by D. K. Hood
“Then we’ll have to be careful.” Kane pushed open the outside door. “And hope like hell this is an isolated incident.”
Thirteen
Rumor is everywhere. It nibbles its way through the crowd like a swarm of locusts. People all around me are wide-eyed and exchanging gossip as if their lives depend on it. Maybe that’s closer to the truth than they think. I smile to myself as someone close by is discussing why the cops asked them about their wet boots. What a deliciously misleading clue, because as I cast my gaze around the room, almost three-quarters of the people have watermarks on their boots. For me, since the sheriff locked down the resort, I have a captive audience, and when excitement turns to fear, it will be like catching fish in a barrel. There’ll be no place to hide, no place to run from me. I’ll leave no clues, and no law enforcement officer will suspect me, for I am a master of deception.
I know this ski lodge. I spent a wonderous vacation here last winter enjoying the slopes and planning my revenge. I used my time to map every CCTV camera, every safe exit and entry throughout the complex. I can move from place to place, floor to floor like a shadow.
Obtaining a supply of passkeys had just become easier. I couldn’t risk using the same one more than twice, or the management might be able to track me. But as luck would have it, when I returned through the staff entrance earlier, cleaned off my boots, and shook the snow from my coat, I noticed a PASSKEY CARDS sign above a small metal box just inside the door. It wasn’t locked and I grabbed a few and stuffed them inside my pocket. The one I took from the room service attendant I’ll be sure to toss in a hallway somewhere.
I catch sight of someone I know. We started out together many years ago both studying literature and creative writing. I often helped her write pitches and it was one of my greatest that scored her the agent she’d craved. But when it came time to pass it forward, she turned her back on me as if I wasn’t worth her time. I knew her as Doris Slaughter out of Chicago, but now her bio has her name as Kitty Pandora out of Superstition Oregon. Here she sits, as readers come by, books in hand, to collect her promotional handouts and ask for an autograph. I join the line but I haven’t purchased a book. I figure my eyes would catch fire and burn at the sight of the words she’d written but I have read the reviews. At last, it’s my turn and I smile at her. “Doris, how good to see you again.”
“It’s Kitty Pandora now.” She preened and puffed up her hair. “My second book is due out next fall.”
I lean closer and drop my voice to just above a whisper. “How about we celebrate with a few drinks later? You always said we’d celebrate with champagne when you made it.”
“Champagne? Have you hit the big time?” Kitty’s eyebrows rose in surprise.
I laugh and shrugged. “Oh, I can’t tell just yet.”
“I can’t have a drink with you tonight. I’m having dinner with my agent.” Kitty’s mouth curled down. “It’s all business, you know. You’ll soon find out there’s no time for fun.”
I keep smiling. She was always a greedy woman and I’d play to that weakness. “I so understand. This is a busy time for me too. At least allow me to send a bottle of champagne to your room. For old time’s sake?”
“That would be nice.” Kitty actually smiled. “I’ll drink it in my bubble bath. I have one every night to sooth the aches and pains. These conferences will be the death of me.” She wrote something on a bookmark and handed it to me. “Here you go.”
I glance at the number, 3/24, and her messy signature, scrawled on the bookmark promoting her latest book, Frizzled. “I’ll be sure to order it now. What’s a good time for you?”
“Ten. I’ll have my bath waiting.” Kitty waved me away. “You’ll have to go now. I have people waiting.”
I chuckle. My day just got a whole lot better. “Ten it is.”
Fourteen
Snowflakes melted on Kane’s cheeks, sending trickles of ice water down his neck. As he walked beside Jenna, he could hear Mr. Sparks on his converted Bobcat snowplow, clearing the pathways. He took Jenna’s hand and they hurried along the recently cleared trail. “I spoke to Emily earlier. She’s keen to stay here for a couple of days. Apparently, there’s an ex-FBI agent who wrote a book about profiling and he’s running a Q & A tomorrow. She wants to attend and can get a ticket without a problem. Julie wants to spend more time here too. The only problem is getting a room. You have a suite with two bedrooms and I have a room with two single beds. If I bunk with you, I can give my room to the girls.” He gave her a long look and smiled at her bemused expression. “If you’re worried, I’ll make sure anyone coming and going will see we’re using both rooms.”
