Read the book: «Ice Cold Killer»
A killer is on the loose...
and he leaves a calling card at every murder scene
Though a blizzard has isolated Eagle Mountain, Trooper Ryder Stewart is attempting to track a murderer who’s claimed two victims. Then he’s tasked with ensuring veterinarian Darcy Marsh is not the third. The gorgeous lawman must earn Darcy’s trust despite her traumatic past...and resist his romantic feelings for her. But can he find the elusive killer before the killer finds Darcy?
Eagle Mountain Murder Mystery: Winter Storm Wedding
CINDI MYERS is the author of more than fifty novels. When she’s not crafting new romance plots, she enjoys skiing, gardening, cooking, crafting and daydreaming. A lover of small-town life, she lives with her husband and two spoiled dogs in the Colorado mountains.
Also by Cindi Myers
Saved by the Sheriff
Avalanche of Trouble
Deputy Defender
Danger on Dakota Ridge
Murder in Black Canyon
Undercover Husband
Manhunt on Mystic Mesa
Soldier’s Promise
Missing in Blue Mesa
Stranded with the Suspect
Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk
Ice Cold Killer
Cindi Myers

www.millsandboon.co.uk
ISBN: 978-1-474-09379-8
ICE COLD KILLER
© 2019 Cynthia Myers
Published in Great Britain 2019
by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF
All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.
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Version: 2020-03-02
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Contents
Cover
Back Cover Text
About the Author
Booklist
Title Page
Copyright
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
About the Publisher
Chapter One
Snow hid a lot of things, Colorado State Patrol Trooper Ryder Stewart mused as he watched the wrecker back up to the white, box-shaped clump near the top of Dixon Pass. Christy O’Brien, a sturdy blonde with chin-length hair beneath a bright red knit beanie, stopped the wrecker a few inches from the snow clump, climbed out and brushed at the flakes with a gloved hand, revealing the bumper of a brown delivery truck. She knelt and hooked chains underneath the truck, then gave Ryder a thumbs-up. “Ready to go.”
Ryder glanced behind him at the barrier he’d set up over the highway, and the Road Closed sign just beyond it. Ahead of Ryder, a cascade of snow flowed over the pavement, part of the avalanche that had trapped the truck. “You’re clear,” he said.
Slowly, Christy eased the wrecker forward. With a sound like two pieces of foam rubbing together, the delivery truck emerged from its icy cocoon. When the truck was fully on the pavement, the wrecker stopped. The door to the delivery truck slid open, clumps of snow hitting the pavement with a muffled floof. “Took you long enough!” Alton Reed grinned as he said the words and brushed snow from the shoulders of his brown jacket.
“How many times is this, Alton?” Ryder asked, looking the driver up and down.
“First one this year—fourth overall.” Alton surveyed the truck. “Got buried pretty deep this time. I’m thinking it’s going to be a bad year for avalanches.”
“The weather guessers say it’s going to be a bad snow year.” Ryder studied the pewter sky, heavy clouds like dirty cotton sitting low on the horizon. “This is the second time this week we’ve had to close the highway. Might not open again for a few days if the weather keeps up.”
“You people ought to be used to it,” Alton said. “It happens often enough. Though I can’t say I’d care for being cut off from the rest of the world that way.”
“Only four days last winter,” Ryder said.
“And what—three weeks the year before that?”
“Three years ago, but yeah.” Ryder shrugged. “The price we pay for living in paradise.” That was how most people who lived there thought of Eagle Mountain, anyway—a small town in a gorgeous setting that outsiders flocked to every summer and fall. The fact that there was only one way in and out of the town, and that way was sometimes blocked by avalanches in the winter, only added to the appeal for some.
“Guess I’ll have to find a place in town to stay until the weather clears,” Alton said, eyeing the cascade of snow that spilled across the highway in front of them.
“You ever think of asking for a different route?” Ryder asked. “One that isn’t so avalanche prone?”
“Nah.” Alton climbed back into his van. “After the first scare, it’s kind of an adrenaline rush, once you realize you’re going to be okay. And this route includes hazard pay—a nice bonus.”
Ryder waved goodbye as Alton turned his truck and steered around the barriers, headed toward town. He and the other commuting workers, delivery drivers and tourists trapped by the storm would find refuge at the local motel and B&Bs. Ryder shifted his attention to Christy, who was fiddling with the chains on her wrecker. “Thanks, Christy,” he said. “Maybe I won’t have to call you out anymore today.”
