“Did you check the dead man's place?” Pete asked in a quick voice.
“Pete, you know better than to ask me that. You're the man who trained me,” Sarah replied.
“What did you find?”
“A wooden box. I still haven't opened it,” Sarah explained.
“Locked?”
“Yes,” Sarah confirmed. “But if you hang on a minute, I'll break the box open and tell you what's inside.”
“Call me back when you find out what's in the box, kiddo,” Pete told Sarah. “I want to walk down to the water and try to get my cigar lit and rest my mind a bit. Filling out all my retirement paperwork has worn me down. I’m so close now.”
“Okay, Pete,” Sarah promised, “I'll call you right back.”
“No rush,” Pete said with a sigh that belied his age and fatigue. “This old man isn't going anywhere.”
Sarah stiffened. “Pete, are you okay?” she asked in a concerned voice. There was a pause and the seagull cries and waves in the background soothed her even though her heart ached for her friend.
Finally, he replied. “Just tired, kiddo, and...not ready to let go. It's going to take time,” Pete told Sarah and ended the call.
Sarah slowly hung up the phone. “Looks like we're not the only ones trapped in a storm,” she told Amanda and felt her worry for Pete begin to gnaw a small but significant hole in her stomach.
Sarah studied the lock on the wooden box like a cat burglar studying a jewelry vault. “The lock is basic,” she told Amanda. “But,” she added, “this box isn't cheap. The quality is solid.” She shifted it around and felt the heavy woodwork, the precise joining at each corner.
Amanda sipped her cup of coffee. “Why don't we just take a hammer and smash the box open?” she asked, standing next to Sarah.
Sarah was tempted to grab Amanda's suggestion and run with it. But she reminded herself the box was evidence that would most likely need to be used in a court of law—assuming that she found something critical inside the box. It should not be smashed up unless it was the absolute last option. “June Bug, I need to preserve this as evidence. Let me see if I can fiddle with the lock before we take drastic measures.”
Amanda studied a couple metal picks and the screwdriver and hammer Sarah had managed to locate in a supply closet. “I give you two minutes before you get frustrated and smash the box open.”
Sarah raised her eyes up to Amanda and set her jaw stubbornly with a grin. “You’re on. If I win, you buy me a new outfit.”
Amanda grinned. “If I win, you buy me two.”
“Deal,” Sarah grinned as they shook on it. She snatched up the screwdriver and picks and went to work. Amanda plopped down in her chair, sipped her coffee, and watched Sarah as her mind began to wonder what two dresses she wanted from O'Mally's. Just when she had settled on the first dress, a soft red brocade velvet that would be perfect for the holidays, the clasp of the wooden box made a metallic click, and then the wooden lid eased open an inch. “Oh,” she pouted.
Sarah tossed the screwdriver down on the desk, turned around, and brushed off her hands. “First thing a good cop learns to do is pick a simple lock. I can't tell you how many hours I stood in front of my bathroom door back in Los Angeles picking the lock.”
“Why the bathroom door?” Amanda asked.
Sarah let out an embarrassed giggle. “I figured that if I had to use the bathroom bad enough I would pick the lock one way or another. No better way to learn.” She grinned. “I kept the floor dry, I’ll say that much.”
“Smart girl,” Amanda complimented Sarah and then narrowed her eyes, “but unfortunately I'm going to have to cry foul. You tricked me, love.”
“I did not,” Sarah said in a pretend shocked voice. “I just didn't tell you that I had experience picking locks.”
Amanda pointed her finger at Sarah like a school teacher about to discipline a wayward child. “You're a very tricky woman, Los Angeles. I know your kind. You’re like a pool shark. You like to draw in innocent bystanders such as myself and then steal our money.”
Sarah folded her arms. “June Bug, when it comes to shopping, you're about as innocent as a spider in a room full of flies. Why, when there is a sale taking place...watch out, because you'll tear someone's arm off if they try to reach for a blouse you're going for.”
Amanda displayed a proud smile. “Twenty percent off is twenty percent off,” she replied. “I just so happened to save myself over forty dollars during the last sale O'Mally's offered.”