“I’d like that.” Jenna squeezed his hand. “I’m getting used to having you around. I was wondering why you took the other room in the first place.”
Kane chuckled. “Well, you wanted to keep our relationship private, so asking for one room would have placed the cat among the pigeons. Now, people will see women going in and out of my room. That will put an end to any romance rumors about us.” He met her horrified gaze with a wide grin. “Oh, for goodness sake, Jenna, don’t look at me like that. I won’t be staying in the room, will I? But media reporters, especially Deni Crawford, wouldn’t know who they are, will they? With luck she’ll leave us alone for a time.”
“You have a very strange sense of humor, and I know when it comes to Wolfe and his girls, he has none whatsoever. God help you if Emily is mentioned in the newspaper as your date.” Jenna was scanning the way ahead. “This snow is so heavy I can’t see a thing. Anyone could be out there watching us.”
“I doubt it.” Kane peered into the dark forest. “It’s so cold. Stand still for long and you’ll become part of the landscape.”
They reached the barrier Kane had constructed across the pathway outside Dakota’s chalet and he moved it and walked around it and headed for the woodpile. He pulled out a brush he’d taken from his forensics kit and gently brushed away the snow from the pile of wood. “I’d assume Sparks would have placed the wood where it couldn’t roll back down, so maybe against the wall. I’ll look there first.”
Starting at one end of the pile closest to the wall, he examined each log. He’d gotten to the last one in the top row and spotted a splash of red. “Got it.”
“Here.” Jenna waved an evidence bag at him. “Drop it in here.”
Kane looked at the log through the plastic bag. “We’re lucky it’s frozen. All the evidence has been preserved.” He glanced at his watch. “Webber will be on his way back by now to collect Wolfe. This is a great find.”
“Good, let’s go. I’m freezing.” Jenna led the way back down the pathway. “I thought I’d be used to the cold by now, but this year it’s beyond cold.”
The engine sound of the Bobcat rumbled close by and Sparks came riding toward them waving frantically. Kane moaned. “What now?”
“Is something wrong, Mr. Sparks?” Jenna walked toward him, a worried expression on her face.
“There’s a body at the construction site.” Sparks was breathing heavily, sending great plumes of steam all around him. “The door to one of the new chalets is wide open, with snow getting inside. I went to close it, seeing as the contractors left before the blizzard hit, and saw a man lying in a pool of blood.” His brow wrinkled. “This isn’t one of those staged murder scenes with a dummy and a murder mystery for the guests to solve, is it?”
“We’ll take a look. Show us where to go.” As the Bobcat turned around and chugged away, Jenna looked at Kane. “This can’t be good.”
The way to the construction site had been cleared and a good amount of sand and salt had been laid, but Kane gripped Jenna’s hand when she slipped on a patch of ice. “Hang on to me.” He pulled her hand through his arm. “We’ll move faster together. Our snow boots are in the Beast. We should’ve thought to wear them this morning.”
“I wasn’t expecting to be hiking in the snowfields when I left home.” Jenna held on tight. “These boots are usually fi
ne in the snow in town but not good enough for alpine conditions.” She pointed ahead. “There’s the construction site and, look, there’s an access road out back for the tradesmen. I wonder where that leads to?”
Kane scanned the area all around the chalet but snow had obliterated any footprints or signs of anyone being in the area and the plow had cleared the pathway. He’d seen the plan of the resort many times. It was on the noticeboard in their front office. “That maintenance road runs parallel to the ski slopes and up here behind the cabins. If you remember the last time we were here, someone had used the back road beside the slopes to commit a crime.”
“Vividly.” Jenna’s mouth turned down as she moved to the chalet door and visibly shuddered. “Oh, I’ll never get used to seeing murder victims.”
