Chapter 7 Cosi #2
I shuddered. It would be a pain in the ass to get up there, but I wasn’t going to risk Ilsa’s safety, the chance that she’d get raped or killed, because of some goddamn snow.
“I’ll get ahold of Hank,” I told Alan. “You good to hold down the fort here?”
“Of course.”
“Thanks.” I gave him a nod, then headed down the hallway with Spencer trailing behind.
“Dad, are you going to help her?”
“Yeah, pal.” I breezed into the storage room where we kept the spare cruiser keys on a row of hooks mounted to the wall. It was also where we kept the keys to the plow truck.
I snatched them up, then hustled outside, grabbing the snow shovel that Alan had left inside the front door.
“I’ll drop you at home.”
“Can I come?”
We spoke in unison.
I shook my head. “Not this time.”
“Please? I’ll stay in the truck. Promise.”
If there was someone out there, I didn’t want my kid tagging along. And if by chance this person stalking Ilsa had returned, if the unthinkable happened, I didn’t want my son as a witness.
“No.” I put my hand on his shoulder. “It could be dangerous. The road is a mess. If I get stuck out there, I don’t want you with me.”
He sighed. “Fine.”
“Come on.” I steered him toward the plow truck, buried in feet of snow. “Let’s see if we can get this thing started.”
With the two of us working, it only took five minutes to get the windshield and hood brushed clear. We climbed inside, and with my gloves resting on the bench seat between us, I fitted the key into the ignition and twisted.
Come on, buddy. The engine cranked twice, and for a moment, I was sure the truck wouldn’t start. But then it roared to life and cold air blasted through the vents. “Thank God.”
I plucked the CB radio’s microphone from its cradle and tuned the channel to Hank’s frequency, pressing the button to talk.
“Sawdust, this is Cosi Raynes. You got copy?”
It only took a minute for him to respond. “Cosi, I’ll tell you the same thing I told Alan. Over.”
“You know I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t an emergency,” I said. “I’ll make it up to you. Plow around town myself. Over.”
Spencer and I shared a look as we waited.
If Hank said no to a grader, then I’d have to try and make it up there with this truck. It wasn’t impossible, but it wasn’t going to be fun.
“Meet me at the turnoff to Cotters in thirty,” Hank barked. “Over.”
“I owe you one. Over and out.” I hung up the mic and put the truck in gear. Then I positioned the blade with the hydraulics and pushed a path through the parking lot.
I took the side streets from the station, plowing as I drove. “I should be home before dinner. But if you get hungry, eat without me.”
“All right.”
I stopped outside the house, letting him hop out. Then once he was opening the front door, I hit the gas so I could get up to Cotters Lake.
There were tears in Ilsa’s eyes as we stood in her living room. Her face was pale, her hands trembling at her sides.
Those unshed tears were a punch to the gut. I didn’t know what to do with crying women. The females in my life—Mom and Pamela—weren’t the crying type.
“I’m not making this up,” she said.
I wanted to believe her. I really did. But the evidence, or lack thereof, was hard to ignore.
It had taken less time than I’d expected for Hank to clear the road to Cotters Lake. I’d never seen him drive a grader so fast, but he’d been on a mission to bust through the drifts and get back to town. He was probably halfway to Dalton by now.
On the way up, I’d stopped at every empty cabin on the road.
Those that had been winterized, their owners in town, didn’t show any sign of entry or life.
No tracks in the snow. No broken windows or picked locks.
Was there still a chance someone could have been hiding inside? Yes. But it was slim, at best.
When I’d gotten here, Ilsa had appeared in the doorway, visibly shaken and panicked. She’d pointed to the side of the house, and without a word, I’d stepped into the snow.
There’d been a shoveled path leading from the front door to the small shed behind the house. Another cut from the door to her car. But nothing next to her windows.
Both shoveled paths were full of tracks in the snow. And from what I could tell, every footprint had the same boot tread pattern.
Boots that were still damp and sitting in a tiny puddle of melted snow in the entryway.
She’d told me they were Ike’s snow boots. She’d worn them this morning when she’d gone outside to shovel those paths.
I wanted to believe her. I really did.
But at the moment, the only evidence I had were her own footprints in the snow.
