Chapter 10
Chapter Ten
This is going to be a helluva first day.
By the time we get to the lake, it’s blowing at least twenty and snowing hard.
The snowplows are working overtime to clear the highways, forcing Rowdy to drive at a snail’s pace.
He was so busy during the drive coordinating with the other agencies responding and planning ahead that I didn’t get a chance to ask questions, though I soaked in what I could from overhearing his side of the conversations.
Being essentially ignored also gave me time to review the evening with Linnea.
I still don’t know her reasons for keeping dear old Dad in the dark about us being acquainted.
I still don’t have her number and I got the feeling that I won’t be getting it.
That stings. Did I misinterpret everything that night at the Sweetwater?
Rowdy pulls the truck to a stop in the boat launch parking area and jumps down, jerking me back to our mission. “Unload the sled while I check in with the sheriff.”
He’s awfully spry for someone his age. I pull on my wool hat and a pair of gloves and jump out.
Icy wind and blowing snow cut into my face and bare neck.
I zip up my brand-new IDFW parka, the fleece lining soft around my throat.
Had I known we’d be responding to an emergency on a frozen lake, I would have at least thrown more winter gear into my truck.
How are we going to get a dead body out of the lake in the middle of a snowstorm?
How long has she been in the water? To end up in the ice, she must have been close to the surface. How did she get there?
The parking lot is crisscrossed with tire marks from the ice fishermen who probably left at dusk, but several personal vehicles with empty snowmachine trailers are still here, covered with several inches of snow.
Does this mean the fishermen who found the body are still out there? I shiver just thinking about it.
A few stalls away, beneath the light pole closest to the shore, is the Clearwater County Sheriff’s rig, engine running.
There’s also an SUV with CASCADE LAKE LODGE written in yellow lettering on the door, parked closer to the shore.
Its headlights cast a blue glow across the surface of the frozen lake, which is lumpy with crisscrossing snowmachine tracks.
While Rowdy talks with the sheriff, I climb onto the trailer and unhitch the sled, then release the ramp and back the sled down.
Before we left the house, Rowdy put in the double seat adapter, so I flip up the back and secure the tabs on the base.
By the time I have it ready, Rowdy and a man in jeans, snow boots, and a thick parka are walking toward me.
He’s mid-sixties with ruddy cheeks and kind eyes.
“Jake Kelso,” the man says over the howling wind, extending his mittened hand. “I run Cascade Lake Lodge. One of my guides found the body.”
We shake, then he refocuses on Rowdy. “Sheriff Thomas said not to call you, but—”
“You did the right thing,” Rowdy interrupts, then squints in the direction of the lake. “Which hut?”
“I’ll take you.” Jake nods to the shore, where I can just make out the shape of a snowmachine. “Fire department’s on their way. They’ve been busy tonight.”
I follow Rowdy back to his rig. From a gear bag behind the seat, he pulls out a pair of insulated coveralls. He’s about to step into them when he tosses them across the seat.
“Put those on,” he says in a gruff tone.
“Why? What about you?”
He steps into a pair of rain pants and trades his Stetson for a wool cap. “Can’t have you dying of hypothermia.”
We meet at the back of his rig where he attaches a forensics kit then climbs on. I get on behind him and grab the handles.
The trip across the ice is quick, but the wind whipping across the barren expanse of the lake finds every gap in my clothing, chilling me with each passing minute. I can’t imagine how Rowdy’s staying warm in a pair of rain pants and his parka.
Four gumdrop-shaped tent structures emerge from the darkness as we near the center of the lake, spaced about a hundred yards apart. Two yellow, one black, and one red. Jake slows, easing up outside one of the yellow ones.
I brace myself for what’s to come. From what I gathered during the drive here, the fishing guide was drilling a new hole for one of the guests when it got tangled in what he thought at first was some kind of vegetation.
So he drilled a different hole, but this time he hit something solid.
Thinking it was some kind of debris, he tried to cut it out with an ice saw.
A gust of wind barrels across the lake, kicking up the new snow. The tent staked into the ice feels out of place, like a spaceship crash-landed in some apocalyptic landscape plagued by an endless winter.
My boots sink into the deep snow as I step off the sled.
Rowdy grabs his kit, and hands me a battery-operated auxiliary light to carry.
We follow Jake leading the way with a flashlight around the side of the yellow tent, its walls rattling in the stiff wind.
It’s a wonder anyone was even out here fishing today with this storm brewing, but ice fishermen can be a little over the top.
On the other side of the tent, Jake unzips the door flap, then disappears inside the space.
I step in last and zip the tent shut behind us.
The wind shakes the walls, but it’s much quieter in here, and a good twenty degrees warmer.