“Don’t you want me to pull out the other vehicle?” she asked.
The words gave him a jolt. “Other vehicle?” He turned to stare at the snowbank, and was stunned to see a glint of red, like the shine of a taillight. The vehicle it belonged to must have been right up against the rock face. Alton hadn’t mentioned it, so he must not have known it was there, either. “Yeah, you’d better pull it out, too,” he said. “Do you need any help?”
“No, I’ve got it.”
He shoved his hands in the pockets of his fleece-lined, leather patrolman’s jacket and blew out a cloud of breath as he waited for Christy to secure the vehicle. When she’d brushed away some of the snow, he could make out a small sedan with Colorado plates.
Wedged farther back under the packed snow, the car took longer to extricate, but it was lighter than the delivery van, and Christy’s wrecker had tire chains and a powerful engine. She dragged the vehicle, the top dented in from the weight of the snow, onto the pavement.
Snow fell away from the car, revealing a slumped form inside. Ryder raced to the vehicle and tried the door. It opened when he pulled hard, and he leaned in to take a look, then groped for the radio on his shoulder. “I need an ambulance up at the top of Dixon Pass,” he said. “And call the medical examiner.”
Even before he reached out to feel for the woman’s pulse, he knew she wouldn’t be needing that ambulance. The young, brown-haired woman was as cold as the snow that surrounded them, her hands and feet bound with silver duct tape, her throat slit all the way across.
He leaned back out of the car and tilted his head up into the cold, welcoming the feel of icy flakes on his cheeks. Yeah, the snow hid a lot of things, not all of them good.
* * *
DARCY MARSH RAN her fingers through the silky fur of the squirming Labrador puppy, and grinned as a soft pink tongue swiped at her cheek. For all the frustrations that were part of being a veterinarian, visits like this were one of the perks. “I’d say Admiral is a fine, healthy pup,” she told the beaming couple in front of her. High school teacher Maya Renfro and Sheriff’s Deputy Gage Walker returned the smile. “We’ll keep an eye on that little umbilical hernia, but I don’t expect it will cause any problems.”
“Can Casey hold him now?” Maya asked, smiling at her young niece, Casey, who was deaf. The little girl’s busily signing fingers conveyed her eagerness to cuddle her puppy.
“Yes, I think he’s ready to come down.” Darcy handed over the pup, and Casey cradled him carefully.
“You’ll need to bring him back in a month for his second set of puppy vaccinations,” Darcy said as she washed her hands at the exam room sink. “If you have any concerns before then, don’t hesitate to give us a call.”
“Thanks, Doc,” Gage said. The family followed Darcy to the front of the office. “Are you all by yourself today?”
“It’s Dr. Farrow’s day off,” Darcy said. “And I let Stacy go early, since you’re my last client for today.”
“Not quite the last,” Maya said. She nodded toward the open waiting room door. An auburn-haired man in the blue shirt and tan slacks of a Colorado State Patrolman stood at their approach.
“Ryder, what are you doing here?” Gage asked, stepping forward to shake hands with the trooper.
“I just needed to talk to the vet for a minute,” the officer, Ryder, said. He looked past Gage. “Hello, Maya, Casey. That’s a good-looking pup you have there.”
“His name is Admiral,” Maya said as Casey walked forward with the now squirming dog.
Ryder knelt and patted the puppy. “I’ll bet you two have a lot of fun together,” he said, speaking slowly so that Casey could read his lips.
Darcy moved to the office computer and printed out an invoice for Maya, who paid while Gage and Ryder made small talk about dogs, the weather and the upcoming wedding of Gage’s brother, Sheriff Travis Walker. “We’re thinking of throwing some kind of bachelor party thing in a couple of weeks,” Gage said. “I’ll let you know when I have all the details. We may have to stay in town, if the weather keeps up like this.”
“That should be an exciting party—not,” Maya said as she returned her wallet to her purse. “All the local law enforcement gathered at Moe’s pub, with the entire town keeping tabs on your behavior.”
“This is my brother we’re talking about,” Gage said. “Travis isn’t exactly known for cutting loose.”
Laughing, they said goodbye to Ryder and left.
