“Nobody is lurking around outside in this cold,” Andrew assured Conrad. “Detective Spencer, you're not a native of these parts, so let me put your mind at ease when I tell that that no man can survive in these temperatures.”
“Maybe,” Conrad agreed. He shivered, feeling frozen to the core. Hesitatingly, he removed his coat and placed it on the wooden coat rack next to the back door and then stuffed his gun into a brown leather shoulder holster. “Let's take a look at the window.”
“Just a minute,” Sarah said. Keeping her hand close to her purse, she studied Conrad's face. “Do you mind me asking why you looked into my background? I'm the type of woman who becomes curious when a stranger knows about her past.”
Conrad folded his arms and locked eyes with Sarah. “The mayor mentioned you to me. Your name sounded familiar. When I finally remembered who you were, I ran your name. Two years before you left Los Angeles, you and I were working on the same case, but thousands of miles apart.”
“Were we?” Sarah asked curiously.
“Yes, we were,” Conrad answered in a strict tone. “We were both working to take down the 'Alley Man.' And if you remember, there was an 'Alley Man' copycat. New York and Los Angeles weren’t sure which city was housing the real killer and—”
“And I took down the real killer,” Sarah finished.
“And I tackled the copycat,” Conrad finished. “When the mayor mentioned your name, a bell went off in my head. I could hardly believe the same woman who took down the 'Alley Man' killer was living in the same town I was relocating to.”
“Why did you come to Snow Falls, by the way?” Sarah asked carefully. She began to think back to the 'Alley Man' case. Could Conrad Spencer be the 'Alley Man' copycat, pretending to be a detective?
Conrad rubbed his forehead and looked at Sarah, then at Andrew, and then to Amanda. “I know that people are curious. I would be, too, if a stranger from New York moved way out here to this glacier.” Reaching into his back pocket, Conrad pulled out a black wallet, opened it, and retrieved a photo of a beautiful woman with bright blond hair. He walked over to Sarah and handed her the photo. “This is a photo of my ex-wife.”
“She's very pretty,” Sarah replied, examining the photo.
“Very pretty, indeed,” Amanda agreed. Andrew watched with curious eyes.
“She was placed in the witness protection program... I can't say any more than that,” Conrad explained and took the photo back from Sarah. “My ex-wife and I weren't close... messy divorce... hard words... angry feelings...” Conrad shook his head.
“Was your ex-wife brought here to Snow Falls?” Amanda asked Conrad.
Conrad nodded. “You wouldn't have recognized her, though. She colored her hair black and cut it short and began wearing glasses. She also deliberately put on weight.”
“The Mafia or something was after her, is that it?” Sarah asked.
Conrad didn't answer, but his eyes told Sarah the truth. “My ex-wife was found frozen... to death... last month.”
Sarah looked at Andrew. Andrew glanced away and kicked at his feet. “I guess it makes sense now,” he said.
“You know about his ex-wife?” Amanda asked Andrew in shock.
“The Chief was ordered by higher-ups to keep the death of that poor lady quiet,” Andrew explained. “Detective, I had no idea that woman was your wife.”
“It's all right,” Conrad told Andrew. “I'm only here looking for the person who killed my wife and then I'm going back to New York. It may just be coincidence, but—” he said, and then stopped, focusing on Sarah.
“But what?” Sarah asked.
“I could use your help,” Conrad admitted. “Los Angeles wasn't very happy to see you leave to come up here and play with the polar bears.”
“I had my reasons,” Sarah told Conrad. She read sadness in his tough, stern eyes. To avoid further requests for help, Sarah stood and said abruptly, “This way, Detective. Amanda, stay in the kitchen with Andrew, okay?”
“Sure, love,” Amanda promised.
Sarah walked Conrad to her writing room. Conrad methodically examined every inch of the room as the icy winds screamed and howled outside. “No wet footprints outside the range of the writing desk?”
“No,” Sarah replied and pointed at the window. “Crowbar was used to pry the window open.”
Conrad examined the window. He pulled back the curtains and used his fingers to feel the wood the crowbar had damaged. “Do you have any enemies in this town?” he asked, lifting his fingers and peering into the dark night.