They’ve added a closed cell foam padding floor to insulate guests while they fish.
Sometimes these tents have elaborate living areas and heaters for camping on the ice, but it appears this one is only for day use.
I turn on the light, which illuminates two small holes in the ice, spaced ten feet apart, and a bigger hole shaped like a comma in between them, with soupy yellowish slush filling the gaps. I hope the yellow is due to the glow from the lamp and the color of the tent and not something else.
“Rick said her shoulder and her long hair were embedded in the ice, like she was floating just below the surface as it froze over.” Jake points to the corkscrew electric drill set to the side. “You’re welcome to use that.”
Kneeling near the holes, Rowdy sets down his kit, then looks up at Jake. “You don’t have to stay.”
He gives a rueful shake of his head. “In all my years, nothin’ like this has ever happened.”
“She’s likely been in the water for a while,” Rowdy says. “Certainly since before it froze.”
Jake nods, looking everywhere but at the holes in the ice. “Okay. I’ll…go wait for the fire department.”
After he leaves, Rowdy reaches for the drill. “We only have to confirm a few details and document, then the rescue crews will get her out.”
I join him, the mat stiff under my knees despite the padded coveralls he loaned me. “Why isn’t the sheriff out here with us?”
“Because he’s lazy.”
I huff a laugh, but Rowdy’s already pointing the drill into the ice.
It takes us a good twenty minutes of drilling and hacking to find the edges of the ice that have her captive.
We scoop up the chunks and slush around the area so we can isolate her.
My gloves are soaked in seconds, hands going numb and stiff, and the lake water and ice we’re splashing onto the foam mats soaks through the coveralls.
I don’t know how this girl ended up frozen in the lake ice, but there’s a sense of shared determination to get her out of it as soon as possible. She deserves at least that much.
“Do you think she drowned?” I ask, huffing hard as we scoop more slush.
“Possible. Odd that no one reported it though.”
He’s right. Someone has to be missing this girl.
Rowdy rocks back on his heels. “Okay. Hold the light for me.”
I tilt the light so it’s shining into the open seam of water, our echoing breaths mixing with the rattle of the tent walls. Rowdy slips off his soaked gloves and replaces them with a pair of nitrile ones. Bracing off the other side of our hole, he reaches under the ice.
“I can feel the outline of her. Let’s see if we can rotate the whole section.”
My stomach quivers, but I bite back my discomfort.
I set the light down and try to help rock the thick block of ice.
It’s awkward, and heavy, but we manage to tilt it enough that a woman’s face, partly hidden by strands of long dark hair, becomes visible.
The cold water has slowed decomposition, but it’s still the stuff of nightmares.
I avert my eyes, but the bile races up my throat. With a gasp, I lunge for the tent door and stagger outside just in time to heave into the snow.
By the time the specialized rescue team arrives, we’ve been standing around in the cold for hours. The sheriff never leaves the cocoon of his rig, which underscores what Rowdy shared. Still, shouldn’t I have at least met the guy?
Back on shore, we load the sled and strap it down, then climb into the cab.
It’s past two in the morning and I’m exhausted. Even with the heater blasting, I’m shivering so hard I have to will my teeth not to rattle.
“Sorry I lost it out there,” I say as Rowdy pulls out of the parking lot.
He cocks an eyebrow. “I thought ranch kids were tough.”
I shift in my seat, but it’s not any more comfortable. “It won’t happen again.”
He flicks his stoic gaze my way. “It will.”
I huff, but it turns into a laugh. Is this how it’s going to be with this guy? Busting my balls every chance he gets? Maybe he thinks he needs to break me down. He’s wrong. I’ve fought battles much worse than a grumpy boss.
With the warmth of the cab finally working into my bones, I lean back, not aware I’ve fallen asleep until we’re bumping over the uneven gravel of his driveway.
“Why don’t you crash here,” he says. “You can bunk in Jesse’s room.”
I sit up and wipe my mouth with the back of my hand. “You don’t have to put me up.”
“I know.” His tone is firm. “Not sure how the roads are out your way.”
“Aw, you do care.” I shoot him a grin, but he just scowls.
When we trudge up the porch, Bruneau’s soft woof sounds low and menacing, but the second Rowdy unlocks the door, he’s wagging his tail and circling our ankles. The house is warm and still. I hope we haven’t woken Linnea.
“Second door on the left,” Rowdy says in a low tone while hanging up his hat and coat. “Get some sleep.”
After a quick stop in the bathroom, I climb under the covers. Even though I’m exhausted, it takes me awhile to downshift. And when I finally close my eyes, I dream of the woman encased in the ice, her long dark hair swirling around her ravaged face.