Deep in the Snow

by Wendy Meadows

  Sarah struggled to connect the dots. “We need to speak to Andrew.”

  “I already have,” Conrad informed her. “It worked this way. The park ranger who found my ex-wife’s body called the police. Chief Cunningham went out to the trail with Officer Andrew and Officer Edwin. He didn’t even know Sophia was under the Feds’ protection. It wasn’t until later, when Sophia’s death was put across the wire, that the Feds jumped into action and sent a man from Anchorage to talk with Chief Cunningham.”

  “And from there, the official report was altered?” Sarah asked Conrad, fishing for his opinion.

  Conrad shook his head. “Andrew told me that Sophia was fully clothed when they found her. Her purse was lying next to her body, untouched. He told me it was clear that my ex-wife had frozen to death. She was wearing a thick coat, but nothing strong enough to protect her from the winds and freezing temperatures for a long period of time, especially during the night.”

  “Why would she head north and not south?” Sarah asked. “Why would your ex-wife run on foot and not in a vehicle? You said no federal agent was watching her.”

  “I’ve asked myself that question many times,” Conrad confessed and ran his hands through his hair. “Sophia could have easily ditched town and vanished. She was given a Subaru, much like the one you drive, to get around town.”

  Amanda, who had been carefully listening to the exchange, finally spoke. “She ran scared,” she said. “That’s the only explanation that makes sense. New York, your ex-wife got spooked and ran scared into the night, hoping to hide in the snowstorm.”

  “I agree,” Sarah said in a confident tone. “You said her body was found next to a boulder, right?”

  “Andrew said the way Sophia’s body was found... well, it looked like she was trying to use the boulder as some form of shelter against the storm,” Conrad explained. “But I’m not naive, either. I’ve worked homicide for many years, too, Sarah. Sophia could’ve just as easily been murdered, and then the murderer made it appear that she’d frozen to death.”

  “The mafia always kills viciously, so why would they frame it as an accidental death?” Sarah pointed out.

  “Maybe the person sent to kill Sophia was ordered to make her talk before she died?” Conrad snapped. “Hey, I’m sorry,” he immediately apologized. “There was no excuse for that.”

  “You’re under a lot of pressure,” Sarah said gently. “I’ve snapped at my own people many times, too.”

  Amanda saw fatigue eating at Conrad’s eyes. “New York,” she said calmly, “you did say the cabin your ex-wife was living in was found untouched?”

  Conrad nodded. “No signs of a forced entry... even the blasted toilet was squeaky clean.”

  “Steve Mintfield,” Amanda said, turning in her chair to face Sarah.

  “Who?” Sarah asked.

  “Steve Mintfield,” Amanda said again. “Steve is retired and builds cabinets in a workshop on his property. He’s also a locksmith.”

  “Ah,” Sarah said and looked at Conrad.

  “The cabin is owned by a rental company in Fairbanks. I’ll see who makes their keys for them,” Conrad said quickly.

  “Could be an imposter showed up at Mr. Mintfield’s place, pretending to be from the rental company, and requested additional keys be made?” Sarah suggested. “Conrad, that’s a solid lead.”

  Conrad nodded his head and sat down at the kitchen table. “I knew asking you ladies for help wasn’t a bad idea,” he said, stifling a yawn.

  “It’s late,” Sarah rose to her feet. “I think we need to call it a night.”

  Conrad checked the watch on his wrist. “It’s almost midnight. I’d better get going. I’ll meet you both in town at your coffee shop tomorrow around noon. Sound good?”

  Sarah didn’t answer, listening to the winds howl and cry outside. Amanda read her worried face. “New York,” Amanda said, standing up, “you’re sleeping on the couch tonight. You’re not properly dressed to go out in this weather.”

  “I agree,” Sarah said in relief. “You’ll freeze before the cab of your truck warms up. You’re staying here tonight. No arguments.”

  Conrad yawned again. The idea of fighting the winds outside didn’t exactly appeal to him. “My truck does take some time to warm up,” he admitted, “but I don’t want to impose.”

  “You’re not imposing,” Sarah promised. “Now, let’s all get ready for bed. I have a feeling we’re going to have a very long day tomorrow.”