“You also bumped poor Mrs. Lakes out of the way with your elbow trying to get a lovely pink blouse.”
“Oh yeah...kinda forgot about that,” Amanda blushed. “I was caught up in the moment and fighting my way through the mad crowds.”
“June Bug, Mrs. Lakes was the only person in the clothing section,” Sarah laughed.
“Oh yeah...I guess she was,” Amanda blushed again.
“Just never forget the wallop she gave you with her cane,” Sarah laughed again.
Amanda closed her eyes and saw the angry old woman who had smacked her backside with a hard wooden cane. “Yeah...ouch,” she grimaced.
Sarah rolled her eyes and turned her attention to the wooden box. “Okay, June Bug, let's see what's in the box.”
Amanda stood up and joined Sarah. “I'm ready.”
Sarah opened the lid. She was disappointed not to find an old fashioned treasure of gold or jewels, but at least the box was not empty. “Well, will you look at this,” she said, lifting out a white envelope. She opened it and shook out a single key.
“A key?” Amanda asked. “Now why would Mitchel Cochran keep a key locked in a sturdy box under his bed?”
“I'm not sure,” Sarah responded, studying the key in her hand with careful eyes. “By the way, Jacob Bates from the garage called me before you returned from the diner. He said he found evidence that Mr. Cochran was hauling wood in his truck.”
“He did?” Amanda asked. “What kind of evidence? Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I was going to tell you. I got distracted,” Sarah apologized. She handed Amanda the key. “I know Mr. Cochran was far too old to haul and stack all the wood we saw at his cabin by himself. Of course, he was a hardy old-timer and I could be wrong. I have learned to never jump to conclusions.” Sarah folded her arms. “A lot of new data is emerging and I'm trying to digest it very carefully. But it’s important that the man’s own truck seemed to be scratched up and dented, just like he was carrying lots of wood back and forth. Jacob said he had no doubt about that. There were even splinters of leftover wood and such in the truck bed, under the snow. However, as far as we know, that could simply mean that he used his truck to haul some of the wood from his side yard up to the front porch. Who knows?”
Amanda studied the key in her hand. “Love, this key looks so familiar,” she puzzled.
“I have a key that looks like that as well.”
Amanda looked up at Sarah, comprehension dawning in her eyes. “The storage units out on Snow Deer Road.”
Sarah nodded. “Exactly,” she said, grabbing her coffee to take a big sip. “June Bug, I've been careful not to jump to conclusions here...but the more evidence we collect the more it appears that Mr. Cochran wasn't walking this mysterious road alone. There’s some kind of shadow person, or persons, who must have been working with him.”
Amanda tossed the key back into the envelope in the wooden box and sat back in her chair. “Do you believe this shadow killed Mitchel?” she asked.
Sarah shrugged her shoulders. “Mr. Cochran was alive when I left the coffee shop,” she replied. “You heard the front door to the coffee shop open. When you went to refill Mr. Cochran's coffee you saw the O'Healey sisters standing over his body.”
“Mitchel's head was down on the table,” Amanda confirmed. “I asked one of the sisters if Mitchel was alright but all they did was smile in that creepy way they have. That's when I checked his pulse...I knew the old man was dead and hurried to call
you.”
Sarah bit down on her lip. “Which certainly points to the O'Healeys being the killers,” she said in a frustrated voice. “I have no evidence other than a gut feeling that someone was standing in the shadows with Mr. Cochran. I have plenty of evidence that could easily plaster the guilty label on the O'Healey sisters…but it doesn’t feel right.”
“The O'Healey sisters did confess to killing Mitchel,” Amanda pointed out.
“I know...I know,” Sarah responded, forcing her mind to remain focused instead of becoming clouded with irritation. “June Bug, we need to break this case down and focus on one section at a time,” she explained. “For the moment I'm going to assume that someone hiding in the shadows killed Mr. Cochran and is trying to pin the murder on the O'Healey sisters.” Sarah sipped at her coffee. “We do have evidence that connects Abigail Healey's son and grandson to Mr. Cochran's daughters. I want to focus on that.”
“You're the boss,” Amanda agreed.
