Ice Cold Killer Read online

  She closed her eyes, then opened them to find him glaring at her. Were they ever going to stop having this conversation? They had only gone out together three times. To her, that didn’t constitute a romantic history, though he insisted on seeing things differently. “Ken, I don’t want to talk about this now,” she said. “I’m tired and I’m upset and I just want to go home.”

  “I’m here for you, Darcy,” he said.

  “I know.” She got into the driver’s seat, forcing herself not to hurry, and drove away. When she glanced in the rearview mirror, Ken was still standing in the drive, frowning after her, hands clenched into fists at his sides.

  Dating him had been a bad idea—Darcy had known it from the first date—but Kelly had pressured her to give him a chance. “He’s a nice man,” she had said. “And the two of you have a lot in common.”

  They did have a lot in common—a shared love of books and animals and hiking. But Ken pushed too hard. He wanted too much. After only two dates, he had asked her to move in with him. He had talked about them taking a vacation together next summer, and had wanted her to come home to Wisconsin to meet his parents for Christmas. She had broken off with him then, telling him she wasn’t ready to get serious with anyone. He had pretended not to understand, telling her coming home to meet his family was just friendly, not serious. But she couldn’t see things that way.

  He had been upset at first—angry even. He called her some horrible names and told her she would regret losing a guy like him. But after he had returned from visiting his folks last week, he had been more cordial. They had exchanged greetings when she stopped by to see Kelly, and the three of them spent a couple of hours one afternoon shoveling the driveway together. Darcy had been willing to be friends with him, as long as he didn’t want more.

  She turned onto the gravel county road that led to the horse ranch that belonged to one of their first clients. Robbie Lusk had built the tiny house on wheels parked by the creek as an experiment, he said, and was happy to rent it out to Darcy. His hope was to add more tiny homes and form a little community, and he had a second home under construction.

  Darcy slowed to pull into her drive, her cozy home visible beneath the golden glow of the security light one hundred yards ahead. But she was startled to see a dark SUV moving down the drive toward her. Heart in her throat, she braked hard, eliciting complaints from the cats in their carriers behind her. The SUV barreled out past her, a rooster tail of wet snow in its wake. It turned sharply, scarcely inches from her front bumper, and she tried to see the driver, but could make out nothing in the darkness and swirling snow.

  She stared at the taillights of the SUV in her rearview mirror as it raced back toward town. Then, hands shaking, she pulled out her phone and found the card Ryder had given her. She punched in his number and waited for it to ring. “Ryder Stewart,” he answered.

  “This is Darcy Marsh. Can you come out to my house? A strange car was here and just left. I didn’t recognize it and I... I’m afraid.” Her knuckles ached from gripping the phone so hard, and her throat hurt from admitting her fear.

  “Stay in your car. I’ll be right there,” Ryder said, his voice strong and commanding, and very reassuring.

  Chapter Three

  Ryder met no other cars on the trip to Darcy’s house. Following the directions she had given him, he turned into a gravel drive and spotted her Subaru Forester parked in front of a redwood-sided dwelling about the size of a train caboose. She got out of the car when he parked his Tahoe beside her, a slight figure in black boots and a knee-length, black puffy coat, her dark hair uncovered. “I haven’t looked around to see if anything was messed with,” she said. “I thought I should wait for you.”

  “Good idea.” He took his flashlight from his belt and played it over the ground around the house. It didn’t look disturbed, but it was snowing hard enough the flakes might have covered any tracks. “Let me know if you spot anything out of place,” he said.

  She nodded and, keys in hand, moved to the front door. “I know most people around here don’t lock their doors,” she said. “But I’m enough of a city girl, I guess, that it’s a habit I can’t break.” She turned the key in the lock and pushed open the door, reaching in to flick on the lights, inside and out.