  “I’ve still got insomnia,” Conrad told Sarah. “I’ll be lucky to get four hours.”

  “Try,” Sarah urged him. “Lie down, close your eyes, and try to relax your mind. I know I’m asking the impossible, but unless you get some rest you won’t be any good to yourself or us. Please.”

  Conrad looked down at his mug of coffee. “Sure,” he said, caving in. “And thanks.”

  Amanda walked over to him, patted his shoulder, and walked away toward the spare bedroom. “Don’t let the couch bugs bite,” she called out over her shoulder.

  “I’ll go get you some covers,” Sarah told Conrad and left the kitchen.

  Left alone, Conrad picked up the folder holding the police report as anger flushed into his cheeks. Narrowing his eyes, he whispered: “I think we might have a dirty Fed on our hands.”

  Outside in the dark night, the winds continued to howl as a steady stream of snow began to fall.

  Chapter Four

  Ralph Gatti walked into Sarah’s coffee shop with two men following closely behind him. Without saying a word, he sat down at a table close to the back wall, removed his thick black overcoat, handed the coat to one of his men, and folded his arms together. “He’s tough-looking,” Amanda whispered, staring at Gatti from the kitchen door.

  Sarah examined the vicious, deadly, face marked with scars and anger. “He’s a tough customer,” Sarah whispered back.

  “And bald,” Amanda murmured, looking at the gray fedora resting on Gatti’s head. “One of us should go out there.”

  “Steve Mintfield is due here any minute,” Sarah said in a worried voice. “And Conrad is at the police station. I don’t like the idea of taking on Gatti alone – not if he knows that Conrad’s asked for my help.”

  “Service,” Gatti boomed impatiently as his two men stepped behind him and folded their arms together.

  Sarah drew in a deep breath. “You stay here in the kitchen. If any shooting starts, make a dash for the back door.”

  Amanda grabbed Sarah’s hand. “I’m... coming with you,” she said nervously.

  Sarah pulled her hand away and looked into Amanda’s eyes. “Please,” she begged, “stay in the kitchen. There’s no sense in both of us possibly risking our lives. You have Jack and your son to think about.”

  “I...” Amanda began to speak and then slowly nodded her head. “Okay, Los Angeles. I’ll stay in the kitchen.”

  Sarah patted her friend’s shoulder and walked out into the main room. “What will it be?” she asked in a friendly tone.

  Gatti gave Sarah a hard look. He had expected a tough Los Angeles street cop, but instead saw a pretty woman dressed in a thick green sweater falling over a gray wool dress. “Coffee,” he sounded angry.

  Sarah shifted her eyes away from Gatti and glanced at the two statue-like men standing behind him. Both of Gatti’s men were wearing black overcoats and gray fedoras. They looked like twins, even though it was clear that one man was in his twenties and the other man was in his forties. “Sure,” Sarah said and called out “Three coffees!” toward the kitchen.

  Gatti didn’t take his eyes off Sarah. “Sarah Garland,” he huffed, unamused. “I expected more from a woman with your reputation.”

  “Oh?” Sarah kept her voice calm. “Do you know me?”

  Gatti frowned. “Knock off the act,” he warned her, keeping his arms folded. “You know who’s sitting in front of you. So, if you decide you want to play games with me, just remember the games you play can quickly become very painful.”


  “Don’t you threaten me,” Sarah snapped. “Sure, I know who you are, and I couldn’t care less.”

  The bodyguard in his twenties reached for his gun. Gatti shook his head. “Leave her be,” he growled. Keeping his eyes locked on Sarah, he took a minute to study her face. “I assume Detective Spencer has spoken to you by now?”

  “Yes,” Sarah said, maintaining eye contact with Gatti.

  “Sit down.”

  “I’ll stand.”

  “Sit... down... now,” Gatti ordered through gritted teeth.

  “I’ll stand,” Sarah repeated angrily.

  Gatti nodded. The man in his forties walked over to Sarah, grabbed her arm, and forced her to sit down. Sarah didn’t resist. Knowing that resisting would surely lead to pain, she decided to play along. “Sophia,” Gatti said as his bodyguard moved back behind him, “was murdered. I have given Detective Spencer seven days to locate the person who murdered her.”

