Snowbound Snuggles

by T. F. Walsh

  Not even coherent. She stood at the large dining room window after the men walked out and failed to make sense of the scene. Marked patrol cars of white and deep blue plus Daryl’s black sedan were parked between the various sheds with no apparent pattern. Uniformed officers clustered around the sheriff’s Blazer and widened their circle to include Daryl and the deputy.

  A harsh laugh escaped her throat. She looked down at the windowsill and imagined the steers—all eleven of them in the yard—panicked by gunfire, breaking the fence and stampeding down the slope to the gully. Would they find the bridge? Take the ditch in a leap? Chase Myles into the woods? She wiped at sudden tears. “I’ve got to stop this.”

  “Stop what?” Brad asked.

  She brushed her sleeve across her face and blinked him into focus. He already knew too many of her secrets. No reason to tell him this foolishness. “Nothing important.”

  “Everything’s important.” He pulled a chair from the table, straddled it, and eased his prosthesis across the back.

  Snatches of her middle of the night confession returned. The daylight streaming in warned her to hold the rest private. “Did they send you to babysit?”

  “Negative. Came inside to warm up. And clear the air between us.”

  “I’m not in a frame of mind to make decisions.” She pulled a decorative pillow against her chest. A tremor entered her fingers. His expression remained serious, too much like after her nightmare.

  “A question from Amy this morning got me to thinking. Thursday afternoon I had a visitor, an unexpected female caller. And I’m thinking you might have gotten the wrong impression if you saw us together.”

  “I’ve no claim on you. Don’t want one.” She curled her fingers against the corded cushion edge. For a moment she considered whether she’d just told another lie. The edges of her heart stiffened, prepared for a description of the brunette in the bright blue jacket.

  “Kimberly Beel hired Frieberg Investigations to look into her uncle’s death. She’s a college buddy. Half a dozen of us roamed Madison together.” He looked straight ahead, an expression of determination overlaying his face. “Thanks to alphabetical order and our last names, we stood next to each in more ROTC formations than I care to remember. She’s good people. A little on the exuberate side. Raised in one of those families apt to hug a person at first introduction.”

  She glanced at her toes, eager to look at anything other than his eyes with their silent plea to hear him out.

  “Kimberly’s engaged to marry a forester in Minnesota come spring.”

  The room quieted until Laura could count the ticks of the cuckoo clock.

  She squeezed her eyes tight. Scott’s image smiled at her then faded. “Please go.”

  “Think on it, Laura.”

  She listened to Brad stand, move the chair, and then his footsteps echoed across the kitchen.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Laura wrote her initials and turned to the final page of her official statement. Her pen still touched the paper at the end of her signature when the door to the conference room opened.

  “Finished?” Sheriff Bergstrom leaned in.

  “Yes.” She scribbled the date and flipped the report back to the beginning. “Do you need the room?”

  “You have guests.”

  At the sheriff’s office? She glanced around the room—yep, she was still in the utilitarian meeting and break room with fridge, microwave, and one table surrounded by sturdy chairs. Before she could stand and present the statement to the sheriff, men started to file through the door.

  She forced a smile at Uncle Daryl and nodded to Brad. Her breathing stalled at the sight of the next man.

  “Good afternoon, Mrs. Tanner.” Detective Wilson of St. Louis closed the distance between them with a few steps and reached across the table.

  “What . . . ”

  “Never been this far north for a winter vacation.” He reached into his jacket pocket and scattered wrapped mints on the table. “Sheriff Bergstrom and others in this room can be very persuasive.”

  Laura found a smile one degree warmer than her usual customer service style for the lead detective on Scott’s case. An instant later, she became aware of a stranger beside him.

  “John Schultz, Kenosha Police Department.” He offered his hand.

  “Kenosha.” Laura mixed puzzled with polite. “Pardon me. My geography fails me at the moment.”

  “Extreme southeastern Wisconsin.” He released a short, firm grasp on her hand. “I’ve been assigned to take another look at the James Beel death.”