  Ryder followed her inside, in time to see two cats descending the circular stairs from the loft, the smaller, black one bounding down, the larger silver tabby moving at a more leisurely pace. “Hello, guys.” Darcy shrugged off her shoulder bag and bent to greet the cats. “The black one is Marianne. Her older sister is Elinor.” She glanced up at him through surprisingly long lashes. “The Dashwood sisters. From Sense and Sensibility.”

  He nodded. “I take it you’re a fan of Jane Austen?”

  “Yes. Have you read the book?”

  “No.” He couldn’t help feeling he had failed some kind of test as she moved away from him, though she couldn’t go far. He could see the entire dwelling, except for the loft and the part of the bathroom not visible through the open door at the end, from this spot by the door—a small sitting area, galley kitchen and table for two. The space was organized, compact and a little claustrophobic. It was a dwelling designed for one person—and two cats.

  Make that four cats. “I stopped by Kelly’s place and picked up her two cats,” she said. “Will you help me bring them in?”

  He followed her back to her car and accepted one of the cat carriers. The cat inside, a large gold tabby, eyed him balefully and began to yowl. “Oh, Pumpkin, don’t be such a crybaby,” Darcy chided as she led the way back up the walk. Inside they set the carriers side by side on the sofa that butted up against the table on one side of the little house. “I’ll open the carrier doors and they’ll come out when they’re ready,” she said. “They’ve stayed here before.”

  “I’ll go outside and take a look around,” he said, leaving her to deal with the cats.

  A closer inspection showed tire tracks in the soft snow to one side of the gravel drive, and fast-filling-in shoe prints leading around one end of the house to a large back window. He shone the light around the frame, over fresh tool marks, as if someone had tried to jimmy it open. Holding the light in one hand, he took several photos with his phone, then went back inside.

  “I put on water for tea,” Darcy said, indicating the teakettle on the three-burner stove. “I always feel better with a cup of tea.” She rubbed her hands up and down her shoulders. She was still wearing her black puffy coat.

  Ryder took out his notebook. “What can you remember about the vehicle you saw?” he asked.

  “It was a dark color—dark gray or black, and an SUV, or maybe a small truck with a camper cover? A Toyota, I think.” She shook her head. “I’m not a person who pays much attention to cars. It was probably someone who was lost, turning around. I shouldn’t have called you.”

  Ryder thought of the 4Runner that had cruised past him in the grocery store parking lot. “There are fresh footprints leading around the side of the house, and marks on your back window, where someone might have tried to get in.”

  All color left her face, and she pressed her lips together until they, too, were bleached white. “Show me,” she said.

  She followed him back out into the snow. He took her arm to steer her around the fading shoe prints, and shone the light on the gouges in the wooden window frame. “I’m sure those weren’t here before,” she said. “The place was brand-new when I moved in four months ago.”

  “I’ll turn in a report to the sheriff’s office,” he said. “Have you seen the vehicle you described before?”

  “No. But like I said, I don’t pay attention to cars. Maybe I should.”

  “Have you seen any strangers out here? Noticed anyone following you? Has Kelly mentioned anything about anyone following her?”

  “No.” She turned and walked back into the house. When he stepped in after her, the teakettle
was screaming. She moved quickly to shut off the burner and filled two mugs with steaming water. Fear seemed to rise off her like the vapor off the water, though she was trying hard to control it.

  “I know this is unsettling,” he said. “But the fact that the person didn’t stay when you arrived here by yourself tells me he was more likely a burglar who didn’t want to be caught, than someone who wanted to attack you.”

  “I was supposed to be safe here,” she said.

  “Safe from what?”

  She carried both mugs to the table and sat. He took the seat across from her. “Safe from what?” he asked again. “I’m not asking merely to be nosy. If you have someone you’re hiding from—someone who might want to hurt you—it’s possible this person confused you and Kelly. It wouldn’t be the first time something like that happened.”

