by Sasha Winter
“Just so I know for next time.”
“You coming back for more then?”
“Erin, you’ve got me hook, line and sinker. What a night!”
“Speak for yourself,” she replied with a wink.
“I give in,” he said. “I’ll go and make the coffee.”
When he returned, Tom also brought bacon and toast, having planned to make breakfast all along.
“We’ll have to watch the rest of that film sometime,” he said as they tucked into their first bite of toast.
“You think?’” Erin asked. “Not sure I’ll ever get past that scene again.”
“Perfect place to leave it I guess. They looked pretty happy together for a change. Anyway, I was wondering if I might have jumped second date etiquette?”
“How do you mean?”
‘You know… jumping your bones and everything before I’d even asked you on a third date. A little rude perhaps.”
“Yes, I’ll have to punish you for it,” she replied, still with those naughty eyes—he wasn’t quite sure she was completely joking.
“So, what’s next?” he asked. “I feel like treating you to something special…”
But there wasn’t a chance to wait for suggestions. The phone rang, and as soon as Tom heard the tone of Jake’s voice on the other end, he knew that the distraction Erin had so superbly provided had nevertheless come to an end.
He had expected to hear more from the case of course, but was dismayed that it was so soon after the last body. The rate of attacks were now accelerating.
There was already a fourth victim.
***
“This bastard’s going to attack again very soon,” Jake said, addressing the assembled officers and giving one of his motivational speeches. “I’m sure of it if we don’t get him—if not, presume he is going to anyway. Perhaps making enough police noise around Cold Lake and any roads coming to and from might be enough to put him off if we don’t get him straightaway. Make him cautious I mean, which also means this one’s no longer under wraps, it’s going to the press, which means all manner of nasty speculation about bear shifters. There will be a state-wide curfew on any bears shifting, or going outside in bear form this evening, which means that any sightings of bears away from areas they’re supposed to be will need to be tracked down and taken seriously. So be prepared! All right, let’s go and find this site.”
The fourth kill—and by the shock of the poor individual who had reported it, it was another ferocious attack without doubt—was a little away from the road this time, meaning the team had to negotiate a few woodland footpaths in order to reach the body. Regardless of whether it might turn out to be a coincidental attack by a wild bear (something Tom wasn’t even bothering to hope for) there would be enough doubt to suppose they had now recorded a fourth victim—and two in the same week.
If the last kill had felt goading, then this next one spoke of confidence. There had been rangers out on the paths with guns, but it was virtually impossible to zero in on a certain individual who might be a bear shifter without even worse complications. Bear shifters tended to have hairier chests and broader shoulders than the average man—but that didn’t mean there was a complete lack of thick-set truckers and ranchers active throughout all parts of Montana. All it would take was for one person with a gun to start getting too suspicious or trigger-happy, and they would also have friendly fire on their hands, especially as everyone was a potential victim. So far four healthy men were dead, which meant a far more fearsome serial killer than the typical coward who waited to strike on vulnerable women or children.
Supposedly, the crime scene was out in the open somewhere, but in order to get there the team had to take the right path through thick woodland—unless they wanted to climb up a mountain and descend from there, which was what the man who reported the find had done. That man was in too much shock to return to the scene at all and would probably need therapy, so they were relying on directions only, and after half an hour, they came to the realization that they were lost.
“This is no good,” Jake said, taking out his cell phone and searching for a number. “We’ll be a laughing stock. Here, Tom…do the honors.”
The sheriff was referring to the necessary conversation with Nana Morgan, the dispatch officer from whom they would need extra directions. Either Jake had that male ego thing that prevented him from admitting to being lost, or else he thought it amusing to make Tom converse with his ex-girlfriend. Tom rolled his eyes on taking the cell phone but didn’t really mind; Nana was easy to talk to and renowned for being a cool head in a crisis. In her own way, she was as respected as Jake, though in a less visible role. Nana was the person to go to whenever you needed someone level-headed, having worked with a diverse range of community services and people in her central role.
She was the brains behind the brawn, and as the only bear shifter cop, Tom had initially been attracted to her ability to never look out of place. Although dating had not worked out for them, they had learned enough of each other to build up a strong and mutual bond of friendship. When back in the office, Tom knew that she could often tell what he was thinking, and if a colleague happened to be making a fool of themselves, tried not to look her in the eye for fear of laughing out loud.
“Hello, Jake. What can I do for you?” she said on answering the call. Her voice was clear and crisp, and Tom had often thought she should’ve worked on the radio instead.
“The famous Nana Morgan!” he responded.
“Oh! It’s you, Tom. You lost your phone?”
“No, Jake’s just glugging some water down; it’s thirsty work out here.”
“You at the site?”
“No, that’s the reason for the call. Satellite navigation isn’t at its best in these woods.”
“You’re lost, then.”
“Like a bunch of kids in a maze. Were there any real firm directions that guy gave that could help? I can’t even catch the scent at all, so I’m guessing we’re nowhere near it.”
