Snow Way Out

by Christine Husom

  “I will.”

  We said our good-byes and he left.

  “Cami, I almost fainted when I realized my missing knife had ended up in Jerrell Powers’s back. What are the chances?”

  I had wondered the same thing myself. “Do you want to get a bite to eat?”

  “Thanks, but it has been such a long week, I just want to go home, sit on the couch with a bowl of popcorn and a good book, and basically vegetate until bedtime.”

  “That sounds very tempting. I think I’ll go home and do the same thing.”

  “So you’re not going to tell me what Pamela and her sister were doing here.”

  “It was no big deal, really. Lauren had given some of Jerrell’s things to May without Pam’s knowledge and she was upset.”

  “So they came here to hash it out?”

  I didn’t want to tell Erin I was spying on Pamela’s house. “Pam stopped by first, then Lauren came to town to surprise her and found out she was here. Everything’s fine.”

  “If you say so. The less I have to do with Pamela, the less I will be reminded of Jerrell Powers and his evil ways.”

  There seemed to be no real rhyme or reason to retail sales, and Saturday was an unusually busy morning. People not only browsed, they bought. As morning turned into afternoon, I wondered if I’d be able to break away for Jerrell Powers’s burial service. I considered asking Dad to cover for me, but would never be able to explain why I needed his help. Pinky’s business was slower than mine, and at 1:50 I asked if it’d be all right with her if I ran an errand.

  “You go right ahead. As long as you’re not going to McDonald’s for a cup of coffee.”

  I giggled. “I would never tell you if I did.”

  Pinky snapped her towel and told me to take off. I had worn a longish black tweed skirt and boots, and with my medium-weight black coat, and the hat and gloves I’d left in my car, I figured I’d be warm enough at the cemetery. I drove the half mile west of town and arrived with only a minute to spare. My car was the fourth one in line when I parked behind an SUV.

  It felt unreal joining the small group—Pamela, Lauren, a man wearing a clerical collar and holding a Bible, and another man dressed in black from head to toe, who I presumed was from the funeral home. Missing were May and her daughter, which did not surprise me. Pam gave me a hug and told me how glad she was I had come. And in some ironic way, it seemed fitting, since I was the one who’d found his body, I should be there.

  The minister was brief, giving Pam some words of encouragement. Then Pam said a few things before she broke down. The minister was reading the committal words, “Ashes to ashes, dust to dust,” when I noticed something move from behind a tree forty or so feet away. First a hand reached around the side of the tree, and then a man’s head poked out from behind it. He was tall and had on a black stocking cap and sunglasses. Were my eyes playing tricks on me or was it the lanky guy? I looked around for a bicycle, but didn’t spot one.

  The last thing I wanted to do was create a scene, so I tried to calculate how much longer the minister would be, and if the man behind the tree would take off before he’d finished. When he caught me looking at him, he jerked his head back behind the tree. What in the world was going on with that man? It was getting creepier by the day. It was one thing to be skulking around town, and another to be hiding behind a tree watching a few people gathered around a coffin at a cemetery on a breezy Saturday afternoon in October.

  I missed what the minister said until I heard, “Amen.” Apparently the lanky guy heard it, too, and surmised it was his cue to take off. At the risk of being rude, I said, “Excuse me,” and went jogging toward him, at a snail’s pace compared to his sprint. My skirt and boots may have slowed me down a bit, but even if I had been wearing athletic wear, like he was, it wouldn’t have made much difference.

  “Hey, come back here! I need to talk to you.” But he didn’t slow down or even turn around to see who was yelling at him. He dipped behind another gigantic oak tree some fifty or sixty yards ahead then came out riding his bike and headed across the cemetery lawn until he hit the gravel drive that led to a larger gravel rural road.

  I’d left my cell phone in the car and jogged back to get it to dial for help, then decided it was best to follow the guy to see where he went rather than call Brooks Landing PD. I looked over at the four burial attendees, who all had their mouths open with various looks of surprise on their faces. It would have been comical under different circumstances, and I wasn’t sure how to explain what I was doing, or why, so I called out, “Sorry, I’ll be back.”