Kane squeezed her arm. “I’ll check for vitals and then come right out. We’ll need to preserve the scene and I haven’t brought my forensics kit.”
“Go right ahead.” Jenna peered inside the door. “I’ll wait here.”
Without hesitation, Kane skirted the room, examining the floor for any evidence, but there was little of significance. He approached the body, keeping well away from the pool of frozen blood, and checked for a pulse in the man’s neck. He looked up at Jenna and shook his head before retracing his steps. “Frozen solid.”
“Dammit, this means anyone could’ve used the back road to get to Dakota Storm’s chalet as well, without anyone seeing them and escaped down the mountain before we arrived.” Jenna peered in the door.
“If the same killer murdered this man, I don’t think they used the back road.” Kane’s gaze moved to the open door and the body in a pool of blood. “They closed the road after we arrived and Mr. Sparks would have noticed the door open before now.” He walked up to Sparks. “Did you clear this path earlier today?”
“Yeah, I’m clearing them a few times a day. I finished that area before seven and I’ve been going back and forth all day. The snow is relentless and people have to get back to their rooms.” Sparks lowered his sunglasses and peered into the chalet. “Is that body real?”
Kane frowned. “I’m afraid so, but it’s not clear how he died. It could’ve been an accident. Don’t mention this to anyone. We don’t want people to panic and we’ll need time to call the medical examiner and contact the next of kin before we release any details.”
“Sure, sure.” Sparks looked at Jenna. “Do you need me to stay around, Sheriff?”
“No thanks. We can handle it from here.” Jenna glanced back at the road. “Are you in contact with the person clearing the road from here to town? We’ll need the back road open urgently, so we don’t disturb the guests.”
“Yeah, I’ll call him on the two-way. He’s due to come by this afternoon so the bus can return to town, so he’s already on the mountain. I’ll get him to come by and clear it now.” Sparks’s forehead wrinkled into a frown. “If you need the road cleared more often, call the council. The snowplows are working around the clock, so I hear.”
“Okay, thanks.” Jenna gave him a wave as he turned the Bobcat around and headed back down the trail, spilling salt and sand from a spreader set behind his machine. She turned to Kane. “I’ll call Wolfe. While we’re waiting, we’ll make a start at processing the scene. I have a pocketful of evidence bags we can use. I doubt there’ll be fingerprints. No one in their right mind would come here without gloves. We’ll just have to do our best. Move slow and check out everything.” She made the call.
Kane moved closer to the door and something shiny in the snow caught his eye. He bent and pulled out a gold earring. “This is a match to the one we found outside Dakota Storm’s chalet.”
“An impossible coincidence.” Jenna opened an evidence bag and Kane dropped it inside. She peered at the earring. “I hope this has DNA on it. What’s the chance the killer dropped it?”
“More like they left it deliberately. They wouldn’t want to be seen wearing one earring after the announcement this morning.” Kane peered inside the chalet, the puff of steam from his breath clouded up his sunglasses. He removed them and edged into the room, taking in the entire scene. The man lay on the floor spreadeagled in a pool of frozen blood. Snowflakes dusted the body, covering any signs of injury. But as he moved closer, he caught the glint of something in the fall of hair. Using the pen from his pocket, he lifted the hair to reveal three small pieces of metal protruding from the victim’s neck at the base of the skull. With care, he brushed away the snow from the man’s bloody coat and jeans. “Oh, Jesus.”
The body was peppered with bright silver nails. He turned, searching the immediate area for a weapon and his gaze settled on the nail gun. “He’s been shot with a nail gun.”
“He suffered.” Jenna’s face paled. “He’d have bled out with this many bolts in him.”
Kane shook his head. “There’s not enough blood to indicate he bled out. The body shots were aimed to cause maximum pain. I figure the three in the temple killed him.” He straightened and peered around the room. “And there’s the nail gun still attached to the compressor.”