“Let me quickly check the report,” Nana said, and Tom gave her what time she needed to produce something useful. As he waited he happened to notice out of the corner of his eye that a couple of the younger officers were staring in his direction and clearly talking about him. By the look on their faces, he thought he knew exactly what they were saying, and the content was not generous.
“Okay, looks like I have something here for you,” Nana said.
“Great!”
“First, give me a bit of an indication where you are.”
“Well we turned right off the road and have gone mostly downhill as the directions said.”
“No no, the man started off going downhill when he was running from the site, then uphill towards the road. I think if you turn back and take the first right—that’s your right—that goes uphill, you’ll find all the paths will converge on the site, more or less.”
“You sure?”
“Yes, there are only two main paths coming from the mountain and you’re heading to the wrong one. If you start going uphill, that will take you to the right one, and even if you have to try a few of the paths that lead from there, the man was insistent the body is less than a hundred feet away.”
“Okay, that sounds good. Hey, you set a date yet?”
Nana was now engaged to be married, and the last time Tom had spoken to her, she’d been trying to figure out a good date for a wedding.
“Not yet, but it’s all in hand,” she replied.
“Well, good luck getting the place you want. I’ll see you back at the office.”
“Thanks! Bye.”
Tom might have ended the conversation in a friendly manner, but the look on his face told a completely different story. He had been challenging the two colleagues to break his stare but, perhaps spurred on by thinking they outnumbered him, their beady eyes continued to point his way.
“What’s your problem, guys? You want to say something, just say it.”
Noth
ing came back, though Tom felt all eyes turn his way.
“Well, come on! Do you think I’m the killer or what?”
“Woah there!” Jake was at his side in a flash, hands raised to calm the situation. “Let’s not get carried away. He’s right, though. Boys, if you want to say something then now’s the time…come on now, we’re a team here. Let’s say what’s going through our heads.”
Eventually one of them piped up, half sulkily, half apologetically now that Jake was involved.
“We just wondered if…if Tom must know this killer? That‘s all,” the first lad said. “We weren’t accusing him of anything.”
“You mean we’re all in it together? All us bear shifters, we meet at night and fuck in the woods then keep it to ourselves when one of us goes a bit nutty?” Tom replied, his hands balling into tight fists by his side. “Well, let me educate you. Bears are solitary creatures; when I’m in bear form the last thing I want to see is another bear. There are hundreds of us in Montana, though, so if you want to arrest us all, start here.”
“Well, that would be really useful for our investigation,” said Jake. “Losing the one person who really understands bears. Tom, why don’t you give me a few moments with our young recruits here; they need a bit more educating…”
7
Feeling sleepy-headed, though still in a state of bliss, Erin was on a bit of a ‘go-slow’ at work but hoped that her current customers didn’t mind. Most of them came to her bakery for something casual and laid-back, so it was about time she got in on the act for a change. Last night felt like the sweetest dream she was still waking up from, feeling satisfied by the slow realization that it had all really happened.
The wait to feel so desired had been worth it, and the man she had chosen was really something of a dream. Erin felt so comfortable with him, and if he was the kind of man to play on a woman’s dreams and then never turn up again, then he should have been making his way to Hollywood because he was clearly a skilled actor. He had promised to call her later in the day, even if work meant he could only be brief, and she didn’t imagine he would let her down. What’s more, she couldn’t think of even any frivolous reason as to why he might not be the man for her. Having sought love and attention after too long on her own, Erin might have even found a permanent solution at the first time of asking.
Dreamily, she went about her tasks, daring to wonder what strange turn of events or dark secrets could possibly come between them. As far as she was concerned, they were both good simple folk, which was exactly what she wanted to be. There was no reason for the feelings between them to ever become sullied or complicated if they remained true to each other, and if all the evils in the world stayed away. What could it possibly want with them anyway?
“What sweet snacks do you recommend?”
Looking up, Erin’s reverie was interrupted by a man she hadn’t seen come in, although he was as tall and broad-shouldered as anyone who had been in her bakery. She didn’t recognize this man, which wasn’t unusual considering the amount of truck drivers from out of town she was able to serve, but a tone of familiarity in his voice almost made her think she should have. Unusually for the area, he had platinum blond hair and looked very Scandinavian in origin, though his accent was pure Montana.
“Er…sweets?” Erin replied, trying to get her brain working.
“I just have a ravenous and shameless craving today,” the man explained, “to completely cut out vital nutrients altogether and head straight to the good stuff. You know, the guilty pleasures.”
“Well, don’t let me stop you,” Erin said with a smile.
“I was wondering, though, your bakery is clearly a popular place, so you must have a signature dish? You know, a local favorite to which people often say ‘You must try…’?”
“The lemon meringue pie!” One of Erin’s customers, who was just finishing his burger, suddenly called out to them, accompanied by a few nods of the heads from fellow diners.
“I was just about to say,” Erin confirmed, having opened her mouth only to find the answer coming from elsewhere, “the lemon meringue pie.”
“Much obliged, sir,” the blond-haired newcomer gestured to the trucker who had yelled up. Then turning back to Erin, he said, ‘Well, you can’t get more evidence than that; the consumer has clearly spoken. Young lady, I’ll take one—no—if I may purchase two slices of your fine lemon meringue pie and a bottle of Coke, I suspect I will leave here a happy customer.’