During my first three years with the department, there’d been an older woman who lived nearby a forest service campground along Diamond Creek. Pearl Cline. It wasn’t a normal week if Pearl didn’t call at least once.
A suspicious vehicle on her road. A plume of smoke in the mountains. A group of teenagers camping and probably doing drugs.
Not once had Pearl’s calls resulted in an actual crime or emergency. The vehicles were always legitimate campers. The smoke was from a tended campfire.
Ilsa’s calls were starting to feel a bit like Pearl Cline’s.
“There was someone here.” Ilsa wrapped her arms around her middle as she spoke through gritted teeth. “I swear it.”
“Look, there’s a good chance that whoever came out here stuck to the paths you shoveled.
They probably walked up the road and the grader wrecked any trail they’d left behind.
I’m still thinking it’s a neighbor. Both Sue Anne and Robert are .
. . well, they’re interesting characters.
” That was the nicest way I could think to say they were both incredibly odd.
Sneaking up on Ilsa, wearing a black ski mask, was something I could see either of them doing.
It certainly wasn’t anyone who’d driven up here. Up until now, the road had been impassible.
“Have you met them yet?” I asked.
She shook her head.
“If I were you, I’d go over and introduce yourself. At least to Sue Anne. If she is the person poking around, you’ll satisfy her curiosity.”
“Sure,” she murmured, those arms wrapping tighter around her waist. “I’m sorry for the trouble.”
“Don’t worry about it.”
She gave me a tight smile that was my cue to leave.
I headed for the door, about to see myself out, when she stopped me.
“Cosi?”
I shouldn’t have liked the way it sounded to hear her use my first name. But damn it, I did. I liked it a lot. “Yeah?”
“Indulge me for a moment. What if there is someone out here? And what if that person killed my father?”
Wait. What? Now she was speculating Ike’s death was a murder? Where the hell was this coming from?
“No one killed your father, Ilsa. I get grief. My dad died twenty years ago. He went hunting with a friend and that friend shot him on accident.”
Her sharp intake of breath filled the room. “I’m so sorry.”
“It was an accident. They happen. And I know what it’s like to question those awful accidents.
Dad and his friend both served. They were both plenty experienced with guns.
And both were messed up from World War II.
I spent years wondering if it was an accident, so I understand the need to have answers.
But sometimes, we don’t get them. Sometimes, all you can do is accept that your father is gone. ”
She swallowed hard, staring at me for a long moment. Then her gaze dropped to the floor. Class dismissed. “Thank you for coming up, Sheriff Raynes.”
“You’re welcome, Miss Poe.”
The drive to town was quiet, and other than the occasional relay between Hank’s crew on the radio, my own thoughts plagued me as I steered the plow truck toward home.
Everything I’d told Ilsa held true. I’d bet money that the person lurking around her house was Sue Anne. Maybe I should have stopped at her A-frame on my way out. Confronted her about it myself. Robert too.
But both would have denied it. I’d bet money on that.
At least Ilsa wasn’t trapped out there any longer. If there was a silver lining to this mess, she could come and go from Cotters Lake as she pleased.
Even though it was only five, night was falling by the time I parked in my driveway. The sky overhead was turning navy blue as the last faint rays of light limned the jagged mountain horizon.
When I walked inside, the house smelled like burnt toast. Spencer’s bedroom door was closed, and there was a charred grilled cheese sandwich on a plate in the kitchen.
I pulled a bottle of Black Velvet whisky from the cabinet above the fridge and poured myself a drink. Maybe it would help get Ilsa off my mind.
Did she really think her father had been murdered? What about our conversation at my office would lead her to make such a leap?
Ike’s death was an accident. Just like my dad’s. There was no mystery to solve, no killer to apprehend.
Accidents happened.
Accidents changed lives.
End of story.
So why couldn’t I get Ilsa’s tears out of my mind?
Why, when I hadn’t spoken about my father’s death in years, had I told her about his accident?
I could have left those personal details out.
I could have simply reassured her Ike’s death was an accident.
But no, I’d opened my damn mouth and shared too much.
I sipped my whisky as I walked to the kitchen window. In the short time since I’d come inside, it had started to snow again.
Fuck. I didn’t like that she was out there alone. But that woman wasn’t my problem.
I drained the rest of my glass.
And ate the burnt sandwich my son had made me for dinner.