Sarah stepped over to Amanda’s umbrella as Conrad stared out the cold, miserable rain. She was uneasy with the disagreement that had passed between them, so instead she followed the thoughts that swirled in her mind. Wasn’t Minnesota supposed to be snowy in the winter? Why in the world was it raining? And what was she doing here standing in the rain instead of back home working on her latest novel while finding the time to open her coffee shop for a measly few hours a day? “Okay, Conrad, I understand,” Sarah said finally. It was as close as she could get. “Come on, drive us to a hotel. We’ll grab a solid lunch and talk.”
“Yeah, I’m starving,” Amanda agreed. She patted Conrad on the shoulder. “Come on, you silly bloke, you have two hungry women on your hands.”
Conrad continued to stare into the distance. “Mickey had a wife and a son,” he said in a low voice. “His family deserves to know the truth, Sarah. Please, let’s do this case my way, okay?”
Sarah lowered her head. “Why didn’t you tell me he had a wife and son? For crying out loud, that’s vital information. You made it seem like Mickey Slate was a single man.”
“I guess I just wasn’t ready to admit to myself that I let my friend and his family down,” Conrad said. He walked away, back towards the car.
Amanda held her umbrella over Sarah as they walked together. “This case is personal for Conrad. He needs us. And he needs you. Let’s not push him away, Los Angeles, okay?”
Sarah watched Conrad position himself in the driver’s seat of the SUV. “Okay,” she sighed, “we’ll let Conrad handle this case his way and give him all the support he needs.”
Amanda patted Sarah’s shoulder and opened her door at the SUV.
Chapter Three
Snyder stood at the glass front door of the tea house and watched Amanda and Sarah climb into the SUV. He spoke into the black cell phone in his hand. “We have three problems.”
“Get rid of them,” a menacing voice warned him.
“I’m afraid it’s not that easy, sir,” Snyder said in a concerned tone. “Killing three detectives won’t be as simple as killing one man. As of now, I have no idea who these three people truly are, where they’re from, how many people know their location, or how many more people might be on route to Winneshabba. For now, sir, it would be very wise to let Detectives Spencer, Garland and Funnel play a few hands before we act.”
“Mickey Slate is still a threat,” the voice rebuked. “If anyone finds the flash drive that contains the stolen information... well, let’s just hope for your sake that never happens since you were the one in charge of retrieving it.”
Snyder watched the SUV drive away into the rain with a sinking feeling. “I understand that I am at fault, Mr. M. However, it’s very unlikely that the disk is even in Winneshabba. Mickey Slate drove here from New York in his personal vehicle. He could have stopped anywhere and hidden the disk. At this point in time, we have no way of knowing who he might have spoken to while he was driving. And sir, to be fair, it was your men who missed their target. Mickey Slate had the USB drive on him the morning your men shot at him.”
“Snyder, I’m not interested in your theories. I’m holding you personally responsible. Is that clear? I want the drive and I want you to eliminate anyone associated with Mickey Slate,” the voice hissed.
“What about the man’s wife and son?”
“For the time being, leave them alone. Mickey’s family will be my personal responsibility.”
“I understand, sir,” Snyder replied. He paused for a few seconds to steady his mind, thinking about Sarah, Amanda, and Conrad. “I’ll make contact with you tomorrow at this time.”
“See to it that you do,” the menacing voice said and ended the call.
Snyder put away his cell phone and looked out into the rain. “Mace, Thorn, get over here,” he snapped.
The two men strode up to him. “Yes, sir, Mr. Smith?”
“Follow them,” Snyder ordered. “They left and drove east. Hurry.”
“Yes, sir.” They sprinted out into the rain, jumped into the black Lincoln, and sped away.
“Idiots,” Snyder muttered. He pulled out his cell phone again and dialed the Winneshabba Chief of Police. “We need to speak in person. We have three people who just arrived in town that need to be dealt with very carefully.”
A fat man with a large belly leaned forward in his black desk chair and set a half-eaten jelly donut down onto a paper napkin. “Who?” Chief Messings asked. He slowly picked up a partially-smoked cigar and began puffing on it. Knowing that stepping on the toes of a man like Snyder Smith was akin to angering a rattlesnake, Chief Messings hoped he would be able to please his boss.