  Sheriff Bergstrom retrieved one of the legal pads from the center of the table and claimed a chair. “Shall we begin?”

  Laura nodded along with the others. Light glinted off Brad’s hook mere inches from her clasped hands weighting down her signed statement of yesterday’s events. Sea breeze aftershave and the bubble of fresh air he tended to bring into a room tickled her senses.

  “Are you okay?” Brad whispered.

  She managed a nod.

  “We’ve come from the hospital.” Daryl filled the simple words with serious meaning.

  “Is Myles . . . ” She moved her gaze from Daryl to Brad. Did he kill a man? For her?

  “Mr. Wilcox, if that’s his true name, will make a full recovery. He’ll be moved to a cell in the adjoining wing before the end of today.”

  Laura set her attention on the sheriff.

  “Mrs. Tanner, are you familiar with the name Brian Klipper?”

  “No, ma’am. Should I be?”

  The sheriff jotted a note without losing eye contact with Laura. “What about Jason Young?”

  She glanced at her hands and concentrated on attaching surnames to the several men with that first name from work, college, and her St. Louis neighborhood. “No. I don’t think so. Why do you ask?”

  “My deputies found three sets of identification in Mr. Wilcox’s truck. Are you certain you’ve not been contacted by either Brian Klipper or Jason Young?”

  “I can’t recall either name. There’s always a chance one of them shows in my computer, but I can’t make a connection. Do you need to check it? I didn’t bring it with me today.” Laura thought back on the messages since her arrival in Crystal Springs. After her employer closed, her email circle consisted of family, a few friends, and business contacts for the bookstore. Nothing close to these names mentioned stood out.

  “Early last year,” Wilson spoke around one of his mints. “We gathered evidence connecting Brian Klipper to Scott Tanner’s murder. We traced him as far as the Minneapolis airport and then he vanished like smoke. We found a witness in St. Louis, but the man consistently picked Mr. Tanner out of the photo array. I didn’t understand the why of that until a few hours ago. That pair looks like brothers, even twins.”

  Laura clenched her hands to suppress a tremble. Not many witnesses would notice a difference in voice or fingers of the right hand. “Scott’s true brother is different at a glance. Mr. Wilcox . . . he unnerved me.”

  Brad nudged her with his hook to get her attention. “Your husband did not have an evil twin. I checked with his mother.”

  You called my mother-in-law?

  “The accountants finished with the files Mr. Tanner left for you to find.” Wilson claimed the conversation again.

  “I’ll confess to keeping a partial copy,” Laura fought the urge to grasp the rings under her sweater. “They totally confused me.”

  Daryl tapped the table. “Makes me glad to hear you say that.”

  “You like me confused?” She moved her gaze to her uncle’s eyes and failed to find a hint of humor this time.

  Wilson gave Daryl one of his half smiles. “I think your uncle is reassured that you’re not familiar with accounting tricks to hide laundered funds.”

  “Drug money? Gary Browne?”

  “We arrested Gary Browne and his new business partner last night. Along with Mr. Wilcox, we’re hopeful to climb further up the chain than ever before.”<
br />
  “And thanks to the persistence of the family, and Mr. Asher,” Detective Schultz nodded to Brad, “we’ve established a connection between the Kenosha construction company and Browne’s new partner.”

  Kenosha. Beel. Names fell into place like the final pieces of a puzzle for Laura. Brad’s college friend, Beel, pushed the right rock to expose Scott’s killer as well as the case in her family. Still, the picture remained blurred, as if she looked though a wrong pair of glasses. “Why?”

  “Greed,” Daryl replied.

  “Fear of exposure.” Sheriff Bergstrom underlined a word on her pad. “Mr. Wilcox requested a lawyer after surgery. The good news is that he spoke volumes in the ambulance and my deputy got it all on tape. According to his own words, Scott Tanner wasn’t his first murder for hire. I don’t think he trusted his ability to keep his secret while living in such a small community with you.”