“I may make lousy coffee, but most people in this town like me,” Sarah explained.
“Sure,” Conrad said, choosing to ignore Sarah’s self-deprecating joke. “Did you check outside for footprints?”
Sarah shook her head no. “Wind took the prints away long before I got home.”
Conrad walked away from the window, sat down on the edge of the writing desk, and folded his arms. “Talk to me, Detective Garland.”
"I'm retired,” Sarah reminded him. She sat down in the computer chair and focused on the computer. “These words were left for me as a message.”
Conrad looked down and read the words sneering up at him from the computer screen. “Any ideas?”
“Some,” Sarah admitted, bringing her hands to her eyes and rubbing them. “But first, you move your pawn and let's see where we're at.”
“Okay, Milly Stevens,” Conrad said in an even voice.
Sarah sighed miserably. “You have conducted your research, haven't you?”
“Female cop moves to the same town my ex-wife was found dead outside of... same female cop who tackled the 'Alley Man'... makes a man suspicious,” Conrad said. He tossed off his gloves as if preparing to go toe-to-toe with Sarah. “Why did you really move here, Detective? You could write your books anywhere. Who are you after? Are you after the same people I'm tailing? Talk to me, okay? We're both on the same team, here.”
“Are we?” Sarah asked and stood up. “Detective Spencer—”
“Conrad.”
“Sure, fine, Conrad... my husband left me for a very wealthy client. He broke my heart into a million little pieces. I...” Sarah ran her hands through her blond hair. “I couldn't stay in Los Angeles anymore. I needed to begin a new life for myself.”
“Why did you choose to begin that new life in Snow Falls, Alaska?”
“I have always loved Alaska—the land, the people, the snow... not so much the cold, though,” Sarah explained. “My book series is doing very well. I am in a position, financially, to be able to write my books full time.”
“Why did you start a coffee shop, then?”
“My papa,” Sarah said. She walked to the window. Outside, a thick, frozen darkness glared at her. “My papa owned a coffee shop when I was a little girl, when we lived in Wisconsin. I have fond memories of Papa's coffee shop. I suppose I... owning my coffee shop makes me feel close to Papa. After losing my husband, I needed an anchor, okay?”
“Good enough,” Conrad said. He politely backed off the topic and created a different path to walk down. “Could be the man who killed my ex-wife found out your identity and now he's after you?”
“You haven't read my books, have you?” Sarah asked Conrad, turning away from the dark window.
“Not really, no,” Conrad admitted.
“You can't see it, but there's a snowman standing out on my front lawn wearing a black leather jacket,” Sarah explained. “In my book, the killer leaves the same kind of snowman on the front lawn of his intended victims. Someone in this town knows that I'm Milly Stevens.”
Conrad rubbed his chin. “It took some digging on my part to find out your pen name. Whoever this person is must have some contacts. Your publisher keeps your true identity extremely secure.”
“How did you find out that I write under the name of Milly Stevens, then?” Sarah insisted.
“Your ex-husband,” Conrad told her in a matter-of-factly voice. “The guy told me you moved
away somewhere to write stories. I did some additional exploring and talked to some of the guys in Los Angeles. I was told by a Sergeant Lucas that you had a book published before you dropped your shield in the trash.”
“I didn't drop my shield in the trash,” Sarah snapped. “Oh, Lucas... she always had a big mouth. She was always snooping around my desk, too. I can't tell you how many times I had to run her off.”
“This Sergeant Lucas dreams of being the next Sherlock Holmes,” Conrad said sympathetically. “She seemed very bitter toward you, by the way.”
“Our last encounter wasn't very pleasant,” Sarah confessed. “My husband and I were going through the divorce and I found her sitting at my desk reading a letter my publisher had sent me. I scolded her pretty well... and embarrassed her in front of a lot of people. Oh, it was stupid of me to leave that letter on my desk. My mind was... I was upset and wasn't thinking clearly, that's all.”
“I understand,” Conrad said in a voice that had warmed up one degree. “So,” he said, rubbing his nose, “someone in Snow Falls knows that you are Milly Stevens and left you a message out on your front lawn as well as on your computer.”
