Cold as Hell (Haven’s Rock #3)

Chapter Seven

CHAPTER SEVEN

Sebastian and Mathias live in an apartment over the butcher shop. When Sebastian first arrived in Rockton, Mathias had balked at taking any responsibility for the young man. Now, obviously, things have changed.

It’s a platonic relationship—both men are straight and Sebastian has a girlfriend who lives back near Rockton. Mathias has taken Sebastian under his wing, as much as he’d hate that description. They get along well while giving each other as much space as they need, which can be “a lot” on both sides.

While Dalton and I conduct our search, both Mathias and Sebastian stand outside the butcher shop. People are bound to notice that, which is what I want. If someone later discovers we searched their quarters, witnesses can confirm that the occupants were outside while it was being done. One issue with such a tiny town is that residents are, unfortunately, quick to decide the police don’t know what they’re doing… if they’re even trained police at all.

We find the pills right where Sebastian told us to look—in a small box under his bed. There are other pills there as well, in bottles with only the drug name and directions on the front. I don’t look at the others. As Mathias said, that’s none of my business.

I took photos of the box while it was under the bed, and I take photos of the contents. Then I lift out the small bottle marked Restoril. While the fact that the bottle is still here—and contains pills—suggests this isn’t the drug used on Kendra, I still wear gloves as I work. I take more photos. Then I open it, shake out the capsules, and…

I look over at Dalton, patiently waiting. “He said there were sixteen, right?”

Dalton nods. “It was a bottle of twenty, and he’s only needed four since he rejoined us last fall.” Sebastian had spent the summer with his girlfriend, Felicity.

Sixteen pills. I only count fourteen. That could be a mistake—it’s easy enough to forget how many you’ve taken over five months—but Sebastian said he tracks them. These aren’t over-the-counter sleep aids. They’re serious stuff.

From what Mathias said, half of one in a drink would be enough to cause what Kendra experienced. So there would be no need to take Sebastian’s entire bottle. Two would be plenty… and the thief would likely expect they’d never be missed. Like I said, people don’t usually keep quite that careful a count of drugs they rarely take. They only notice when they’re low, and Sebastian isn’t.

I bag the bottle. Then I head downstairs to speak to Sebastian again.

While I believe Sebastian’s pills were stolen, I certainly can’t declare that as truth without proof. We’re back in the town hall, where I have my feet up, Storm by the fire, and Dalton at the desk doing paperwork. Sebastian sits across from me.

Mathias wanted to come, of course, but Sebastian shut him down, telling Mathias that he could handle this, and having his shrink present looks as if Mathias thinks his services will be needed. Looks as if Mathias thinks Sebastian might have done this and will require a psychiatric defense. That backed Mathias off fast, though not without grumbling.

As we settle in, I say, “I’m going to need a complete list of your whereabouts last night, from nine in the evening until you saw Kendra being attacked.”

“I was making fishing lures most of the evening. For Felicity and her settlement.” He shrugs. “They like my lures, and it’s an easy way to score points.” He pauses. “With her settlement, not with Felicity.” Another pause, head tilted. “It doesn’t hurt with Felicity either. I’m still a half-assed hunter, and I’m not much better at trapping and fishing, but I’m good at making lures and traps, so that keeps them from deciding I’m completely useless.”

I don’t point out that Felicity’s settlement thinks he’s far from useless. He’s young and strong, but mostly his appeal comes from his genetic material. A healthy young man who isn’t in any way related to anyone in their settlement. There is the sociopathy, of course, but that’s not considered hereditary.

Felicity’s grandfather—Edwin—would be thrilled with Sebastian even if he couldn’t hit a moose from two feet away. Sadly for Edwin, Felicity is in no hurry to get on with marriage and babies. She’s poised to take over leadership of the settlement, and that’s all she cares about. Well, no, she cares about Sebastian… as a romantic partner, not as a baby daddy.