  “Is it over?” Laura managed to get Wilson to look at her directly.

  “Prosecutors in three different jurisdictions have it now. We’re talking multiple arraignments and hearings for certain. It may or may not go to trial.”

  “Will my husband get justice?” The heat and moisture of determination bathed Laura’s back. She collected nods as she scanned the other faces until she reached the final one. “Uncle Daryl?”

  He sighed enough to overwhelm the silence. “How are you defining it today?”

  “It’s a good system, Mrs. Tanner.” Wilson pushed a mint in her direction. “Good. Not perfect.”

  She swallowed back an objection at anything less. Confession. Trial. No matter how long it took or what the final outcome in the justice system it wouldn’t bring Scott back. Her hand moved to her chest, found the lump of rings, and stayed as if to protect Scott’s memory.

  “You may stay as long as you wish.” The sheriff pushed back her chair, collected Laura’s statement, and nodded to the detectives. “We have official calls to make.”

  “Of course.” Laura counted them as they departed. One didn’t leave. A quick glance to her right and she found Brad sitting with his head propped on his hand staring at her profile.

  I will not cry. I will not make a scene.

  She gazed at the second hand on the plain wall clock during one complete revolution and a portion of another before she reached behind her, fumbled the chain out, and released the clasp. The rings and chain glinted in her hand, a jumble of precious memories and metal.

  “Where’s the happy? I thought I’d be joyful when they made an arrest.”

  “How do you feel?” Brad teased his hook into the chain and began to spread the necklace out for display on the table.

  “Empty. Hollow.” She separated out the larger ring and set it over her index finger. With each millimeter it slid down she felt her heart accept what her brain learned that New Year’s Eve in Scott’s office. Her marriage was over. It ended with her husband’s final breath.

  She rotated the ring once. Thank you for our yesterdays together. She tipped her hand, returned the wedding band to its companion and chain. “Are you going to play psychologist now?”

  “Friend. Listening post. Big Ears Brad didn’t go away completely.” He wiggled his ears and grinned.

  She couldn’t help it. Tension released in a giggle before growing into a genuine laugh.

  “You have a beautiful smile, Goldilocks.”

  “Not so bad yourself, Mr. Park Ranger.”

  Chapter Twenty

  “Where are we going?” Laura asked the same question for the sixth time while putting on her boots and parka. She took another glance into the kitchen where Aunt Sharon dried the last of the breakfast dishes.

  “Go on, Laura. I can handle things here. Enjoy a nice ride with Brad on a sunny winter day.”

  She pulled on her gloves. Their long conversation after leaving the sheriff’s office yesterday had been therapeutic. She’d managed to relieve some stress and lose track of time during a walk around Wagoner’s business district, followed by coffee and dessert with him. She’d needed both the fresh air and his friendship. He impressed her then, even more than in previous conversations, as living a blend of ambition and spontaneity. His friendship would be a good counterbalance to her endless lists and planning. “I assumed Daryl would have you doing paperwork today.”

  “Already put in three hours at the office.” He gestured her through the door. “I’ve got enough remnants of dairy farmer and soldier left in me that I wake up early.”

  She shook away an image of Brad moving around in a dim room while she lazed under a quilt. Fantasies belonged to young girls. As a grown woman she needed to find comfort in memories and her actions of the future.

  Taffy and Cocoa broke away from supervising Roger cleaning steer pens. They circled close, whining for attention.

  “No, I’ve not forgotten you. You’re a good, brave girl.” Laura squatted down to give Cocoa a brisk rub. “And I’ll be coming back. This one’s the good guy. Remember?”

  “Enough already,” Brad opened the passenger side of his truck.

  “Are you going to tell me you don’t talk to pets?” Warmth from his hand under her elbow as she climbed into the cab tempted her to open her coat, no matter that the thermometer registered single digits.

  “Oh, I talk to them. Call them all sorts of things from sweetness and light to words my drill instructors wouldn’t dare yell. It’s a situational thing.”