  “Why do you care?” Sarah asked, rubbing her right arm.

  Gatti unfolded his arms and slowly rubbed the long scar running across his forehead. “Help Detective Spencer find the garbage that murdered Sophia and I will let you live, as well as your friend standing behind the kitchen door. The seven-day rule now applies to the both of you as well as Detective Spencer. I want no games.”

  “Will you really let Detective Spencer live?” Sarah asked defiantly. “Come on, pal, we both know you hate cops. And it was Detective Spencer who married the woman you loved, a woman who refused to become your wife.”

  Gatti balled his right hand into a fist and struck the table. “One more word and you’re a dead woman!” he yelled.

  “So kill me already,” Sarah said. “Listen, Gatti, you can go around bullying people as much as you want, but up here in Alaska, you’re walking on thin ice. I have friends in this town who can pick an antler off a moose at five hundred feet. Up here, there aren’t any rules. You can kill me, but if you do, trust me, you’d better get out of town and fast.”

  “Mr. Gatti ain’t afraid of anyone,” the man in his twenties informed Sarah.

  “And a bullet fired from a hunting rifle doesn’t ask names,” Sarah fired back. “You’re aware of the weather outside. A storm is moving in. The roads leading in and out of town will be inaccessible come nightfall. So you’d better knock off the threats or else carry them out and get out of town.”

  Gatti stared at Sarah. He was aware that Snow Falls was unfriendly territory. “Find Sophia’s killer. You have seven days.”

  “And then what?” Sarah asked. “What if we can’t find Sophia's killer? Are you really going to kill us? And for what? No, Gatti, you have no intention of killing anyone, so knock off the threats. It’s clear you loved Sophia, and I can understand your anger. My friend and I are going to work with Detective Spencer and look under every stone there is. But you have to realize that the person who killed Sophia may not be in Snow Falls.”

  “He’s here,” Gatti assured her. “And let me tell you something, cop. In seven days, if I don’t have the skunk who murdered Sophia gift wrapped and delivered to me, you will die. I can make one phone call and have an army of men here within the next twenty-four hours. If you want a war, I’ll give you a war. But the deaths of innocent people will be on your conscience. Don’t try and play rough with me, because I hit hard and without mercy.”

  Gatti’s eyes told Sarah that he was clearly speaking the truth. She and Amanda now had seven days to live unless the murderer was located. “You said ‘he.’ Why?” Sarah asked, deciding to drop into her investigative mode. “How do you know the person who killed Sophia is a male? And how do you know that person is still in Snow Falls? And,” she added, narrowing her eyes, “if you believe the person who killed Sophia is in Snow Falls, why aren’t you going after him yourself?”

  Gatti didn’t like being questioned by a cop. He decided to toss out a few bread crumbs and nothing more. “I don’t have facts,” he told her in a low, dangerous voice. “What I do know is that my search has ended here. And that’s all you need to know. You have seven days.”

  “Why seven days?” Sarah insisted. “If you want to catch the killer, why not offer more time?”

  “Seven days,” Gatti roared and hit the table again. “I’m an impatient man. Don’t test me, cop.”

  “Get out of my coffee shop,” Sarah pointed at the front door, “and don’t come back in here until the seven days are over. By then, we’ll have your killer sitting right where you’re sitting now.”

  Gatti stood up. “If you fail me,” he warned, “your kitchen will be decorated with funeral wreaths.”

  “Get out.”

  Gatti narrowed his eyes and looked at Sarah. “Seven days,” he promised. “And cancel the coffee.”

  Sarah watched Gatti put his coat back on and walk outside.

  “Are you crazy?” Amanda asked, bursting through the kitchen door the instant he was gone. “Of course you are,” she answered herself, and hurried to check Sarah’s arm. “That brute grabbed you awful hard.”

  “I’m okay,” Sarah promised. She stood up, looked at the front door and shook her head. “Gatti knows who the killer is. He has to. Something isn’t right, Amanda. I have a bad feeling about this one.”