Sebastian continues, “I can show you the lures, but that won’t prove when I made them. I was alone in the apartment—Mathias was off doing Mathias things. The shutters were closed, by reg ulation, so I can’t even hope someone saw a light on. Which also wouldn’t really prove I was there.” He glances at me. “None of this is helpful, I know.”

“When did you take Raoul out?”

“Ah, right. This might be more useful. Mathias came home before I left, and we talked for a few minutes. That was just after eleven. Then he went to bed at eleven thirty, and I took Raoul for his bedtime walk. That’s my usual routine. At that hour, the town’s quiet. Everyone’s in bed or at the Roc until last call. We took the perimeter trail. Again, that’s our usual. I was heading back to our place when I heard Kendra call out.”

“Did anyone see you?”

He considers. “I passed Grant. Well, actually, I avoided Grant. Not Raoul’s favorite person.”

There’d been an incident earlier this month, where Raoul had growled and lunged at Grant. It’d been a warning feint when Grant came near the butcher shop. Understandable from Raoul’s point of view, because Grant’s last visit had involved an altercation with Sebastian.

Mathias is responsible for the meat, but Grant decided he’d rather complain about the nice young man instead—by shouting and getting in Sebastian’s space. Raoul had taken exception to it and apparently decided Grant had lost his butcher-visit privileges. That would be fine… if that weren’t the only place to get meat.

After the lunge feint, Sebastian had asked Grant to help him with a bit of training, to teach Raoul that the dog can’t decide who does and doesn’t enter the butcher shop. Instead, Grant went off on a rant about the dangers of having a half wolf in town with children. Never mind that Raoul adores the kids. Clearly we had to get rid of the dangerous canine.

The upshot was that we refused, and now Lynn picks up the couple’s meat orders, and Sebastian understandably avoids Grant while walking Raoul.

Understandable… but a problem when Grant would have provided a partial alibi.

“I can’t prove it wasn’t me,” Sebastian says finally. “But I’ll give you whatever you need to help with that. Ignore Mathias’s growling. I will fully cooperate.”

“I know. Just like you know I need to consider you as a suspect for the dosing part.” I make notes. Then I say, “If you didn’t do it, then someone stole those two pills. You last took one on February twelfth, right?”

“On the eleventh and again on the twelfth.”

“And when did you last touch that box?”

“This morning. It has my regular prescriptions in it. I take it out daily. I don’t remember ever thinking it wasn’t exactly where I put it, but honestly? I just pull it out and shove it back under. Half the time, I’m still in bed. I don’t have a nightstand yet—I’m on the list for having one built—so my med box goes under the bed.”

He shrugs. “Not the most secure place for pills, but I never really thought of that. Usually, living with Mathias is security enough. Then there’s Raoul, obviously.”

Storm might be nearly twice Raoul’s size, but the Australian-shepherd-and-wolf blend makes Raoul a better guard dog. He’s very protective of his home and his people, as the incident with Grant proved.

“No one is going into your place while Raoul’s there,” I say. “Even if he was down in the shop, he’d hear someone break in upstairs.”

“And everyone would hear him. ”

“When’s the last time someone took him hunting?”

Sebastian shrugs. “Before today? It’s been a few weeks. Sometimes he’s with the boys, but Mathias and I would both need to be away for anyone to break in. Even going upstairs while we’re in the shop would be risky.”

I tap my pen on the pad. “Let’s say you got back from a walk and someone had been in the apartment. Would Raoul alert you?”

Sebastian thinks about it. “I don’t think so. Remember how territorial he was as a pup?”

I smile. “He decided only the people he liked were allowed into the butcher shop, which made a very small list. Your dog is much pickier than mine.”

“He is. But we worked on that through training. He defends people, not turf. When we had the incident with Grant, that’s because I was in the shop. It wasn’t that Raoul didn’t want Grant going in—it was that he didn’t want him near me. If someone broke in while Raoul was alone in the apartment, he’d go after them. But I don’t think he’d react much if he came home to discover someone else had been there.”