“And so are you,” Sarah pointed out. “You're a very clever woman, June Bug. Don't take a back seat on me.”
Amanda smiled. “I wouldn't dream of it,” she promised and blushed at Sarah's compliment. “Here’s a question…were the Cochran daughters in town? Or Abigail’s son or grandson?”
“We don’t have any evidence of that so far…” Sarah peered out the office window. “The storm is too strong to drive out to the storage units tonight. That might be where we’ll find out about the Cochran daughters at least…but we'll have to wait until tomorrow.”
“So what do we do in the meantime?” Amanda asked and then quickly read Sarah's eyes. “Oh, you want to call VQY Pharmaceuticals, don't you?”
“The thought has crossed my mind,” Sarah admitted. “I need to see if Jenson O'Healey is in Anchorage. I also want to find out more about Mr. Cochran's daughters. Records show that they are both living in Los Angeles. But I didn't even get a work history on either of them.”
“Are you thinking Mitchel's daughters are working for VQY Pharmaceuticals in Los Angeles?”
“I told you, you’re a brilliant woman,” Sarah beamed. “Why don't we go and find out and then we call Anchorage?”
“Oh, this is getting fun,” Amanda confessed. “Uh...no offense to poor Mitchel. Rest in peace.”
“I'm sure Mr. Cochran would want us to do everything within our power to solve his murder,” Sarah assured Amanda and they walked back to the desk where she had been looking up information earlier. “I'm going to have to do some more...hacking,” she confessed.
Amanda’s eyes popped. “Can I watch and learn?”
“I thought you would never ask. Pull up a chair,” Sarah told Amanda in a happy voice. Amanda quickly slid a chair over to the desk and sat down. Sarah drew in a steady breath, stretched her hands, and said: “Here we go.”
“Here we go,” Amanda said, feeling like she was on a roller coaster ride. She watched Sarah place her fingertips down on the black keyboard and start working. There were at least three different places she needed to check, and ways to hack into each of them by guessing passwords or accessing the data directly, and Sarah’s hands flew as she skillfully navigated a dizzying blur of data. Twenty minutes later, Sarah stopped typing and tapped the computer screen. “VQY Pharmaceuticals,” she whispered.
Sarah nodded in awe and calculated a rough timeline based on the dates they saw on the screen. “Alicia and Mandy Cochran began working at VQY shortly after they were released from prison.”
“But how? VQY was connected to their real estate scheme somehow?” Amanda asked.
“My guess is Charlie Moorington has some big players in his corner that made a judge turn a blind eye. I'm also guessing he wanted to keep his enemies close.”
“Which means the Cochran sisters must be in Los Angeles, right?” Amanda asked.
“Unless they want to break their probation,” Sarah explained, “they better be.”
Amanda stared at the computer screen and then looked at Sarah. “There's more to this than you're telling me,” she said, reading Sarah's eyes.
“I don't want to jump to conclusions, but my guess is the O'Healey and Cochran families are connected in more ways than Abigail, Betty and Martha understand. My guess is,” Sarah ventured, “that Alicia and Mandy Cochran are two very clever women who understand how to get what they want from people, including their sworn enemies.”
“Are you talking about blackmail?” Amanda asked.
“Yes,” Sarah said. “The Cochran sisters are about the same age as Caleb O'Healey. Caleb O'Healey lived in Los Angeles for most of his adult life.” Sarah rubbed her nose. “Abigail said she already contacted her children to let them know Mitchel Cochran was dead. I wanted to press Abigail on that issue but decided to wait until later.”
Amanda stared at the computer screen. “Can you find the man's phone number?” she asked.
“I've already located a company cell phone number for both Caleb and Jenson O'Healey,” Sarah told Amanda, typing quickly.
“Just now?”
Sarah nodded. “I work fast.”
“Wow,” Amanda gasped, “you do work fast.”
“It's not difficult once you get into a secure database,” Sarah explained. “The hard part is breaking in through a back door without being heard. Pete taught me a few tricks that still work, but it's getting tough. Back in the old days it was easier. Technology is rapidly changing, and soon I won't be able to outsmart a computer.”
