in the forested hills.
“A snowstorm’s sweeping in,” Granger said, staring straight up the mountain. He stood close, his arm brushing hers. “It’s already snowing up on top.” Though barricaded in thick jackets, she felt the warmth of his presence, his instinct to protect her. “It feels good to be back on a horse,” she said. “I used to ride all the time. It’s been a while, though. A couple years.”
“We’ll have to remedy that.” He turned, his face close to hers. Despite the cold, Selena’s cheeks warmed. She and Granger had been spending a fair amount of time together, and his romantic intentions were clear. But she had kept him at arm’s length. After the poor choice she’d made in her husband of ten years, she wasn’t ready to get tangled in a new relationship. Before she lost her resolve and kissed him, she crossed the bridge to the opposite rail. This relationship needed to be a good move, not another dead-end street, which meant cooling down and thinking straight.
In just a few minutes the gauzy white clouds had taken on a harder, darker sheen. As if fleeing the scene, a flock of geese cut a lopsided wedge through the sky.
“The storm’s moving in pretty fast,” Ganger said, joining her. “We better head back.”
Nodding, Selena lowered her gaze to the creek. The wind had cleared patches of snow from the frozen surface, revealing fast-moving water underneath. A stain of scarlet about the size o
f a maple leaf appeared near the bank. “Hmmm,” she asked. “Wonder what that is.”
They moved to the end of the bridge to get a better look. The wind excavated more snow and the leaf turned into a knitted scarf, partially frozen beneath the surface. It fluttered in the breeze then blew to the west, unfurling like a flag. Under the scarf, a human hand was exposed. A hand. Fingers spread wide.
Selena stood paralyzed, her eyes fixed to the spot. The wind continued its work, revealing the cuff of a blue jacket.
Granger lurched into motion and eased down the slippery bank, ice crackling beneath his boots. He squatted at the edge where frozen water met frozen earth. His gloved hand brushed away more snow, unveiling an arm and shoulder. A woman’s face appeared, her glazed eyes wide open. Beneath her body, long black hair swirled with the movement of the water. Red ligature marks circled her slender throat. Someone had killed this woman, placed her body in this frozen creek, and abandoned her.
The realization struck Selena like a physical blow. Her eyes fluttered, then closed. When she looked again, the woman’s blank face still stared up at her.
Granger climbed up the bank to his horse, pulled a satellite phone from a saddle pocket, and punched in some numbers. His urgent voice enunciated clearly, relaying the details of the gruesome discovery. He ended the call and made another. This was a man who knew how to handle an emergency, who knew how to react and stay calm. His animation highlighted Selena’s inertness, which mirrored the dead woman entombed in ice. She couldn’t pull her gaze from the unseeing stare.
“Selena…”
“Selena!” Granger stood close, his voice cutting though the cotton fog in her brain. He placed both hands on her shoulders and she looked into his deeply concerned face. “Are you okay?”
“Yes. I think so.” Her voice sounded hollow and far away.
He led her to the horses as though she were a child, pulled a thermos from a saddlebag, and poured two inches of black coffee into the cap. “Drink this.”