by J. S. Marlo
A dull headache burgeoned in his temples. I need a drink.
Alone at the detachment on the graveyard shift, he downed a weakened version of his beloved Red Eye, then poured the rest of the beer in the sink. In the unlikely event that one of his colleagues walked in with a Breathalyzer, the alcohol level in Avery’s system wouldn’t be sufficient to incriminate himself.
Needing to uphold his reputation, he chucked the empty beer bottle in Cooper’s garbage can before returning attention to his computer screen.
After Rachel’s death, Avery had honed his hacking skills, but despite all his attempts, Abbott’s deleted messages remained out of reach. The technician who’d erased the dead corporal’s personal data had either done a thorough job or Abbott had never filed the information on his work computer.
Where did you hide the bloody evidence, Abbott? Your home computer? The guy couldn’t have been that stupid…could he? He’d ended up dead after all, so it wasn’t impossible the late corporal had done something stupid—like trust the wrong person. A mistake Avery had no intention of repeating.
When faced with a dead end, experience had taught him to take a step back and work on something else while his brain drilled a way out.
He flipped through Abbott’s old cases. Names, violations…nothing rang a bell or stood out. I’m looking in the wrong place. The thought brought his mind back to Hannah Parker’s situation.
The report that Reed had garnered on Hannah had raised more questions than answers, but Avery refused to jump at the obvious conclusion reached by his sergeant.
Five years ago, Hannah had filed charges of sexual assault against a man, then recanted them the next day. Upon her grandfather’s death a month later, she’d implicated three individuals only to be proven wrong again when two teenagers confessed to the crime in a suicide note.
What really happened, Hannah? What prompted you to make all those false allegations?
The fire spitting in the stove and the angry husband ranting in his cell didn’t provide any answer. Avery knew a detective posted in Halifax that could enlighten him on the sexual assault charges, but contacting him at this time would be a breach of his assignment. Short of looking into the assault case, he could at least sink his teeth into the grandfather’s murder. The case should be archived in the storage room next to the jail cells.
Without paying attention to the rowdy guests, Avery entered the room and searched for the murder report. The doctor had called the old man Gramp Pike, and Avery found him under the Ps.
The report was dated February 10th, five years ago. Marcel Pike. 61 years old. Cause of death: fractured skull.
A series of pictures showed the old man lying in the snow, his head clobbered in a similar fashion as the fox left on Hannah’s doorstep. An autopsy report detailed the numerous injuries Pike sustained during the attack. It was signed by Dr. G. Murphy.
No inconsistency jumped out at Avery, so he turned his attention to the police report.
Hannah had found her grandfather in the woods and glimpsed three suspects as they ran away. No worthy physical description of the individuals had been recorded. A week later, Constable Brent Abbott had discovered the bodies of two aboriginal youths near the crime scene. Percy Foley, 15, and Nelson Bourke, 16.
Upon seeing Abbott’s name, Avery looked at the bottom of the page. It sported Abbott’s signature. The former corporal had been the one conducting the investigation into Pike’s murder. Is that how you earned your promotion, Abbott? By solving the case? But Hannah had seen three suspects, not two.
An unsigned suicide note confessing the murder was attached to the next page. It’d been found in Bourke’s pocket.
As he read the note, Avery did a double take at the capital Bs and Ps.
***
A persistent buzzing roused Terri from her sleep. Rolling onto her side, she reached for an alarm clock she didn’t remember setting, only to encounter flesh—warm flesh.
Instantly awoken, she sat bolt upright in her bed. “What are you still doing here?”
She pushed her lover and grabbed a bathrobe. Growling, he cracked an eye open. Another buzz.
“I need to answer the door. Get dressed and get out.”
For Lyn’s sake, she never allowed men to stay until morning. Another buzz.
Hold on to your joystick, bucklebelt. I’m coming.
Growing more irritated by the second, she swung the door. “If you woke up my—Constable Stone?”
They hadn’t been officially introduced but she’d seen him roaming around town. With his five o’clock shadow and unkempt brown hair, Stone looked scruffy and shrewd. The man had no business standing on her front porch at seven o’clock in the morning.