“Three detectives,” Mayor Snyder Smith said. “For now, I want constant surveillance on them. I’ve sent two of my men to locate them.”
“Detectives?” Chief Messings asked. He nervously ran a hand through his thick, curly brown hair that was slowly turning gray. “Mr. Smith, I run a small police station, here. I—”
“Are you objecting to my request?” Snyder interrupted impatiently.
Chief Messings tossed his cigar back into the tin ashtray. “No, sir, Mr. Smith. I... well, I...” he fumbled and then grew silent. “Yes, sir, Mayor, I’ll have my boys watch the newcomers.”
“Good,” Snyder snapped. “Messings, I can ruin you and will do so if you fail me. I will see to it that you spend the rest of your life in prison with all your favorite felons. Do I make myself perfectly clear?”
“Yes, sir, Mr. Smith,” Chief Messings said, swallowing nervously.
“Very good. Now, let’s talk about Detective Spencer, Detective Garland, and Detective Funnel.”
Chief Messings’s eyes widened. “Did you say Detective Garland... Detective Sarah Garland?”
“Do you know the woman?” Snyder asked.
“Do I know her?” Chief Messings repeated in a dazed voice. “Detective Sarah Garland captured the Alley Killer. Her face was plastered over every magazine and television screen across the country for a week straight.”
“I see,” Snyder said. He rubbed his chin. “Tell me more.”
Chief Messings looked around his small office. Files and papers were piled everywhere, mingled with empty paper coffee cups and donut napkins. He despaired of locating one of the magazine articles that had featured Detective Garland.
As he cast his gaze across the mess, a polished wooden picture frame amid the clutter caught his eye. The picture frame displayed the image of his wife, a pretty, rather matronly woman holding a little schnauzer dog. She was, Chief Messings knew, at this moment preparing a lunch at home which she would bring by the office in less than an hour. “Mr. Smith,” he said in a worried voice, “sir... Detective Garland is a well-known person in the law enforcement world. The last I heard she retired and moved away someplace. Why in the world is she in Winneshabba?”
“Mickey Slate is why,” Snyder said. “It seems he’s causing us more problems dead than alive.”
“I told you to leave the man be,” Chief Messings said, and then grew pale. “Mr. Mayor, sir, I didn’t mean to... what I mean is... I’m sorry, sir. I was out of line. I—”
“Shut up. You were actually right, you bumbling idiot. I should have left Mickey Slate alive... for the time being. I have a mess on my hands.” Snyder sighed. “Listen to me. You are involved in this mess and will follow my orders to the letter. Are we clear?”
“Yes, Mr. Smith,” Chief Messings promised.
“I’ll be in touch.”
Chief Messings put down the phone with a shaky hand and looked at the half-eaten donut. “Oh boy,” he said in an alarmed voice. He picked up the donut and gobbled it down. “Oh boy, oh boy, oh boy, is this town in trouble.”
Chapter Four
Sarah stood in the relaxing spray of the hot shower until her body felt like it might melt, and then got dressed at a leisurely pace in the roomy hotel suite. She donned a warm gray sweater that complemented her knee-length black skirt. She complet
ed the look by carefully brushing her shining hair back into a tight, no-nonsense ponytail that made her feel like a cop again. “Once a cop, always a cop,” she said aloud, staring at herself with satisfaction in the large hotel room mirror.
She gazed around the luxurious suite that she and Amanda had gone halfsies on. The suite was spotless and roomy, decorated in tasteful colors and furniture. It held two plush queen size beds, a cozy sitting area, a small kitchen outfitted with chic stainless steel appliances, and a living room area with a generous window. “Almost like a small apartment,” Sarah called out to Amanda as she began unpacking her things into the dresser.
“This suite would make a very nice flat in London,” Amanda agreed, hanging up the blue dress that had lost out to the tan blouse and peach dress she was now wearing. “I’m starving,” she added.
“Me, too.” Sarah continued to neaten the contents of her suitcase, then took out her extra ammunition and moved it to the safe in the bedroom closet. Owing to the threat from the menacing mayor, she had already secured her sidearm in a thigh holster and packed her usual ankle holster away. “I’m sure by now Mr. Smith has sent someone to watch us. It would be wise if we ate lunch in the hotel restaurant.”
