I cranked the window open slowly. My face tingled from the cold, and I could feel the ice crystals on my eyelashes starting to thaw.
“Aren’t you going to get warm?” I said.
Guy turned his gaze down the road. The first set of flashing lights came into view. A police car, ambulance, fire truck, and a couple of pickups headed toward us. Snow kicked up like a cloud of rocket smoke behind the squadron of helpers.
“Don’t have time,” Guy said. “Roll up the window, Marjorie, and stay here. I’ll check on you in a little while.”
“But . . .”
Guy walked away with a stern look on his face. “Roll up the window and get warm, Marjorie,” he said over his shoulder. He didn’t look back, didn’t give me a chance to argue—unless I was going to follow, which I wasn’t.
What about Tina? I wanted to ask, but didn’t. I did what Guy asked me to do. I rolled up the window, and settled in to wait for him to return.
Shep looked at me and wagged his tail. Water dripped off his jowls, snow and ice melting, and he started licking himself clean, seemingly unaffected by the weather or the tragedy that we had witnessed. I wanted to trade places with the dog.
The first vehicle to show up was another county sheriff’s truck, a similar, but older International Harvester Scout. Guy continued walking and raised his hand. The Scout slowed down, stopped, and picked him up. Duke Parsons was driving. Guy climbed in the truck, then they took off into the field, driving straight for Nils Jacobsen’s dead body.
The rest of the vehicles followed with their sirens blaring. Shep started to bay and yelp. The noise inside the truck was loud enough to shatter my eardrums, but I knew there was no quieting the dog, no matter my tone. He would carry on until the last siren wafted away on the wind. I imagined a coyote doing the same thing, announcing to the rest of the world the truth that I already knew. A man was dead—and no one knew why.
Movement caught my attention. I looked out the windshield to see a small herd of antelope, two bucks and five does, wandering in the field across the road. The sirens didn’t seem to matter to them. The antelope were hungry.
One of the smaller creatures stopped and pawed at the snow, trying to break the crust, trying to dig down into the snow for anything green, anything edible. The doe didn’t linger long; she had found nothing.
I’d always thought that antelope looked exotic. They looked like something you’d see on the African savannahs instead of on the western plains. But they existed in the Dakotas, no matter how precariously. This herd, like most all antelope, had come back from near extinction at the turn of the century; survival was in their genes. I looked away from the animals, back up to the shelterbelt, and sighed deeply. All of the police vehicles in the middle of a winter field looked as out of place as the antelope, even though the trucks were equipped for off-road driving. I was surprised any of us could survive on the frozen prairie.
I wasn’t sure how long I’d sat in the truck. I had dozed off. Shep sat snuggled up against me, and I turned the heat down to low. I was finally warm and comfortable, but, like the antelope, I was starting to feel the first pangs of hunger. I hadn’t had anything to eat since breakfast, and that was only a piece of toast and a cup of coffee. A snack was out of the question. I hadn’t brought any food for me, only the pies for the Rinkermans. I grabbed my purse off the floorboard and pulled out my pack of Salems. Smoking curbed my appetite. Lately, I smoked more than I ate.
I was about to light the cigarette when I looked up and saw one of the police vehicles heading my way. Duke Parsons was driving. I put away the cigarette and ignored the growl of hunger in my stomach.
The truck got the antelope’s attention, too. They bounced off in the opposite direction, disappearing quickly over a roll in the land.
Duke pulled up alongside me and motioned for me to roll down the window. I did, turning my face away from a strong gust of frigid wind.
“The sheriff wants me to take you back to your truck. Says there’s nothing for you to do here.” The deputy didn’t wait for a response. He rolled his window up and stared stone-faced across the field, waiting for me to comply.
I climbed out of Guy’s truck, led Shep to Duke’s Scout, put the dog in the backseat, then made myself as comfortable as I could in the passenger seat.
The deputy waited until I settled in, then gunned the all-wheel drive vehicle out of the field and onto the road. I’d never ridden with Duke Parsons before, so I was a little nervous.