“Which means that person will return for me... eventually. First, he... or she... will play the game of the Frostworth Killer.”
“Frostworth?” he asked, curiously.
“A fictional town,” Sarah explained. Her eyes focused on her writing desk, and she saw herself sitting in the computer chair for countless hours as her fingertips created one word after another, each word connecting and forming a mystery story about a dangerous killer. “I suppose I have my career as a homicide detective to thank for the idea.”
Conrad studied Sarah's writing room. The room was warm and inviting—yet, mysterious. The woman herself, Conrad noticed, was mysterious… and extremely beautiful. He found it hard not to stare at Sarah's face. “Do you miss your shield?” he dared to ask.
“At times,” Sarah admitted, “and at other times I'm grateful to be rid of my shield. A lot of baggage comes with being a homicide detective... but you know that.”
Conrad nodded. “Currently I have insomnia,” he said and smiled miserably. “It happens.”
Sarah looked deeply into Conrad's eyes. “I have insomnia, too. Not bad... but I'm only catching four hours of sleep a night.”
“Better than my three,” Conrad replied. “I started losing sleep about six months ago, right out of the blue. I started waking up earlier and earlier, which is unusual because I can usually sleep twelve hours straight.”
Even though Sarah was exhausted, scared, and worried by the situation, somehow standing in her writing room with Conrad gave her a strange sense of comfort. “My insomnia began about four months back. I was never a heavy sleeper; eight hours and I'm up. I... I began losing sleep when I started writing the third book to the 'The Snowman Killer from Frostworth' series.”
Conrad glanced at the dark window. Suddenly he stood up, walked over to the window and pulled the curtains closed. “Let's get back to the kitchen.”
Sarah nodded. As she closed the door to her writing room after Conrad, she felt a cold chill. Her instinct told her that she was now the main character in her book, and that whoever was after her meant to end the final sentence without a happy ending.
Chapter Five
“Everything all right?” Amanda asked as the detective and ex-detective reentered the room. Sitting at the kitchen table with Andrew, she felt somewhat safe—but still very scared.
“A crowbar was used to pry the window open,” Conrad told Andrew. “Check with the local hardware store to see if anyone has purchased a crowbar in the last few days. Also, check with the hotel. I want the names of all the guests.”
Andrew laughed so hard coffee nearly came out of his nose. “Sorry...” he said, raising a hand to Conrad, “but the only guest the Moose Inn has this time of year is a bear or two snuggled up outside one of the rooms.”
“Check,” Conrad ordered Andrew.
Andrew shrugged his shoulders. “You're the boss,” he said in a calm voice, “but Detective Spencer, Snow Falls has a population of twenty-four thousand people, mostly seasonal folks who leave when winter arrives. Sure, we have a large department store and a couple of fast food places sitting on the south side of town, and maybe our Main Street looks like it's growing—”
“It does?” Amanda asked skeptically.
“Well, maybe Main Street isn't booming,” Andrew corrected himself. “My point is, when winter arrives, Snow Falls shuts down. Tourists flock to Fairbanks and Anchorage.”
Conrad walked to the kitchen table and slammed down his fist hard, scaring Amanda. “Someone in this town killed my ex-wife. Someone in this town broke into this cabin. Do I make myself clear?” he asked Andrew.
Andrew looked up into a pair of angry eyes. “Sure, Detective, you make yourself clear,” he said and stood up. “I guess I’d better get back to the station and file a report on the break-in.”
Conrad closed his eyes and shook his head. He reached out his hand and touched Andrew's shoulder. “Hey, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to snap like that. We have to be careful, that's all. Where I come from, a killer plays outside the rules of the game.”
“Detective Spencer is right,” Sarah told Andrew. “Whoever broke into my cabin intends on playing a very dangerous game with me that doesn't end well for the hero. And whoever killed Detective Spencer's wife isn't someone who isn’t just going away.”
“Sure, I get it,” Andrew said, “but two killers... right here in Snow Falls... that's kinda hard to swallow.”