Sebastian goes quiet, still considering. “We’ve definitely had people in while we’re gone, especially with the final construction touches. Raoul has never seemed bothered by it. Of course, I could be saying that to support the theft theory. I’d need to explain why Raoul wouldn’t have reacted if we had a break-in.”

I shake my head. “I appreciate your honesty, Seb, but you really don’t need to play prosecution against yourself.”

He only smiles. “Covering all the bases. Also, because I know you’ll ask, we don’t use any other security measures. Like most people here, we don’t lock our door when we’re out. Nothing for anyone to steal.”

“Except very strong prescription drugs.”

He makes a face. “Yeah. I never thought of that. We should start locking it.”

“On that note, in order for someone to steal that particular drug, one that’s used in sexual assaults, they need to know you had it. Even April didn’t.”

He leans back. “You’re right. The only people who know are me and Mathias.”

“You’re taking them for insomnia.”

“Yeah. It’s a…” He makes a vague gesture. “A holdover from when I was incarcerated. I had problems with other inmates. I got into the habit of napping rather than sleeping. I’m mostly back on track, but I go through spells.”

“It’s not an uncommon problem up here,” I say. “The summer’s worse, when the endless sun doesn’t help anyone sleep, but winter can be bad, too.”

“Twenty hours of darkness also screws with sleep schedules,” he says.

“It does. Which leads to my question… Have you discussed your sleep problems with others? In casual conversation?”

“You mean someone says they’re having trouble sleeping, and I say I do, too? Sure. That’s one way of showing empathy. A cornerstone of my therapy. Learn to show it and eventually it becomes second nature. Whether that’s actual empathy or just faking it, I don’t know, but it does help me connect with people.”

He pulls one stockinged foot under him. “The trick is to find the right balance. If someone says they’re having trouble sleeping, and I say I suffer from severe insomnia, that’s not empathy. It’s one-upmanship. If someone says they’re having serious insomnia, and I say I understand because I sometimes have trouble sleeping, that’s downplaying their experience.” He gives a wry smile. “I know all the tricks. Which means, in most cases, it’s just residents saying they have trouble sleeping, and I just say I do too, and we exchange tips.”

“Would you ever have mentioned the Restoril?”

He shakes his head. “If they were suffering from real insomnia, I’d say to speak to April, and I’d never mention Restoril. It’s like someone saying they have a headache and I suggest morphine. It’s way more than they need.”

He pulls up his other foot, cross-legged now. “I can guarantee I’ve never mentioned Restoril specifically. But in a conversation about sleep problems, could I have admitted I take something? Yes.”

“If you can think of anyone you mentioned sleep issues to—at all—that’s really what I need.”

“The only thing that comes to mind is a conversation over dinner, maybe a few weeks ago. It was a full table in the restaurant, a six-seater, and we got talking about how it’s nice that the days are getting longer. Someone… Oh, wait. It was actually Kendra. She said she sleeps better during the longer days, because she can close the shutters at night and open them in the morning, simulating a regular sundown and sunup. We all got to talking about sleep strategies. A few people said they need a little chemical help now and then. I probably said I do too, and there was some comparing of sleep aids, but I pretended I don’t know what I’m taking.”

“So Kendra was there, and…”

“It was all staff. Kendra. Me. Gunnar. Brian and Devon. Maybe Yolanda? If not Yolanda, then Kenny, but he usually eats with April, so I think it was Yolanda.”

“Anyone sitting nearby?”

“Close enough to overhear us? I didn’t pay any… No. We were talking about the longer days because it was a late dinner and it was still light outside. There’d been a staff meeting, and Phil asked the restaurant to stay open. You and Eric and the others ate at your place. At the restaurant it was just us. Even the servers were gone.”

“And that’s the only time you mentioned taking something to help you sleep.”

“As far as I know.”

Time for our walk. Or, in my case, drag. The most annoying part of that is that if I weren’t only in the sled because I’m pregnant, I’d have enjoyed it, relaxing and indulging in the ridiculousness of it. In other words, I’m just being cranky.