“Thanks for taking me to my truck,” I said, once we were a little ways down the road.
“Didn’t have much choice,” he said.
“I could have waited.”
Duke exhaled deeply and kept his eyes on the road. Shep was sitting in the middle of the backseat so he could see me. He stayed quiet, thankfully.
“Is something the matter, Duke?” I finally said.
“You have to ask?”
“I do.”
He hesitated, then said, “I wouldn’t be here if you hadn’t interfered.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“You heard me.”
The truck slid over a rut, jarring me, causing me to bounce like one of those fleeing antelope. “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” I said.
Duke Parsons’s barrel chest heaved. He smelled of Aqua Velva and coffee. The aftershave was too strong, used to cover up something, like body odor or the lack of a recent bath. His parka was as wrinkled as a campground bedroll. Every time I saw Duke Parsons he looked like he’d just woken up.
“I lost the election because of you,” Duke said.
The statement caught me by surprise. I didn’t know what to say.
“I should be leadin’ this investigation,” Duke continued, staring straight ahead, keeping his beady eyes on the road. He wouldn’t look at me. “Not Guy Reinhardt. If you hadn’t led him around by the nose, the county would have treated him like the screw-up he is. You make him look smart is what you do, Marjorie Trumaine. But all I got to do is wait. People will realize their mistake. Especially now with Nils Jacobsen dead on his watch. People won’t feel safe. He’ll get an earful and won’t be able to take the criticism. You wait and see.”
I knew the implication. Guy would start drinking, get sloppy, and that would be that. The people would have enough of Guy Reinhardt and his problems. His greatest fear would come true, he would fail, and Duke would have a chance at being sheriff again.
I stared through the windshield out into the barren white world before me. I didn’t need to worry about being cold. My blood was boiling. “I don’t even know what to say to you, Duke Parsons.”
“Sorry would be a good place to start.”
I bit my lip. An apology of any kind wasn’t going to happen—ever. Duke Parsons could blame me all he wanted for his demotion from acting sheriff to deputy, but come hell or high water, I wasn’t going to take credit for how the election turned out.
Thankfully, my trusted green Studebaker truck came into view. I crossed my arms with a thud and stared silently out the windshield.
Duke pulled up behind my truck and looked at me expectantly. I think he was still waiting for that apology. “Sheriff said for me to tell you not to tell anyone what you saw. They have to verify the identity of the body. Doesn’t matter that you think you know who the body belongs to, he wants to tell the family hisself.”
Duke expected me to respond, most likely to say that I would comply with this order, too, but all I said was, “Thank you, deputy.” Then I got out of the truck, collected Shep, slammed the door shut, and walked away. I didn’t look back, didn’t wave. I hurried to the Studebaker.
I climbed in and hoped that the truck would start after sitting for so long without a warming light on the engine.
Duke drove off in a huff, spinning his tires as he went.
My truck started right away, but the engine coughed and ran rough, so I knew I’d have to sit there for a few minutes. Keeping warm—machines and humans—was
a constant struggle. Waiting out winter was my only survival strategy.
I looked at the Rinkermans’ house in its dilapidated state. Weak smoke wafted from the chimney, and there was no sign of anyone at home. All of the blinds were drawn shut. Only two trucks sat in the drive, and there was no sign of Darlys’s red Fury, either. She’d obviously dropped off her hot dish then went on to another one of her causes.
I didn’t want to talk to any human beings at all. All I wanted was to go home, lock my door, and pretend the day I had experienced hadn’t really happened. But there was no pretending. Nils Jacobsen was dead, and Tina Rinkerman was still missing. How could I pretend that I wasn’t standing in the middle of a tragedy that would only get worse once everyone in Dickinson found out what was going on?
My heart sank at the thought of Anna. Whether crying was the best thing to do or not, I let go. I couldn’t keep my emotions bottled up one second longer.
CHAPTER 8
I could hear the phone ringing as soon as I got out of the Studebaker. My ear strained to count the rings. Snow pelted my back as I hurried toward the house. The phone kept ringing like a persistent alarm. When I was finally close enough to hear two longs and two shorts, I knew the call was for me.