  I climbed into my car and flew out of the graveyard as if I were being chased by ghosts. It was more like I was in search of someone who acted like a spy or some sort of secret agent. Maybe that was it. Was I being followed after all? As I drove down the county road, I realized that didn’t make sense. I had arrived at the cemetery with only a minute before the service was to start. He would have had to be very close behind me to get to where he was standing a few minutes later. It was remotely possible he just happened to be at the rural cemetery. But why was he hiding behind a tree? That was one of the key questions in the whole matter.

  It seemed he had disappeared again. Where in heaven’s name had he gone to this time? I passed cornfields that still had crops and some pastures with hills and valleys and trees, but no obvious hiding places. The man may have lived in the immediate area, for all I knew, and happened to be riding by when he spotted the gathering in the cemetery and stopped to check it out. Was it all one big twist of fate? I didn’t believe that for a minute, but couldn’t imagine what was really going on with him and his random appearances. Golly.

  I called the police department and relayed what had happened, and the woman on the other end told me she’d alert the on-duty officers. I thanked her then drove to the next driveway, turned around, and went back to the group who was waiting at Jerrell Powers’s grave.

  The whole thing was too crazy to share with the four of them, so I simply said, “I thought it was an old friend of mine, but it turns out it wasn’t.” Pam was the only one who nodded. It was clear from her grief-struck, tearstained face that she had other things on her mind than trying to process my wacky behavior.

  • • • • • • • • • • • •

  When I got back to the shops, I managed to avoid telling Pinky where I’d been for over thirty minutes. I quietly made a phone call at three o’clock to the Brooks Landing Police Department and asked if they’d had any luck tracking down the tall man whose identity was unknown. It was Mark’s weekend off and I knew he had gone up north that morning for some end-of-season trout fishing with a buddy. I asked if Clint was available. The same woman I’d met, Margaret, said he was out on a call and she’d have him call me back. “That’s all right. I can talk to him Monday,” I told her.

  My parents had invited me over for a light supper—just the three of us—and I was relieved when it was finally quitting time.

  “Want to do something tonight?” Pinky asked.

  “I’m Mom’s and Dad’s entertainment for the evening. At least that’s the way Dad put it when he asked me over.”

  “You’re lucky to have them. You know that, don’t you?”

  “Of course. How about you, what are your plans?”

  “Nothing, really. I may stop by Erin’s on the way home.”

  I slapped my side. “Dang, I meant to call her today. After her shock last night, I’m surprised she didn’t stop in to talk about her knife being the you-know-what.”

  Pinky nodded. “Erin did call earlier. It must have been when you were shopping.” I don’t know how she had arrived at that conclusion, but I didn’t correct her.

  “How is she doing, anyhow?”

  Pinky hitched a shoulder up and down. “You know Erin. Sometimes she sounds sort of flip about things when she doesn’t really mean to be.”

  “Yeah, she gets defensive. Like if she admits to feeling bad about something, she might appear to b
e weak. We know that under that tough exterior lies a soft heart.”

  “Of gold,” Pinky added. “So give me a call if you get done early at your parents’ house and want to get together.”

  “Will do. Tell Erin to hang in there.”

  “Okeydokey.”

  • • • • • • • • • • • •

  It was a treat walking into my parents’ house, the one I grew up in, and smelling the tantalizing aroma of the marinara sauce simmering on the stove. Their definition of “light supper” was not the same as mine. I’d say a salad was more on the light side, but I loved pasta and garlic bread, so who was I to argue?

  It was good to share a meal with Mom and Dad. Just the three of us. Dad was less animated, and more influenced by Mom’s calming presence.

  “Cami, our friends have been calling us since that article Sandy wrote up about you and the whole murder case came out,” Mom said.

  I had avoided reading it, except what Clint had pointed out when he’d stopped me. “Sorry to bring you into all that. You’ve got enough going on.”

  Dad reached over and put his hand on mine. “Don’t you worry your pretty little self about that. We get by just fine. Right, Mother?”