“What can I do for you?” Darcy leaned back against her front counter and studied the trooper. He was young, fit and good-looking, with closely cropped dark auburn hair and intense blue eyes. She had only been in Eagle Mountain four months, but how had she missed running into him? She certainly wouldn’t have forgotten a guy this good-looking.
“Are you Dr. Darcy Marsh?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“Is Kelly Farrow your business partner?”
“Yes.” The room suddenly felt at least ten degrees colder. Darcy gripped the edges of the front counter. “Is something wrong?” she asked. “Has Kelly been in an accident?” Her partner had a bit of a reckless streak. She always drove too fast, and with this weather...
“I’m sorry to have to tell you that Ms. Farrow—Dr. Farrow—is dead,” Ryder said.
Darcy stared at him, the words refusing to sink in. Kelly...dead?
“Why don’t you sit down?” Ryder took her by the arm and gently led her to a chair in the waiting room, then walked over and flipped the sign on the door to Closed. He filled a paper cup with water from the cooler by the door and brought it to her. At any other time, she might have objected to him taking charge that way, but she didn’t see the point at the moment.
She sipped water and tried to pull herself together. “Kelly’s really dead?” she asked.
“I’m afraid so.” He pulled a second chair over and sat facing her. “I need to ask you some questions about her.”
“What happened?” Darcy asked. “Was she in an accident? I always warned her about driving so fast. She—”
“It wasn’t an accident,” he said.
She made herself look at him then, into eyes that were both sympathetic and determined. Not unkind eyes, but his expression held a hint of steel. Trooper Stewart wasn’t a man to be messed with. She swallowed hard, and somehow found her voice. “If it wasn’t an accident, how did she die?” Did Kelly have some kind of undiagnosed heart condition or something?
“She was murdered.”
Darcy gasped, and her vision went a little fuzzy around the edges. This must be a nightmare—one of those super-vivid dreams that felt like real life, but wasn’t. This couldn’t possibly be real.
Then she was aware of cold water soaking into her slacks, and Ryder gently taking the paper cup from her hand. “I need to ask you some questions that may help me find her murderer,” he said.
“How?” she asked. “I mean, how was she...killed?” The word was hard to say.
“We don’t have all the details yet,” he said. “She was found in her car, buried in an avalanche on top of Dixon Pass. Do you know why she might have been up there?”
Why wasn’t her brain working better? Nothing he said made sense to her. She brushed at the damp spot on her pants and tried to put her thoughts into some coherent order. “She told me she was going shopping and to lunch in Junction,” she said. Leaving Eagle Mountain meant driving over Dixon Pass. There was no other way in or out.
“When was the last time you spoke to her?” Ryder asked.
“Yesterday afternoon, when we both left work. Today was her day off.”
“Was that unusual, for her to take off during the week?”
“No. We each take one day off during the week so we can both work Saturdays. My day off is Wednesday. Hers is Tuesday.”
“How long have you known her?”
Darcy frowned, trying to concentrate. “Five years? We met in college, then were roommates in vet school. We really hit it off. When she was looking for a partner to start a vet business here in Eagle Mountain, I jumped at the chance.”
“Are you still roommates?” he asked.
“No. She lives in a duplex in town and I have a place just outside town—on the Lusk Ranch, out on County Road Three.”
“Do you know of anyone who would want to hurt her?” he asked. “Does she have a history of a stalker, or someone from her past she’s had a rocky relationship with?”
“No! Kelly got along with everyone.” Darcy swallowed past the lump in her throat and pinched her hand, hard, trying to snap out of the fog his news had put her in. She couldn’t break down now. Not yet. “If you had ever met her, you’d understand. She was this outgoing, sunny, super-friendly person. I was the more serious, quiet one. She used to say we were good business partners because we each brought different strengths to the practice.” She buried her face in her hands. “What am I going to do without her?”
“Can you think of anyone at all she might have argued with recently—an unhappy client, perhaps?”
Darcy shook her head. “No. We’ve only been open a few months—less than four. So far all our interactions with clients have been good ones. I know, realistically, that won’t last. You can’t please everyone. But it’s been a good experience so far. Well, except for Dr. Nichols.” She made a face.
“Ed Nichols, the other vet in town?”
“Yes.” She sighed. “He wasn’t happy about our coming here. He said there wasn’t enough business in a town this small for one vet, much less three. He accused us of undercutting his prices, and then I heard from some patients that he’s been bad-mouthing us around town. But he never threatened us or anything like that. I mean, I can’t believe he would want to kill one of us.” She wrapped her arms around herself, suddenly cold.