“Come on, Shep, let’s get inside,” I said.
The border collie barked once, then took a wide arc around me instead of running to the front door like he usually did. Shep stopped solidly between the house and the barn, eyeing the barn nervously. He growled and slipped into his statue stance, waiting for something to move.
The phone continued to ring. I was afraid the caller was going to annoy everyone on the party line if I didn’t hurry up and answer the phone. Funny, the things I worried about, but I did. Sharing a telephone line was a constant exercise in decency, diplomacy, and respect.
Shep got my full attention when he barked again. I stopped, too. “What’s the matter, boy?” I said, following the dog’s gaze to the barn. I didn’t see anything wrong. No open doors. No footprints in the snow. But I trusted Shep to alert me. “Something out of place?”
He broke his trance on the unseen intrusion, looked at me, wagged his tail, then made his way to me submissively. His shoulders dropped and his head cocked to the side. Shep looked like he was afraid I would yell at him again. Tentativeness toward me was a new behavior, a wrinkle in our one-on-one relationship that we would have to iron out. The dog didn’t like my angry outbursts any more than I did.
I sighed, patted Shep’s head, and told him everything was all right. The dog’s attention to the barn was probably nothing, but Tina Rinkerman was still missing. I really had no choice but to investigate.
“Stay,” I said to Shep, then hurried into the house and grabbed Hank’s .22 rifle from behind the kitchen door. If my conclusions were correct about what Guy and I had found, there was also a killer on the loose, one that had ambushed and murdered Nils Jacobsen. I wasn’t taking any chances. There wasn’t another soul within miles of the house. I was on my own.
The phone kept on ringing. I was starting to get annoyed. I ignored the clatter and hurried back outside. If the call was important, the caller would try again, simple as that. I’d make sure and apologize to my neighbors the first chance I got, but for now they were going to have to suffer through the constant ringing like I had to.
Shep hadn’t budged from his spot, which was a good sign. If anything had moved he would’ve been gone in a spilt second, curious, and certain to charge whatever was lurking about with a tirade of barks.
“Come on, boy, let’s make sure nobody’s around.” I tried to sound confident, but the slight tremble in my hand betrayed me. My gloves saved Shep from seeing the result of my nerves, but I know he heard uncertainty in my voice.
There were three barns and a garage on our property. The first barn sat on the opposite side of the house from the garage. That barn was the smallest of the three and was usually where I kept the animals that we raised to butcher. I’d already taken the winter pig for slaughter, and I wasn’t expecting a new batch of chickens or a beef Hereford until early April. I had no livestock to care for this winter, which was unusual. I had enough meat in the freezer to last me until summer or longer. Besides, I could get something at the Red Owl—or smoke my Salems if I got really hungry.
To my relief, the phone finally stopped ringing.
Luckily, the full force of any blowing snow was still at my back, but the frigid cold didn’t take long to infiltrate my coat and layers of clothes. I couldn’t stop shivering as I made my way to the barn. If I were the praying kind, I would have broken into a pleading prayer aimed at the good Lord above. I’d lost any zeal for such things after watching Hank suffer like he had. I couldn’t find any love in God’s will at all—which was one of the reasons for Pastor John Mark’s weekly visits. He’d tried to restore my faith, even though I thought his efforts were a lost cause.
Shep stayed next to me as I made my way around the first barn. There was no sign that anything had been disturbed. No animal tracks, no sign of any human beings at all. I looked at the border collie and said, “You didn’t hear anything did you? You’re happy to be home, aren’t you.”
I was overreacting. I was on alert. I needed things to be in their place, too. I didn’t think Tina could make it this far, but I had to check.
I inspected the barn anyway, then went to the garage, searching the ground as closely as I had at the first barn. I clutched the .22 like the dear, trusted friend it was.
After tromping all over the place for nearly fifteen minutes, I was certain that the girl wasn’t anywhere on the property. The third barn was on the back forty, and I’d have to get in the truck and drive over to make sure she wasn’t there. That expedition was going to have to wait.