  Before Amanda could answer, a man in his late sixties walked through the front door, covered with snow. “Snow’s starting to really come down,” Steve Mintfield said through chattering teeth. Stomping snow off his brown boots onto the red-and-green floor mat, he looked around. “I didn’t think anyone would be crazy enough to come into town today except me.”

  Sarah watched Steve take off his thick brown coat and hang it up on the wooden coat rack. “Coffee?” she asked.

  “Please,” Steve said, pulling off a pair of gray gloves and sticking them into his back pocket.

  Amanda gave Sarah a worried look and hurried back to the kitchen. “Please, sit down,” Sarah told Steve, pointing at the chair Gatti had been sitting in.

  Steve smiled and complied. “So,” he said, looking around at the warm and comfortable room, “where is this new detective I’ve heard so much about?”

  “Actually…” Sarah paused, preparing for a tongue lashing. “Detective Spencer is at the police station. He’s asked me to take his place.”

  Instead of becoming upset, Steve nodded his head. “I’ve only seen you a handful of times,” he told Sarah, “but the way folks around town talk about you, well, it’s impressive. Years back I traveled to Los Angeles to attend my daughter’s wedding, and let me say, that was enough for me. I can’t imagine working as a homicide detective in that city. I’m just grateful my daughter moved away to Tennessee.”

  Sarah sat down. “Mr. Mintfield,” she said, struggling to place her thoughts in order, “I sure do appreciate you coming out on such an awful day.”

  “Ain’t nothing,” Steven said in a warm voice. “I’ve always liked the snow. The snow and me, we’re old friends.”

  Amanda rushed out of the kitchen with a white mug full of hot coffee. “Very hot,” she told Steve, setting the coffee down in front of him. “Cream... sugar?”

  “Nope, coffee was meant to be guzzled down black. Now, why don’t you ladies stop being so nervous and talk to me? I don’t bite, you know.”

  “Mr. Mintfield—”

  “Steve,” he corrected, taking a sip of his coffee. “Ah, nice and strong, just the way I like it. Some folks say you make your coffee too strong, but me, well, the stronger the better.”

  Sarah felt a smile touch her lips. Steve Mintfield was a warm and charming man. “Steve, did you pass three men outside?”

  “Strange looking fellas,” Steve said. “Never saw them before in my life. Did they give you any trouble?”

  “No... not exactly,” Amanda answered before Sarah could speak.

  “Steven, can you keep a secret? What I mean to ask you is... can we trust you?” Sarah asked.

  Steve put down his coffee and looked at Sarah. His face became serio
us. “Now, I make it clear that I keep to my own business,” he said. “I don’t get mixed up in other people’s problems. My wife and I are peaceful people. We keep to ourselves, treat others as we want to be treated, and more than anything we fear God. Is that clear?”

  “Yes, sir,” Sarah said, expecting him to stand up, walk out of her coffee shop and never look back.

  “But,” said he continued, looking around the empty room and then up at Amanda, “if this is about that woman’s death, then... well, I guess I can make an exception.”

  Amanda put her hand down on Sarah’s shoulder. “You know about—”

  Steve held up his right hand. “I know a woman was found dead. Now,” he said calmly, “I’m not very happy about a murder taking place in our town, especially a murder Chief Cunningham is keeping under his hat. I only found out because some suit came out to my land and hired me to go out to the dead woman’s cabin and put new locks on her doors. I also had to replace the back door altogether. It had been kicked off the hinges.”

  Sarah looked up at Amanda. “What did you see while you were replacing the locks and the back door? Was anything in the cabin?”

  “I kept my eyes low and worked with my mouth shut,” he replied. “Three suits were clearing the cabin faster than I could work.”

  “Steve,” Sarah persisted patiently, “before this federal agent showed up on your land, did anyone else show up there?”

  Steven rubbed his chin. “I make cabinets. The rental company that owns the cabin the dead woman lived in hired me to make a set of kitchen cabinets and to put new locks on the doors. But... oh... a week or so before the suit showed up on my land, a strange fellow came around asking for a set of keys to the cabin in question. He said he was from the rental company, but I knew better. I’ve met the man from the rental company. The fellow got mighty angry with me when I refused to give him a set of keys. I ended up having to put my hunting rifle in his face and run him off.”

  “What did this man look like? Can you describe him?”