  Mom gave him her sweet, loving smile, the one I loved best. “Right, Father.”

  Dad got up from the dining room table and walked into the living room. He came back a minute later with a copy of the local newspaper. “What concerns us most is how you’re doing. According to this, it sounds like you’re being looked at by the police.” He set the paper on the table next to me. Both Jerrell Powers’s and Benjamin Arnold’s mug shots were included in the article.

  I picked it up, and for the first time was able to study the image of the man I had found dead on a park bench. “That is uncanny.”

  “What is?” Mom asked.

  I hadn’t realized I’d said the words out loud. “Um, well, um . . . I’ve seen a man around town who looks a lot like Jerrell Powers, but I know for sure it can’t be him.”

  “Not everyone looks like his picture, you know. If you’d take a look at my driver’s license, you’d know what I’m talking about.”

  It broke the moment and I smiled. “Dad, ninety-nine percent of people do not look like their driver’s license photo.”

  “Well, your mother is in the one percent who does.” He ran his hand from her cheek to under her chin and held it. “How could this beauty look bad in any picture?”

  He had a point. Mom grabbed his hand and squeezed. “Flattery will get you just about anywhere, as you well know, Ed, but let’s not go overboard.”

  They held hands and snickered. I stood up and started clearing the dishes.

  “We’ll do that,” Mom said.

  “You cooked. Cleaning up is the least I can do.” Plus it would give me some thinking time.

  After I’d finished the dishes, I found the newspaper again, which Dad had moved back to the living room, and took another look at Jerrell Powers’s photo. “Can I borrow your paper? I haven’t read the article yet.”

  Dad’s eyebrows drew together. “You haven’t? Sure, go ahead and take it.”

  I hugged Dad first then Mom. “Thanks for the wonderful meal.”

  “Anytime, sweetie. Come again soon,” Mom said.

  It was early, but I wanted to go home more than I wanted to get together with my friends. I needed to process why the lanky guy looked so much like Jerrell Powers, and I was afraid I’d spill the beans about being at his burial and chasing after a mystery man who had been hiding behind a tree at the cemetery. I would tell Pinky and Erin eventually, of course, but Erin especially did not need to hear about it until things settled down.

  I had taken to doing a visual search of all the side streets whenever I drove and probably looked like a big chicken or turkey with my head bobbing in and out as I did so. I couldn’t help myself; I had become obsessed with a lanky guy who was almost as fast on foot as he was on a bicycle.

  After I parked in my garage, I walked to the house still on guard. I’d started carrying Mace when I went on walks during my Washington, D.C., days. Since my park adventure, and not knowing who had killed Jerrell Powers, I’d kept it handy in my pocket in case I found myself in a situation with potential danger. Even though I saw no sign of anybody in the alley or by my house, I pulled it out of my pocket so I was armed and ready.

  I let myself in the back door as the little bird in the clock cuckooed eight times. It struck me that that was what had happened to me: I’d gone completely cuckoo in one short—make that long—week. I took off my coat and hung it in the front closet then found the newspaper in my large handbag. I carried it to the kitchen table and turned on the swag light that hung low over the center of it.

  I looked from Jerrell Powers’s mug shot to Benjamin Arnold’s. They shared similar-looking features, like the guys at the halfway house had said: long, straight nose and high cheekbones. Jerrell looked friendlier than Benjamin, whose eyes were somewhat squinted and lips were pursed. Jerrell’s hair was dark and cut fairly short. Benjamin’s was reddish auburn, long and scraggly. Jerrell had a lean face; Benjamin’s was fuller. I stared at the photos for a minute then went in search of scissors and a fine-line Sharpie pen. I found them in my office desk drawer.

  Back at the table, I cut out both pictures and laid them on the table. I took the Sharpie and drew a pair of Buddy Holly–style glasses on Jerrell Powers. “Oh, my gosh, he could be the lanky guy.” I picked my cell phone out of my pocket, found Pamela Hemley’s number in the contacts, and called her.