“Mrs. Abbott?” Stone tucked his police cap under his arm and stepped inside, closing the door behind him. “I saw a light in your window, so I thought you—”
A shadow crossed his face as he looked around her shoulder. Terri tensed like a rubber band, ready to snap at the man she’d bedded for showing his face.
“I’m very sorry for waking your daughter, ma’am.”
“My…” She spun around, and relief washed over her at the sight of Lyn sucking her thumb under the archway of the living room. “What’s up, baby?”
Cautiously eyeing the visitor, Lyn approached in a pink nightgown, one size too big. An unsolicited gift from Brent’s parents. When her daughter stopped at the edge of the doormat, Terri picked her up before returning her attention to Stone. His expression had softened.
“Your daughter has beautiful eyes, Mrs. Abbott.”
The compliment rang like a false note, increasing the pounding in Terri’s chest. “Is there a reason for your early morning visit, Officer?”
From now on, the darn bathroom light would stay off and Lyn would learn to pee in the dark.
“I’m closing your husband’s cases, ma’am, and it appears some files are incomplete. Do you know if he kept any documents at home? In a filing cabinet perhaps, or on his home computer?”
“No, he didn’t.” Unsettled by the sudden inquiry, she hugged her daughter closer. “The only thing he ever brought home was his pathetic ass. If that’s all, I’d like to go back to bed.”
“I’m sorry to have bothered you, ma’am.” He sounded despondent. “You have a good day.”
As soon as she got rid of Stone, she returned Lyn to bed.
“Close your eyes, baby.” The light from the bathroom shone across the corridor and into Lyn’s room, casting a yellow hue over the Teddy bears stuffed on the ledge above the bed. She stroked her daughter’s blonde hair. Once sleep claimed her, Terri walked into the hall.
“Your daughter didn’t see me, neither did Stone.”
The shadow in the doorway of her bedroom startled her. She paused within inches of his strong arms and broad chest.
“He asked if Brent kept any documents here.” She ran a finger down the front of his shirt, circling every button. “He looked at me in a creepy way. I don’t like him. Can you keep him away from me? Please?”
“I’ll take care of him. He won’t bother you again.” With a tug, he loosened her belt, parting her robe. “Last night was amazing.”
He teased her breast with his thumb, rekindling a fire in her belly. On a scale of one to ten, he ranked eight and a half. The best rating she’d ever given to a man in uniform.
“Next time you’re off duty, feel free to stop by for another late night coffee.”
Chapter Thirteen
Near the cabin, Hannah’s son was playing with his dog in a fort built of snow and ice. The animal wore black doggie boots and a blue sweater of the same shade as the child’s snowsuit. When Avery approached the lower side of the fortified structure, Rory and his furry friend stilled. Both looked at him with eyes as wide as saucers.
“Hi, little man. Where’s your mom?”
The dog barked once in response while the boy pointed at the shed without uttering a word.
“You’re the strong silent t
ype, aren’t you?”
His face scrunched up in confusion, Hannah’s son retreated into the corner of his frozen fortress where the dog jumped on his lap.
“Want to come with me to see your mom?”
Rory shook his head side to side with gritty determination.
Unsure how to interpret the silent treatment or the refusal, Avery headed toward the shed. Thumping sounds resonated from where the fox had hung. In his mind, he conjured up Hannah tanning the skin with a stick. When he rounded the corner, the images faded. They were replaced by a woman in jeans and plaid shirt chopping wood. Sweat trickled down her face and the shirt hugged her heaving chest.
With his warm winter jacket on, Avery managed to keep the bitter cold at bay. Venturing outside with nothing more than indoor clothing was reckless.
Intent on instilling some sense into her brain, he marched on. “Hannah!”
When she didn’t respond, he halted abruptly. In the spur of the moment, he’d forgotten she couldn’t hear. How was he supposed to get the attention of a deaf woman holding an axe without startling her and jeopardizing both their lives?