“It’s been a while since we’ve found a murder weapon. Wolfe will be ecstatic.” Jenna stepped carefully across the small space, scanning the ground. “Look at the floor. It’s already covered with footprints from the many contractors who’ve visited, and no doubt the victim and killer.” She pushed her hands into her pockets and looked at him. “Take the photographs. There’s blood spatter everywhere—floor, bathroom door—and there’s a handprint on the doorframe. All no doubt from the victim, but he’s wearing gloves and in this weather the killer would have been wearing them as well. I’ll call Webber and direct him to the back road.” She pulled out her phone.
Kane took photographs with his phone and examined the entire chalet with care, making sure not to overlook anything. Collecting fragments of evidence was vital to solving a murder, but apart from a few dusty footprints on the wooden floor and damage to the walls from the nail gun, he found little else to document. There was no sign of a struggle. The dead man had no other contusions visible, nothing on his face, and apart from blood on his gloves and marks where he’d tried to crawl away, it was as if the man had been in the room alone.
He bent down, avoiding stepping in the blood, and searched the victim’s pockets. The inside pocket of his jacket held a wallet with four hundred in cash and a driver’s license. In another pocket he discovered cards promoting a book titled Nailed It with a photograph of the author. He stared at the driver’s license photograph and compared it to the man’s blue frozen face and stood. He waited for Jenna to disconnect and showed her the license. “We have Jedidiah Longfellow out of Wilderness, Wyoming.” He handed Jenna the pile of cards. “Now this is weird.”
“It looks like the victims in his book were killed by a nail gun.” Jenna pushed the phone back in her pocket. “We’ll need to find out if he writes true crime. It might be payback from someone involved.”
Staring down at the face of the man, Kane rubbed his chin. “Possible motive but I think we’d have heard about a previous nail gun murder. It’s not the usual weapon of choice. I figure he wrote fiction. Two murders in chalets next to each other. They must be linked. I wonder what connection he has with Dakota Storm?”
Fifteen
During a homicide investigation, Deputy Zac Rio regarded every suspect he interviewed as a possible killer. He didn’t have the intricate profiling skills of Kane or Special Agent Jo Wells, the behavioral analyst from Snakeskin Gully who often dropped by to lend a hand on some of the more difficult cases, but he had an instinct about people. Alas the woman seated opposite him, an author who went by the name of September March, had skewed all his senses. Miss March informed him she lived out of Spirit Lake in the foothills of the Black Rock mountain range. He’d never heard of the place. He’d met some strange people in his time in Los Angeles, but September March was weird with a capital W. With long charcoal-black hair and dressed in long flowing robes over army boots, September
obviously had a penchant for snakes, a silver one with red eyes curled around her neck and hung down the front of her black top to nestle between an ample bosom. The same silver design adorned both wrists and snake earrings dangled from her ears. She had a long face, pointed chin, and green eyes topped with highly arched eyebrows. Rings covered every finger and when she walked bells attached to the bottom of her voluptuous skirts tinkled. He looked up from his notes and met her disinterested gaze. “What kind of books do you write?”
“Everyone here writes crime.” September leaned forward and tipped her head to one side as she peered at him. “I write supernatural crime thrillers.”
Rio nodded and made a note. “Are you published?”
“Yeah, well, self-published.” Her gaze drifted to the other hotel guests in the room. “I’m here to pitch my latest manuscript to agents. I’ve been trying for some time to secure one. It’s really annoying when they reject me, especially when I see the exact same story as mine being represented by them.”
Oh, you have a chip on your shoulder. “I’m sure that happens all the time.” Rio shrugged. “I’d imagine most agents have a slot for a particular genre and ask for submissions, so the best one in their opinion is offered representation.”
“But mine is the best one.” September narrowed her green gaze on him. “I’ve proved it. When I self-publish the books, they do quite well, but it’s like being stuck in a rut. I need a bestseller to get an agent, but I need an agent to get a good publisher to give me that bestseller.”
Rio decided to change tack and find out a little more about Miss March. “So do you enjoy writing crime?”
“I like murder, the bloodier the better.” She chuckled and wet her lips. “I want the reader to be too scared to get up and walk to the bathroom at night. Too scared to drive anywhere alone.”