I finally made my way into the house, past ready to shed my four layers of clothes, get warm, settle down, and do some indexing work to take my mind off the day I’d had.
The phone started ringing again as soon as I walked in the door.
I took off my hat and hurried to the phone. “Trumaine residence,” I said.
“Hey there, Marjorie, it’s me, Darlys.” I recognized her voice straight away. I did have to strain to hear her, though. Her voice was low. She sounded like she was sitting in a deep well somewhere.
“Hi, Darlys, how you doin’?” I unzipped my coat. A puddle formed under my boots as the caked snow on the soles started to thaw. The house was warm even with the waning fire in the stove. I strained to keep the receiver pressed between my ear and shoulder as I tried to listen to Darlys and take off my coat.
“Okay, all things considered,” Darlys said. “Boy, this day’s been a little bit of sunshine and a whole lot of gloom. They say more snow’s comin’ tomorrow. Gonna drop in spurts like today, too. Here one minute, gone the next.”
Uff da, I thought, but didn’t say. The expression was a utilitarian North Dakota response with a wide variety of meanings that ranged from dismay, bafflement, and sometimes, agreement.
Darlys kept on talking. “Where you been, Marjorie? I’ve been tryin’ to call you for an hour. I was really startin’ to get worried.”
I pulled one arm out of my coat slowly. Undressing after a long excursion out into the cold was a slow, methodical operation with so many layers of clothes on. “I told the sheriff I wanted to help look for the Rinkerman girl, so I’ve been out in the fields for a while looking with the rest of them.”
“Oh, I saw you talkin’ to Guy Reinhardt. I wondered what you was doin’. I guess that explains that. Did you find her?”
I hesitated, and said, “Not a sign of her.” I groaned as I pulled my other arm out of the sleeve.
“You all right, Marjorie?” Darlys said.
“Yes, I’m okay. I hurried inside to answer the phone. I’m trying to get this darned coat off without tangling myself up in the phone cord.”
“Oh, well go ahead and get yourself comfortable. I’ll wait.”
“What?” I had to strain to hear D
arlys speak, and I couldn’t make out what she’d said.
“Go ahead,” Darlys said, loud and clear.
“Oh, okay, thanks.” I sat the receiver down and took off the remaining layers of clothes as quickly as I could. I could move a little easier, and I wasn’t going to overheat anytime soon. The puddle under my boots had stopped growing. “I’m back,” I said.
Darlys exhaled distantly. I knew she was blowing out a lungful of smoke. “Have you heard about Nils?”
I almost said yes, that I knew what had happened to him, but I gasped, bit my lip, and rethought my response. “What about him?” I didn’t say yes or no. It felt like I was at the start of a lie, but in reality all I was doing was what Duke Parsons had said to do—don’t tell anyone what you saw.
“He’s missing.” Darlys’s voice went low again.
That wasn’t what I was expecting her to say. I gasped again, not quite shocked. I wasn’t any good at acting. “Are you sure?”
“As sure as I’m standing in Anna Jacobsen’s bathroom. He’s missing, Marjorie. This is terrible. We’re all worried to death about Nils. Something awful is going on. That Rinkerman girl is missing, too, and now Nils.”
Nils wasn’t missing. He was dead. I couldn’t tell Darlys what I knew.
“Goodness,” I said. “How long’s he been gone?”
“He didn’t come home last night. That’s not so unusual. At least, that’s what Anna told me. Especially after an argument. He sleeps in the office at the Red Owl on those nights, don’t ya know. He wasn’t there this mornin’ when Frank Aberle came in to open up the store. Frank felt like something was wrong when he discovered that Nils wasn’t there, so he called Anna. There’s no sign of Nils anywhere.”
Normally I would have questioned whether Nils had reason to run off or not, but I didn’t have to. He didn’t run anywhere. “Well, that’s awful,” I said, not knowing what else to say.
“Nils and Anna have been having problems for a little while.” Darlys dropped her voice to a whisper.
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