“Two slices it is,” she replied, “and I hope the second is just as satisfying as the first.”
“Oh, you’re underestimating my appetite, Miss… erm?”
“Silguero. Erin Silguero.”
“Erin, my name is Andrew Karl Neiman,” he told her, reaching out to shake her hand with a most courteous smile.
“Pleased to meet you, Mr. Neiman.”
“Call me Andrew, and…”
Just then the rhythm of the conversation was interrupted as Mr. Neiman stopped and appeared to sniff the air, as if coming across an aroma from distant memory he was unprepared to encounter.
“You thinking of something savory, Andrew?” Erin asked, following his gaze to a case which was filled with spinach and ricotta rolls.
“No, it’s just…I mean, it’s not the food, I think it was your perfume. Reminds me of an old acquaintance. But I apologize, my mind does drift very easily from one subject to the next. Yes! Lemon meringue pie is the dish of the day as far as I am concerned. I understand the need for good health, but a man can allow himself a detour every now and then.”
“Coming right up,” Erin replied, not sure what to make of the perfume comment, although the exchange was still due to become even more complex.
“You’re right, you know,” another one of the truck drivers spoke up. “Hard-working folk like us shouldn’t be afraid to treat ourselves more often.”
“I thoroughly agree with you, sir,” Mr. Neiman replied.
“In fact,” the man, who was a regular but one Erin had never learned the name of, went on, “young Erin, if you want to dish me up one of those fine slices it would be mightily appreciated.”
“Me too,” added the first trucker.
“Why don’t we see if we can make a bit more out of this solidarity, gentlemen?” Mr. Neiman then continued, raising his voice so as to address the whole bakery. “Let me see now, how many of us fine hard-working folk are here now? One, two… nine of us—and how many slices of this fine pie? Let me see, yes ten pieces; well, this is perfect, gentlemen!”
Neiman then clapped his hands with great delight, and Erin noted with some bemusement that he genuinely had the attention of all her customers. It was the first speech anyone had made in her place and looked like it was going down pretty well—and all because of a craving for lemon meringue pie.
“If we are so inclined to seize the moment, gentlemen,” he went on, “I’d wager the whole bunch of us can bring ourselves to relieving young Erin here of her entire lemon meringue pie, and up her income for the day in the process.”
“Yeah, let’s do it’,” and “Count me in,” were just two of the comments that then flew back, and that was how Erin sold an entire lemon meringue pie to nine customers at the same time. Very soon she was lining up the plates and, thanks to Mr. Neiman insisting she serve everyone before him, had shared out the slices and allowed them all to start tucking in.
“I’m ravenous but I do love anticipation,” Mr. Neiman explained when she finally got round to serving him. “And if this pie is every bit as good as I think it is going to be, Erin,” he added, “then that price is daylight robbery.”
“Then I might have you arrested,” she replied, catching her breath, “but not till you’ve finished the pie, I’m not that cruel.”
“Why, is this a cop hangout or something?” he asked, pretending to look perturbed.
“Very much so,” she replied.
“Ooh, I’d better watch my step then,” he said with a wink, before finally hea
ding off to sit down and sort out his most publicized of appetites.
Erin wasn’t sure she had ever heard such a contented sound in her bakery as that which then ensued; the sound of nine spoons frequently tapping their plates as her entire lemon meringue pie was consumed. It was a surreal moment, and Mr. Neiman was clearly quite a character, but she didn’t see anything wrong with confidence and eccentricity, especially when her customers found it so charismatic.
Having decided to hide in the backroom for a minute so no one could see her smirking, Erin was only brought back to the counter when she heard another individual entering and returned to see that it was none other than Nana Morgan.
The two of them had something in common in that pretty much everyone in Cold Lake knew who they were. Erin knew that Nana was highly-spoken of and, though she didn’t know her incredibly well, realized then that she must have known and worked with Tom. If their relationship was not so young she would’ve been tempted to ask about his police work, but it would’ve been bad to give the game away and allow the other cops some gossip before Tom had the chance to tell them himself. Erin couldn’t help but be curious, however, especially as Nana ordered a lot of coffee and muffins, causing her to wonder if any of them were destined for her lover’s lips.
“You got a few hungry mouths back there at the station?” she asked.
“You bet,” Nana replied. “Haven’t seen us all this busy for quite a while.”
“And they’ve got you sourcing supplies for them?”
“Oh, this is a treat they don’t know about,” Nana replied. “Most of them have been skipping lunch today trying to draw up leads and handling the press, so they should appreciate the sustenance.”
“They’ll be singing your praises, I imagine.”
“It keeps them in my good books for when I’m shouting orders at them down the receiver tomorrow,” she confessed. “So it’s not completely selfless.”
“Is it this murder spree thing?” Erin asked.
“Yep. Another body today. Seriously, Erin, don’t be lingering around your bakery at night alone. All he’s killed is men so far, but no one is safe. Of all things, a bear shifter serial killer.”