Amanda turned and looked at Sarah. “That Mr. Smith bloke... he sure was creepy, wasn’t he?”
“He’s no ordinary mayor, that’s for sure,” Sarah concurred. She took a few seconds to study her appearance in the bureau mirror. Even though she was past forty, her beauty still shone and her eyes held plenty of beauty and fire. Lifting her hand, she touched a single strand of gray hair she spotted resting in her pretty bangs. “A gray hair,” she sighed and walked away from the mirror. “I’m going to call Conrad’s room.”
“I wouldn’t,” Amanda warned.
Sarah turned to watch Amanda walk into the small kitchen and open the refrigerator tucked into the corner. “Why not?”
“Hey, this hotel put some goodies in here,” Amanda exclaimed happily.
Sarah leaned against the doorway between the bedroom and the kitchen area and watched her best friend explore the complimentary gifts in the refrigerator as the sound of heavily falling rain filled the suite. “Why shouldn’t I call Conrad’s room?” she asked again.
Amanda looked up, now with a bright red apple in her hand. “Because,” she said, tossing the apple impishly to Sarah, “Conrad doesn’t need a mother, love. He’ll be along shortly.”
“Mother?” Sarah repeated defensively. “I don’t treat Conrad like I’m his mother.”
“Of course not, silly.” Amanda smiled indulgently at her friend before she stuck her head back into the refrigerator. “All I’m saying is that this case is tugging on Conrad’s heart more than ours, and he doesn’t need us breathing down his neck.”
Sarah understood. She took a bite of the apple in her hand and thought about Mickey Slate and his long-ago past with Conrad. She thought about how the two men had once been close friends, standing side by side on the tough streets of New York. Conrad had a history with Mickey that went deeper than she could understand. “I’ve been thinking... Mickey Slate was definitely murdered,” she told Amanda, “but...”
“But?” Amanda asked, closing the refrigerator door with her right foot while holding a bottle of ginger ale in one hand and an apple in the other.
“Proving that he was murdered is going to be very tough,” Sarah confessed. “The body—and I don’t mean to sound impersonal—Mr. Slate has been cremated.”
“That’s really bad, huh?”
“Yes,” Sarah said in a serious voice. “At best, we can attempt to search out whatever witnesses may be daring enough to speak to us and put together a few pieces, but without a body... forensic data... verified toxicology reports... we’re not going to get very far.”
Amanda set the bottle of ginger ale on the glossy marble counter. “Conrad knows this, too?”
“Of course.” Sarah watched as Amanda stuck the apple she was holding into her teeth, opened the bottle of ginger ale, and then removed the apple from her mouth again. Even though Amanda was her own age, Sarah mused fondly, there was a childlike innocence to the woman that somehow seemed to let her travel ten years back in time. “I’m not quite certain what Conrad’s plan is. Right now the odds are not in our favor. We’re liable to create some very lethal enemies for ourselves along the way, too.”
Amanda nodded as she took a drink of her ginger ale. “Call me crazy, but I think we need to start back at the Snowflake Inn,” she told Sarah in a thoughtful voice. “We need to put that miserable bloke who owns the joint under some serious heat.”
Amanda’s serious expression and tough voice made Sarah grin. “Okay, Columbo,” she teased, “I’ll bring the heat and you bring the gas.”
Amanda rolled her eyes. “You cops.” She walked over to the sitting area. Plopping down on the comfortable white couch, she waited for Sarah to join her—but before Sarah could sit down, someone knocked on the door to the suite. “There’s Conrad,” she said with an I-told-you-so tone of voice.
Sarah eased over to the door, looked through the security peephole, and saw Conrad standing in the hallway. She unlocked the door to let him in. “Is everything okay?” she asked.
Conrad gestured toward the third-floor elevators. “Snyder’s two goons are down in the lobby. I’ve been watching them for a bit,” he explained. Looking worried, he did not step forward to enter the suite. “Those guys are deadly, Sarah, but right now they won’t make a move unless ordered.”
Sarah quickly scanned Conrad’s haggard appearance. It was clear that he hadn’t showered or even rested. “They can stay in the lobby, then. Meanwhile, we can grab lunch in the hotel restaurant.”