  She laughed and waited while he settled behind the wheel. “Where are we going?”

  “You’re turning out to be a difficult woman to surprise. Do you always repeat the same question every thirty seconds?”

  “Not usually.”

  “Sleep well last night?” He steered the truck through a three-point turn and headed out the driveway.

  Compared to what? “We sat up late talking. Roger and Sharon asked lots of questions about these last few days.”

  “You didn’t answer my question.”

  “I don’t see ‘shrink’ on any of your hats.” She rubbed her hands and watched the Asher buildings disappear from view. A sigh escaped. The valley road seemed like the right choice this morning, it avoided going past the house Myles had rented.

  At the base of the hill Brad turned away from town, where the road stayed between the steep slope and Crystal Creek twisting across this wide part of the valley. “I’m waiting.”

  “I noticed. Better. No dancing on the deck. No blood either.” She looked at slumbering corn and soybean fields as they passed. Corn mazes—she’d been in a maze last night. Hedges, maybe holly or another of the sharp-leaved shrubs too tall for her to peek over and with a narrow path that varied from short grass to raw crushed limestone. At the exit Scott’s grave marker gleamed in moonlight. Name. Dates. Beloved Son and Husband.

  “No blood sounds like a good sign. Here we are.” He pulled into a cleared driveway that led to a single story house, garage with one extra-large and two regular doors, and another shed behind. “Milk hauler built the garage. In case you wonder about the doors.”

  “I wonder why we’re here.”

  “Three acre small farm came on the market early last month. This is three point eight miles of good road from your shop. Easy drive to town. Barn looks small on the outside but would be big enough for a horse. Or we could keep a few sheep.”

  “Are you practicing a real estate pitch?” We? She followed his cue and released her seat belt but he made no further move. “I’ll be living on the farm until Daryl’s tenant leaves in June. Then I’m moving into his upstairs apartment.”

  “It won’t hurt to look.”

  Moments later she walked close to him toward the back of the house. His left arm snugged around her waist and she fought a smile at the sight of his sparkling hook. This was a comfortable place, next to his steady optimism.

  She walked through a utility room with coat hooks and room for a freezer and paused in the kitchen. One glance out the window drew her gaze to a bright cardinal diving into a stately
spruce.

  “Laura.” He captured her hands and held them between his hand and hook. “Do you realize I love you?”

  She moved her gaze from their stack of hands and metal to his eyes. Not a trace of mischief this time. His face was all seriousness and sincerity. And he made her insides churn like a washing machine gone wild. “I loved Scott.”

  “Will you give me a chance? I’d like to be beside you during all those legal proceedings.” He finally blinked. “I’d like other things too. But I want you to be sure of yourself.”

  She moved her gaze away from the earnest eyes but it stalled on his lips. They tempted her with memories of that pair of kisses. She swallowed, pulled a little courage from hiding. “I want something too.”

  Laura leaned forward and a heartbeat later she melted into his kiss. Her arms found a way under his coat and roamed across his broad back. She hesitated when her fingertips encountered the edge of the harness for his prosthesis. She wanted to learn this man, his scars as well as his practical optimism. And he let her feel safe. More secure than she’d imagined in wild, youthful dreams.

  “Will you share your tomorrows with me, Laura?”

  She skimmed her palm across his cheek. “I won’t be easy to live with. I’m stubborn and set in my ways.”

  “I’m not asking for easy. I’ll never be a poster boy for charm myself.” He eased away half a step and pulled a small square box from his coat pocket. “This belonged to my grandmother. I think it suits you.”

  Laura gasped at an emerald cut diamond winking from a smooth gold band. She reached out, hesitated with her fingers light on deep blue velvet. “We should start our tomorrows now.”

  Acknowledgments

  Many people deserve thanks for making this story take form. I’d especially like to mention the members of Missouri Romance Writers of America. They have provided education, inspiration, and constructive criticism when needed.