“I hate computers,” Amanda admitted. “I think they are awful little creatures that serve no other purpose than to allow me to shop for dresses online. I despise technology in general. Oh, not the lights and central heat and air. I despise the bad stuff...all these new phones, gadgets, tablets, televisions. When I was a little girl, I called someone from home and didn't carry a phone out with me. I wrote letters and used stamps. Sure, technology offers convenience, but it destroys the old ways. When I was a little girl we played outside and gathered around the fireplace at night to talk and have a cup of tea as a family.”
“I know what you mean,” Sarah sighed. “Every kid I see these days seems to spend their time with their face shoved into a phone, computer screen, tablet or some other piece of technology that is draining the life out of their youth. While we were in Los Angeles I…secretly visited my old house...walked around my old neighborhood.” Sarah printed a few pages and then exited the secure database and looked at Amanda. “I didn't see kids outside playing. What I did see was a bunch of teenagers walking around with their faces glued to their phones.”
“It's getting to be that way here in Snow Falls, too,” Amanda said in a disappointed voice. “Last week when I visited O'Mally's, I saw a group of kids sitting in the snack area.” Amanda shook her head. “Los Angeles, the kids I saw were all on their phones doing something...not one kid was talking. It was like watching a bunch of robots.”
“The world is changing for the worse,” Sarah nodded. “The O'Healey sisters grew up blessed. They grew in a time where they understood what it felt like to climb a tree or walk barefoot in a mountain stream or pick wild blackberries. I'm very envious of them.”
“You know what?” Amanda confessed, “so am I.”
Sarah began to speak when she heard the front door to the station open. To her shock, she saw Dr. Milton stumble in. Dr. Milton tried to raise his right hand up into the air and say something, but before a word could leave his mouth he collapsed down onto the floor, his head slumping at a strange angle.
“Dr. Milton!” Sarah yelled. She jumped to her feet, ran to Dr. Milton, dropped down onto her knees and began feeling for a pulse. “I got a pulse...he's alive.”
Amanda rushed to close the front door. As she did, her eyes spotted someone standing across the street under a street lamp. “Los Angeles!” she hollered over her shoulder, “there's someone across the street staring at the door...come and look!”
Sarah bolted to her feet, ran to the front door, and stared out into the storm. She spo
tted a strange figure dressed in a heavy black ski coat running away. Sarah quickly drew out her gun. “Stay here,” she ordered Amanda, grabbing a jacket off the coat rack next to the front door and slinging it on.
Before Amanda could say a word, Sarah burst out into the storm, the jacket not even zipped up and the wind and snow whipping against her winter dress. She raced across the street through deep drifts of snow up to her knees.
Amanda glanced over her shoulder at Dr. Milton. “Oh my,” she said in a scared voice, “tonight is going a very different way than I thought…we're in trouble.”
Outside in the snow, Sarah focused her attention on the unknown person who was already far ahead of her. Whoever she was chasing, she thought, the person sure could run. “I'm not going to catch up,” she panted, her breaths heaving in white clouds of fog, and slid to a stop as she watched the stranger slip around a street corner and vanish. Miserably, she turned and fought her way back through the heavy snow to the police station, wondering how they were going to catch a killer.
6
Dr. Milton rubbed the back of his head, shivering. “I probably have a mild concussion,” he groaned painfully.
Sarah handed Dr. Milton a warm, wet washcloth. “What happened, Dr. Milton?” she asked, staring down at a weakened man dripping with snow. The poor man was very pale and obviously shaken up.
Sarah watched Dr. Milton apply the wet washcloth to the back of his head and check for blood. “Are you okay?” she asked in a worried voice.
“Weak and somewhat dizzy,” Dr. Milton explained. He removed the washcloth and checked it. “A little blood, not much. The blood coming from the gash on the back of my head is slowly stopping. I guess I’m lucky I was lying in the snow for a while…” He slowly made his way to his feet and Sarah and Amanda together helped him stagger to an easy chair in Conrad’s office where they could talk.
“Do you know who attacked you?” Sarah asked when the man was settled on the chair, wrapped in a few old blankets they found in a back storeroom. His shivering slowly calmed as the warmth seeped back into his body.
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