“I was thinking the same thing,” Conrad said. He shoved his hands into the pockets of his black leather jacket and looked at Sarah. “We need to speak with Dean before he ends up missing or dead. We’ll order to go and eat on the way to the motel.”
Amanda appeared in the doorway behind Sarah. She too saw Conrad’s haggard face and then looked at his hair, still damp from the rain. “Listen, Mr. Tough Guy, you need to take a breather. We’ll eat at this lovely hotel and then go out to the Snowflake Inn.”
“I wouldn’t argue with her,” Sarah cautioned.
Conrad knew that he needed to let his mind rest for at least a few minutes. Taking a quick break in a restaurant filled with music, comfortable tables, and delicious food didn’t sound half bad, either. “Okay,” he agreed begrudgingly, “maybe we can take a thirty minute lunch break.”
“Great,” Amanda beamed. “Meet us in the restaurant in ten minutes.”
“Okay,” Conrad said, momentarily confused, as the two women in front of him appeared dressed and ready to go. He gave a quizzical look to Sarah, who shrugged her shoulders, and then he walked back to the elevators, chalking it up to the mysteries of women. Sarah closed the door and immediately turned to her friend. “Why didn’t we just walk down with Conrad?” she asked Amanda suspiciously. “I’m ready now.”
“Oh, no you’re not, love,” said Amanda with a grin. She ran into the bedroom, grabbed a pink bottle of perfume from the wooden nightstand, and dashed back to Sarah. Before Sarah could say a word, Amanda spritzed her with the perfume. “There,” Amanda said happily, “now we’re ready to eat.”
Sarah lifted her sweater to sniff the perfume. It smelled of roses, baby powder and a hint of cinnamon. “What kind of perfume did you spray on me?” she begged.
“Moonlight Flowers,” Amanda said. She winked at Sarah. “No reason why I can’t play matchmaker while we’re on our case.”
“We’re investigating a homicide, June Bug, not taking a cruise on the Love Boat.”
“Who says love can’t blossom in Minnesota?” Amanda said with a triumphant smile as she left the room to return the perfume to the nightstand.
“Oh boy,” Sarah sighed and then sniffed her sweater again. “As Charlie Brown would say: good grief.”
“Come on,” Amanda s
aid in an excited voice, “Conrad is waiting.”
“June Bug... Amanda... please,” Sarah begged. “Conrad’s mind is not on romance and neither is mine. I’m far from ready to think about becoming involved in a relationship again.”
“I know, I know,” Amanda said gently. “I understand.” She took Sarah’s hand and looked deep into her friend’s eyes. “I’m not proposing you and Conrad become engaged today, love.”
“Then what are you proposing?”
“All I’m proposing is that two very lonely people have a nice lunch together,” Amanda said in a loving voice. “Okay?”
Sarah looked into Amanda’s warm, caring eyes. “Okay, June Bug,” she said. “Now, let’s go get something to eat.”
They took the elevator down to the first floor, then walked through the wide and spacious lobby filled with tall, bright green plants rising above the white marble floor. “Interstate hotels are always nice,” she commented to Amanda. As she was admiring the decor, Sarah spotted Snyder’s two men talking to each other near the front desk. The entrance to the restaurant was on the far side of the lobby, giving Sarah enough time as they crossed the lobby to make it known to Snyder’s men that she was aware of them as she walked by. The two men glared malevolently at Sarah.
“There’s Conrad,” Amanda said, sounding grateful.
Sarah saw Conrad standing at the entrance of the restaurant, waiting with his arms folded. He cast a quick eye at Snyder’s men and then focused on Sarah and Amanda. “I already got us a table in the back,” he said. “Not a whole lot on the menu, but it’ll do. I thought I would come out and wait for you two since the other welcoming committee out here didn’t look too friendly.”
Sarah suppressed a smile at this joke, but she was grateful to Conrad. She followed Conrad as he led them to the back of the small restaurant with a pinkish-white marble floor and simple furnishings and decor. It held clusters of square tables nestled up against each other like bickering siblings. The space was cramped, but Sarah didn’t mind. She liked the atmosphere, and she especially liked the white piano shoved into the corner, where an elderly man was caressing the piano keys with talented fingers, playing a jazz song.
Snow is not the Time Page 4