  “No, it’s not like that.” She tucked her shoulder-length brown hair behind her ear, then brought the mug to her lips, holding it in both hands. When she set it down again, her eyes met his, a new determination in their brown depths. “I was raped in college—in Fort Collins. I moved in with Kelly after that and she really helped me move past that. My mother and I aren’t close and my father has been out of the picture for years.”

  He thought of what she had said before—that she was used to looking after herself. “Women who have been through something like that often have a heightened awareness of danger,” he said. “It’s good to pay attention to that. Have you seen anyone suspicious, here or at Kelly’s or at your office? Have you felt threatened or uneasy?”

  “No.” She shook her head. “That’s why I thought Eagle Mountain was different. I always felt safe here. Until now.”

  He sipped the tea—something with cinnamon and apples. Not bad. It would be even better with a shot of whiskey, but since he was technically still on duty, he wouldn’t bring it up. He wondered if she even had hard liquor in the house. “I stopped by and talked to Ed Nichols and his wife after I left the clinic,” he said.

  Fine lines between her eyes deepened. “You don’t really think he killed Kelly, do you?”

  “I haven’t made up my mind about anything at this point. He said he was at the clinic all morning, and then at the Rotary Club luncheon.”

  “How did she die?” Darcy asked. “You told me you found her up on Dixon Pass, but how?”

  “Do you really want to know?”

  “I have a very good imagination. If you don’t tell me, I’ll fill in too many horrid details of my own.” She took another sip of tea. “Besides, the papers will be full of the story soon.”

  “She was in her car, over to the side, up against the rock face at the top of the pass. Her hands and feet were bound with duct tape and her throat had been cut.”

  Darcy let out a ragged breath. “Had she been raped?”

  “I don’t know. But her clothes weren’t torn or disarrayed. We’ll know more tomorrow.”

  “So someone just killed her and left her up there? Why there?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe he—or she—hoped what did happen would happen—an avalanche buried the car. We might not have found it for weeks if a delivery truck wasn’t buried in the same place. When we pulled out the delivery driver, we found Kelly’s car, too.”

  “Did you talk to her parents?”

  “Yes. They wanted to fly down right away. I told them they should wait until the road opens.”

  “When will that be?”

  “We don’t know. A storm system has settled in. They’re predicting up to four feet of new snow. Until it stops, no one is getting in or out of Eagle Mountain.”

  “The sheriff and Lacy Milligan are supposed to get married in a few weeks,” she said.

  “The road should be open by then,” he said. He hoped so. He wasn’t going to get far with this case without the information he could get outside town.

  “When I moved here and people told me about the road being closed sometimes in winter, I thought it sounded exciting,” she said. “Kind of romantic, even—everyone relying on each other in true pioneer spirit. Then I think about our weekly order of supplies not getting through, and people who don’t live here being stuck in motels or doubling up with family—then it doesn’t sound like much fun.” She looked up at him. “What about you? Do you live here?”

  “I do. I’m in a converted carriage house over on Elm.”

  “No pets? Or are you a client of Dr. Nichols’s?”

  Her teasing tone lifted his spirits. “No pets,” he said. “I like dogs, but my hours would mean leaving it alone too long.”

  “Cats do better on their own.” She turned to watch Pumpkin facing off with Marianne. The two cats sniffed each other from nose to tail then, satisfied, moved toward the stairs and up into the loft.

  “I should let you go,” she said. “Thank you for stopping by.”

  “Is there someone you could stay with tonight?” he asked. “Or you could get a motel room, somewhere not so isolated.”

  “No, I’ll be fine.” She looked around. “I don’t want to leave the cats. I have a gun and I know how to use it. Kelly and I took a class together. It helped me feel stronger.”

  He was tempted to say he would stay here tonight, but he suspected she wouldn’t welcome the offer. He’d have to sleep sitting up on her little sofa, or freeze in his Tahoe. “Keep your phone with you and call 911 if you feel at all uneasy,” he said.

  “I will. I guess I should have called them in the first place.”