No wonder Rory hadn’t shown any inclination to accompany him. For his own safety, the child had probably been taught to stay away from his mother until she fetched him.
Without getting too close, he waved his arms while trying to move in her line of vision. Focused on her task, she paid no attention to him. He’d resigned himself to wait when a snowball flew by him and hit the bundle of logs. Her head snapped up, and Hannah looked past him. Avery followed her gaze to the boy slapping his mitts together. A snowball. The mother and son’s silent code was crude, but effective.
“Thank you, little man,” he yelled at the boy.
Rory responded with a rare smile before sauntering away, the dog on his heels.
“Avery?” The axe set against the tree stump, Hannah walked toward the shed. “What are you doing here?”
“I could ask you the same question.” He followed her to a pile of wood stacked neatly against the outside wall.
Her winter coat lay on the top of the cord. She put it on but didn’t zip it. “Chopping wood. Wasn’t that obvious?”
Amusement echoed in every word, which amazed him considering she couldn’t hear.
“Need help?” Many questions swirled in his mind, questions he ached to ask, but he reined in his impatience. First and foremost, he needed to gain her trust. Then and only then could he hope for truthful answers. “If you let me take a few practice swings, I’m pretty sure I could manage to split a few logs.”
“Practice swings? I may be deaf, but that doesn’t sound too safe.” Mischievousness trickled through her smile—a smile as vibrant as the untamed wilderness surrounding them. “If you help me carry the wood inside, I’ll make you a mug of hot chocolate for your trouble.”
“That’s the best offer I got all week.” He already worked for peanuts, he might as well accept the pay raise to chocolate. “You take Rory inside before he resembles Frosty the snowman and let me take care of the wood. If you argue, I’ll arrest you for disobedience.”
Her renewed laughter floated in the air long after she disappeared around the shed.
***
Meet me. Arena. 2 pm.
Matt preferred the text messages requesting his presence in her bed, but if she wanted to meet him at the indoor skating rink, he would happily oblige. Everyone in town knew they’d been friends forever. No one raised a brow when they hung out together.
A folding sign sat on the concrete floor in the lobby of the recreation center near the admission booth. FREE PUBLIC SKATING FROM 1 TO 3 PM was written in white letters against a navy blue background.
He strolled by the curling rink where Vic’s team competed against the guys from Garnet Financial Services. After four ends, his friend’s team trailed 3-1. Vic wasn’t as handy with a stone as he was with an icicle. That was too bad for his team.
The skating rink was located at the other extremity of the rec center, next to a snack bar that sold greasy French fries and bad coffee at exorbitant price. Matt walked past the empty, ketchup stained tables and through a set of thick doors. The temperature dropped by several degrees despite the heaters hanging from the ceiling.
Kids and adults alike skated counter-clockwise on the ice surface. He spotted her in the stands, high up on the last row. Alone.
Her attention focused on the ice, she didn’t acknowledge his presence until he sat by her side. “You’re late.”
“Sorry, babe, but I was on a job.” In private, he would have greeted her with a long kiss, but she disliked public affection. “The shitty pipes were so rusted I had to retrofit the entire line.”
“You were supposed to chase her away.” Hatred pervaded each word. She didn’t need to name her for Matt to know who she referred to. “Vic saw her nosing around the bridge with her bastard. He said she looked anything but scared.”
The deaf woman was more stupid than he thought. By now, she should have gotten the hint that she wasn’t welcomed in this town. “What do you suggest I do, babe? Point a gun in her face?”
The donuts in uniforms weren’t taking the threats against Parker seriously, but if Matt pushed too far, the scale might tip against him.
“Of course not. That’d be too obvious.” She leaned closer to him, and her breath teased his ear. “But a hunting accident would be nice.”
***
“Why don’t we sit at the kitchen table?”
Rory had fallen asleep on the couch watching Avery stack the wood under the window, and Hannah didn’t want to disturb her son’s peaceful rest.
To avoid an accident while he worked, Avery had removed his gun and stored it on top of the fridge, out of reach for children. That he trusted her with his weapon brought back bittersweet memories.