I’m riding in an adult version of a toddler sled, with a curved back for me to rest against. The interior is piled high with furs, and Storm is moving briskly, having recovered from her temporary exhaustion. Pulling me—even with my added weight—is easy on a trail that’s practically an ice-sled run, the well-trodden snow having partly melted and refrozen.

Dalton and I are quiet as we leave town. We plan to discuss the case, which means we need to be out of earshot. I hunker down into the furs and lean back to gaze up at the endless canopy of evergreens with a gray sky above.

Kenny and Dalton might have designed this sled for me, but it will be perfect in the years to come. It’ll let us take our child out on long winter walks, with Storm having no difficulty pulling the lighter weight. My mind shifts to next year, when I’ll be in this sled again, holding a bundled baby.

Will our child be content to relax against me and take in the nature around them? Or will they be squirming to get out and crawl through the snow?

With Dalton and me as parents, the answer is probably that it’ll depend on their mood. We can both be still, lost in our thoughts and in the world. And we can both be restless, wanting to get out and interact with that world.

I struggle to indulge in dreams like this, especially after two miscarriage scares. Dalton and I have pored over the books, and we’ve tracked exactly how far along our baby would be if they were born this week, next week, two weeks from now. We’re so damned close now that I want to relax. In mere days, the baby wouldn’t even be considered premature.

But that presumes the baby has developed properly, and I worry that I haven’t gained enough weight for that. It also presumes a normal delivery, and that’s never a guarantee, especially if they come early.

Deep breaths. I’m going to let myself dream of next winter, when I’ll have a baby on my lap and it’ll be Dalton pulling the sled, whipping us along with Storm bringing up the rear—

Dalton grabs the ropes, tugging Storm to a halt. We go still and listen. A sound comes. One that sounds remarkably like our sled, whooshing along the icy snow.

“Jacob!” Dalton calls.

“Here!”

Dalton relaxes and gives Storm the signal that she can take a break. In a few minutes Raoul appears, pulling a flatter version of our sled, with the morning’s hunting catch under a secured tarp.

Bringing up the rear is a man with long light brown hair, a thick beard, and steel-gray eyes. Two years younger than Dalton, Jacob is, as everyone jokes, “the nice brother.” He has his shadows—trauma from life after their parents died, before he reunited with Dalton—but in Jacob, it mostly manifests as shyness and a preference for forest life. Both his personality and his past make him a perfect match for Nicole.

“Good hunting?” Dalton asks as he peeks under the tarp.

“Nothing big. Mostly just cleaning up the snares. Hare, grouse, ptarmigan. Oh, and an ermine that was sniffing around the snares. It’ll make a good baby blanket.”

“Nice,” Dalton says. “Can we grab one of those grouses, too? Before Mathias gets hold of it?”

“I’ll drop it at your place.” Jacob glances up and over his shoulder. “I don’t know how far you guys plan to go, but I’d suggest sticking to the path around town.”

Dalton’s answer is a grunt that his brother knows is a request for more information. Jacob waves at the sky, as if this is information enough.

Dalton peers up.

“Snow’s coming,” Jacob says when Dalton doesn’t respond.

Dalton shrugs. “Eventually. It’s too early for a thaw, and yeah, the temperature has dropped, but the wind’s still blowing from the south.”

“I don’t like the look of that sky.”

“It’s been overcast all day.”

Jacob lifts both gloved hands. “Not arguing. I’m just saying that if you don’t need to go farther, maybe stick close to town. I was over by the mountain and decided to head back early. I didn’t like the air there. Felt like a storm.”

“We will take that under advisement,” Dalton says.

I quickly add, “We’re not going far. We just have business to discuss, and we can’t do it on the town loop.” I pull the sat phone from under the furs. “We have this, too.”

“But we won’t go far enough to need it,” Dalton says. “Give us an hour, and we’ll be back.” He looks down at the two dogs, snuggled together as they rest on the path. “The real problem is separating these two and deciding who’s making way for whom on this path.”