  “I wasn’t saying I minded coming out here. I didn’t. I don’t. If you feel better calling me, don’t hesitate.”

  She nodded. “I guess I called you because I knew you. I’m not always comfortable with strangers.”

  “I’m glad you trusted me enough to call me. And I meant it—don’t think twice about calling me again.”

  “All right. And I’ll be fine.” Her smile was forced, but he admired the effort.

  He glanced in the rearview mirror as he drove away, at the little house in the snowy clearing, golden light illuminating the windows, like a doll’s house in a fairy-tale illustration. Darcy Marsh wasn’t an enchanted princess but she had a rare self-possession that drew him.

  He parked his Tahoe on the side of the road to enter his report about the vehicle she’d seen and the possible attempted break-in at her home. He was uploading the photos he’d taken when his phone rang with a call from the sheriff’s department.

  Sheriff Travis Walker’s voice carried the strain of a long day. “Ryder, you probably want to get over here,” he said. “We’ve found another body.”

  Chapter Four

  Christy O’Brien lay across the front seat of her wrecker, the front of her white parka stained crimson with blood, her hands and feet wrapped with silver duct tape. The wrecker itself was nose-down in a ditch at the far end of a gravel road on the outskirts of town, snow sifting down over it like icing drizzled on a macabre cake.

  Ryder turned away, pushing aside the sickness and guilt that clawed at the back of his throat. Such emotions wouldn’t do anyone any good now. “I just saw her,” he said. “Less than an hour ago.”

  “Where?” Sheriff Travis Walker, snow collecting on the brim of his Stetson and the shoulders of his black parka, scanned the empty roadside. Travis was one of the reasons Ryder had ended up in Eagle Mountain. He had visited his friend at the Walker ranch one summer and fallen in love with the place. When an opening in this division had opened up, he had put in for it.

  “I was in the grocery store parking lot,” Ryder said. “She passed me. I figured she was on a call, headed to pull someone out of a ditch.”

  “This probably happened not too long after that.” Travis played the beam of his flashlight over the wrecker. “Maybe the killer called her, pretended his car wouldn’t start—maybe a dead battery. When she gets out of the wrecker to take a look, he overpowe
rs her, tapes her up, slits her throat.”

  “Then shoves her into the wrecker and drives it into the ditch?”

  “He may not have even had to drive it,” Travis said. “Just put it into gear and give it a good push in the right direction. Then he gets in his own car and drives away.”

  “Who called it in?” Ryder asked.

  “Nobody,” Travis said. “I was coming back from a call—an attempted break-in not far from here. I turned down this road, thinking the burglar might have ducked down here. When I saw the wrecker in the ditch, I knew something wasn’t right.”

  “An attempted break-in?” Ryder asked. “Where? When?”

  “Up on Pine.” Travis indicated a street to the north that crossed this one. “Maybe twenty minutes ago? A guy came home from work and surprised someone trying to jimmy his lock. He thought it was a teenager. He thought he saw an Eagle Mountain High School letter jacket.”

  “I saw three boys in letter jackets at the grocery store just after Christy’s wrecker passed me,” Ryder said. “And someone tried to break into Darcy Marsh’s place this evening—I was leaving there when you called me.”

  Travis frowned. “I don’t like to think teenagers would do something like this, but we’ll check it out.” He turned back toward the wrecker. “I’ll talk to the people in the houses at the other end of the road, and those in this area. Maybe someone heard or saw something.”

  “There would be a lot of blood,” Ryder said.

  “More than is in the cab of the wrecker, I’m thinking. It was the same with Kelly, did you notice? She wasn’t killed in that car—and it was her car.”

  “I did notice,” Ryder said. “There was hardly any blood in the car or even on her.”

  “I think she was killed somewhere else and driven up there,” Travis said.

  “So the killer had an accomplice?” Ryder asked. “Someone who could have followed him up to the pass in another car, then taken him away?”