He accepted the mug of hot chocolate she presented him, then sat in Rory’s place. The tip of his tongue licked his upper lip when he took a sip, drawing a quizzical smile.
“It’s better than I remember.”
The soft glow in his dark brown eyes warmed her insides more effectively than any hot cocoa. “Glad you like it.”
It’d been many years—too many years—since she’d welcomed a man in her cabin and let him take his boots off. She found herself wishing she could let her guards down.
“Will Rory wake up asking for a cup?”
“He doesn’t ask for anything anymore.” She didn’t realize she’d spoken the words until Avery’s brows arched up. Thinking aloud was a bad habit she’d developed. She needed to curb it. “I didn’t mean…”
“Hannah? Has something happened to Rory?”
He gazed at her with a strange mixture of compassion and curiosity—a look she couldn’t resist.
“An incident happened back in November. It was the day after our first big snowstorm of the season. Rory was so excited to go play outside in the snow. He took a small red shovel with him and climbed into the tree house while I chopped wood.”
The ill-fated day replayed in her mind as clearly as if it’d happened hours ago. She’d lifted the axe above her head when—without warning—Rory had appeared in front of her. A few seconds later, and she might have hurt him, but she never took the swing. The axe had slipped from her hands and grazed her back before landing in the snow somewhere behind her.
“Rory knows to stay away from me when I hold an axe, hammer, or rifle. If he needs me, he throws something in front of me so I know he’s there. That day, he didn’t warn me. He just walked up to me, shivering like a leaf in a storm. His was face whiter than snow and his bare hands colder than ice. He was…he was petrified, Avery. Snowflake was by his side, her tail between her legs. I picked him up, and as I walked to the house, I saw blood and snowmobile tracks in the fresh snow near the tree house. Someone had come, and the only thing I could think of was that he had hurt my son. I called Freddy, the doctor in town. He came right away.” Her foster brother had rushed to her rescue, and though he wasn’t
a vet, he’d examined both Rory and Snowflake. “Freddy didn’t find any physical sign of assault, but Rory hasn’t spoken or played near the tree house since.”
Avery nodded slowly as if the motion helped him absorb the details. “Did you mention the incident with Rory when you reported the first threatening note?”
“No, I—” Her son lost his voice on November 19th. She didn’t receive the first note until Dec 4th. “Two weeks had elapsed, Avery. It never occurred to me there might be a connection between the two incidents.”
Back when she investigated the tragic life stories of the young girls she’d sworn to rescue, she had a knack for seeing things other people missed.
Angry and frustrated, Hannah stared at the contents of her mug. The rich dark brew offered neither wisdom nor consolation. How could she have been so blind to her own situation?
A pat on her forearm startled her, and she recoiled in her chair.
“Sorry, but you were far away. I didn’t have a snowball to get your attention.”
His touch had been nothing but gentle. To see him retract his hand brought a pang of regret. “Reminiscing. That’s all.”
“Hannah, I need to ask you about your grandfather Pike.” He glanced over his shoulder toward the couch, and then leaned forward, as if he were afraid Rory might overhear. “What happened the day he was murdered? It’s very important.”
“Why?” That day was etched into her memory as a turning point in her life—a life that had become too wild to tame. “That was five years ago.”
“I know, but you have to trust me. Please?”
She didn’t know if she could still trust, but the consideration he showed toward small details made her inclined to give him a chance. “You know he’s not my real grandfather, don’t you?”
A gentle smile swept over his roguishly handsome face. “From what I heard, he raised you, and he raised you well. In my book, that makes him your grandfather.”
“Gramp was sick with liver cancer, and he didn’t have much time left on this earth. The week after I moved in, he went snowshoeing in the woods. Alone. It was a beautiful February afternoon. When he didn’t come back, I searched for him. I thought I’d find him lying in the snow, staring into eternity with a peaceful smile on his face…” Tears clouded her vision. “He was laying in the shade of a spruce tree where the creek split in two, his face covered with blood, unrecognizable. Someone had beaten him to death.