  “Hello?” Pam sounded wary, but at least she’d answered.

  “Pam, it’s Camryn. How are you holding up?”

  “I’ll be okay. Lauren’s staying overnight tonight, so that’ll help.”

  “Good. It was a nice service today.”

  “It was small, but Jerrell didn’t have many friends and only one daughter. Lauren invited May, but I don’t know if she told her daughter or not.”

  “What about Jerrell’s parents, or other family?”

  “He was an only child. His parents adopted him when they were older, and they were both dead before I met him.”

  “No aunts, uncles, cousins?”

  “Not that I know of. I guess I should have found that out so I could let them know about what happened—” Pam stopped talking when the sobs started.

  “I’ll let you go, but I wanted you to know that I thought it was a nice service today, and I hope my rushing off like that didn’t cause too much commotion.”

  “That’s okay. Lauren thought maybe it was a boyfriend you’d had a spat with and were trying to work things out.”

  “It was something like that. Good night, Pam.”

  “’Night.”

  I hung up with new information. Jerrell had been an only child and may or may not have had cousins. Say he’d had a cousin who looked just like him. Why would that person show up in Brooks Landing? To pick up where Jerrell left off, committing crimes and taking advantage of a woman like Pamela?

  After another look at Jerrell sporting the Buddy Holly glasses, I focused on Benjamin Arnold’s mug shot. I’d seen those few pictures of him when he was younger and a little thinner. The guy at the halfway house had said he’d lost weight because he didn’t like the food there. I sat back down at the table and when I picked up Arnold’s photo there was a penny underneath it. Where did that come from? I raised my eyes heavenward.

  I’m not sure what gave me the idea, but I sat down with my Sharpie pen and started working. I drew a line down each of Arnold’s cheeks to cut out some of the fullness. Then I shaded his hair, dotted in some facial hair, and added the Buddy Holly glasses. The likeness to the lanky guy was striking and had me out of my chair and on my feet in a flash. When my cell phone rang, I think my whole body lifted from the ground.

  “Hello?”

  “Cam—uh—ryn, it’s Clint.”

  “Oh, Clint, where are you?”

  “Why do you ask?”r />
  I looked down at my sketch. “Do you mind stopping by my house, or are you tied up with something?”

  “No, I can come over. Are you okay?” Clint sounded concerned.

  “I’m okay, but hurry.”

  Good timing, Assistant Chief Lonsbury. What would he say when he saw the alterations I’d made to Arnold’s picture? I considered brewing a small pot of coffee, but then I’d have to contend with loud drinking noises making it hard for me to concentrate. Clint arrived five or six minutes later.

  I opened the door to a serious, almost brooding assistant chief in blue jeans and a quilted flannel jacket. “Thanks for coming. I have something to show you.”

  “You’re sure you’re okay?”

  “Yes, come into the kitchen.”

  He followed me and watched when I pointed at the newspaper photos of Powers and Arnold. He picked up the one of Powers and stared at it.

  “That’s why the tall, lanky guy looks so familiar to me. He could be Jerrell Powers’s twin,” I said.

  Clint frowned. “According to his records, he’s an only child.”

  “Pamela Hemley just told me that.” I picked up Arnold’s photo and handed it to him. “Check this out.”

  “My God. He looks just like Jerrell Powers.”

  “I’d be willing to bet he is the elusive bike rider I keep seeing.”

  Clint turned to me. “Are you saying you think Benjamin Arnold has been hiding right under our noses the whole time?”

  “I don’t know about the whole time. The first time I saw his face was Tuesday night at Sherman’s Bar and Grill. If he was the one who crashed in the back alley here, then he’s been here since at least Monday.”

  Clint nodded. “My prime suspect. The thing that doesn’t wash is why he’s still hanging around town now that the dirty work has been done. Or why he altered his appearance to look like the man he killed.”

  “It doesn’t make sense to me, either. Part of it just happened when he lost weight. They have similar features. How tall is Benjamin Arnold?”

  “Six-one.”

  “And Jerrell Powers?”