“I'm not implying the man who killed my ex-wife is still hanging around drinking coffee,” Conrad told Andrew in a controlled voice. “I'm here looking for answers, okay? Now, drive back to the station and file your report and keep quiet. Don't tell anyone what we've talked about here tonight, are we clear?”
“Not even the guys?”
“No one,” Conrad ordered.
“The guys are really going to rag me about this,” Andrew said in an upset voice.
“No one,” Conrad reiterated firmly.
Andrew sighed. “You sure are making life rough for me,” he told Conrad as he put on his winter hat. “Sarah, keep your doors locked.”
“I will, trust me. You just be careful driving back into town,” Sarah replied worriedly. “Do you want a coffee to go?”
“Thanks, but no,” Andrew said, grateful that Sarah was worried about him. “Heather has made me promise to cut down to three cups a night. Bye, now.”
Sarah watched Andrew leave. Amanda stood up and maneuvered her way toward the coffee pot. “A coffee to go?” she asked Conrad.
Conrad shook his head no. “I've had enough coffee for today, thank you.” Conrad retrieved his coat, put it on deliberately, and then donned the black ski mask. “Detective Garland, you be careful tonight,” he said, and then he vanished into the cold, icy, night.
“Well?” Amanda asked in an urgent voice. “Is he the one?”
Sarah rubbed her neck. “I'm afraid not. Detective Spencer is on the up and up.”
Amanda frowned. “Does he have any idea who broke into your cabin?” she asked.
“No,” Sarah said in a concerned voice. Leaning back against the kitchen counter, she studied the back door. “But no one is out there tonight except for that creepy snowman. The wind is actually working as our defender tonight. I think we're safe.”
Amanda wasn't so sure. She hugged her arms and looked at the back door too. “Silly Jack, he did have to leave town, didn't he? Perhaps it wasn't such a bright idea to remain behind.”
Sarah wrapped her arm around Amanda. “June Bug, I'm sure glad that you did stay behind. I need you.”
Outside, in the darkness, Conrad watched Andrew cautiously move up the street and away from the cabin. As Andrew disappeared from sight, Conrad moved into Sarah’s front yard. In the distance, he saw a shadowy figure that seemed to be waving at him. Drawing out his gun, he eased toward the fi
gure as his eyes searched the darkness and howling winds. If someone was daring enough to brave the frigid temperatures, he certainly couldn't see that person yet. The only light emanating into the snowy darkness was from the cabin—everything else was complete and utter darkness. “Careful now,” he said in a whisper as he approached the hideous snowman.
With his gun at the ready, Conrad leaned forward and examined what he could see of the snowman. The cabin's living room window cast enough light onto the snowy figure to illuminate its face in an eerie glow. Biting down on his lower lip, Conrad reached out his left hand and felt the leather jacket. The leather was new. Nodding his head, he snatched the jacket off the snowman and backed away toward the cabin, staring at the candy cane sticking out of the snowman's mouth. It was obvious the mafia had sent a hit man to kill his ex-wife—but no mafia stooge had left a deadly message for Sarah in the form of a creepy snowman chewing on a candy cane. Whoever had built the snowman was someone who had a personal vendetta against a woman who wrote under the pen name of Milly Stevens. “I’d better keep my eyes on Sarah,” Conrad whispered to himself, and he carefully walked back to the green truck he had purchased in Fairbanks.
Chapter Six
Back in town, Conrad walked into a medium-sized wooden building that appeared to be more of a log cabin than a police station. Soaking in the heat coming from both the overhead ceiling vents and the floor vents, he walked across a small lobby that resembled a coffee shop and into the work area of the station, which was nothing more than a square area lined with four desks. Snatching off his ski mask, Conrad looked down at the glossy hardwood floor and nodded his head; at least the police station was spotlessly clean, which he liked. He stopped at Andrew’s desk, where Andrew was currently sitting, hunt-and-pecking away at his keyboard. “Check with the department store in town and see if this leather jacket was purchased there,” he instructed, tossing the jacket that had been on the snowman down onto Andrew's desk.
The Snowman Killer (Alaska Cozy Mystery Book 1) Page 3