“Where were you this morning, from nine to one?” Ryder asked.
“Is that when she died? I was here, seeing patients. We open at eight o’clock.”
“Did you go out for lunch?”
“No. We had an emergency call—a dog that had tangled with a porcupine. I had to sedate the poor guy to get the quills out. I ended up eating a granola bar at my desk about one o’clock.”
“So you usually spend all day at the office here?”
She shook her head. “Not always. One of us is usually here, but we also treat large animals—horses and cows, mostly, but we see the occasional llama or donkey. Sometimes it’s easier to go out to the animal than to have them brought here. That was something else Dr. Nichols didn’t like—that we would do house calls like that. He said it set a bad precedent.”
“Was Kelly dating anyone?” Ryder asked.
“She dated a lot of people, but no one seriously. She was pretty and outgoing and popular.”
“Did she ever mention a man she didn’t get along with? A relationship that didn’t end well—either here or where you were before?”
“We were in Fort Collins. And no. Kelly got along with everyone.” She made dating look easy, and had sometimes teased Darcy—though gently—about her reluctance to get involved.
“What about you? Are you seeing anyone?”
“No.” What did that have to do with Kelly? But before she could ask, Ryder stood. He towered over her—maybe six feet four inches tall, with broad shoulders and muscular thighs. She shrank back from his presence, an involuntary action she hated, but couldn’t seem to control.
“Can I call someone for you?” he asked. “A friend or relative?”
“No.” She grabbed a tissue and pressed it to her eyes. “I need to call Kelly’s parents. They’ll be devastated.”
“Give me their contact information and I’ll do that,” he said. “It’s part of my job. You can call and talk to them later.”
“All right.” She went to the office, grateful for something to do, and pulled up Kelly’s information on the computer. “I’ll go over to her house and get her cats,” she said. “Is it okay if I do that? I have a key.” Kelly had a key to Darcy’s place, too. The two looked after each other’s pets and were always in and out of each other’s homes.
“Yes. I already stopped by her place with an evidence team from the sheriff’s department. That’s how we found your contact information.”
She handed him a piece of paper on which she’d written the names and numbers for Kelly’s parents. He took it and gave her a business card. “I wrote my cell number on there,” he said. “Call me if you think of anything that might help us. Even something small could be the key to finding out what happened to her.”
She stared at the card, her vision blurring, then tucked it in the front pocket of her slacks. “Thank you.”
“Are you sure you’re going to be okay?” he asked.
No. How could she be okay again, with her best friend dead? And not just dead—murdered. She shook her head but said, “I’ll be all right. I’m used to looking after myself.”
The intensity in his gaze unnerved her. He seemed genuinely concerned, but she wasn’t always good at reading people. “I’ll be fine,” she said. “And I’ll call you if I think of anything.”
He left and she went through the motions of closing up. The two cats and a dog in hospital cages were doing well. The dog—the porcupine victim—would be able to go home in the morning, and one of the cats, as well. The other cat, who had had surgery to remove a tumor, was also looking better and should be home by the weekend. She shut down the computer and set the alarm, then locked up behind her.
Outside it was growing dark, snow swirling over the asphalt of the parking lot, the pine trees across the street dusted with snow. The scene might have been one from a Christmas card, but Darcy felt none of the peace she would have before Ryder’s visit. Who would want to hurt Kelly? Eagle Mountain had seemed such an idyllic town—a place where a single woman could walk down the street after dark and never feel threatened, where most people didn’t bother to lock their doors, where children walked to school without fear. After only four months she knew more people here than she had in six years in Fort Collins. Kelly had made friends with almost everyone.
Was her killer one of those friends? Or a random stranger she had been unfortunate enough to cross paths with? That sort of thing was supposed to happen in cities, not way out here in the middle of nowhere. Maybe Eagle Mountain was just another ugly place in a pretty package, and the peace she had thought she had found was just a lie.
Chapter Two
A half mile from the veterinary clinic, Ryder almost turned around and went back. Leaving Darcy Marsh alone hadn’t felt right, despite all her insisting that he go. But what was he going to do for her in her grief? He’d be better off using his time to interview Ed Nichols. Maybe he would call Darcy later and check that she was okay. She was so quiet. So self-contained. He was like that himself, but there was something else going on with her. She hadn’t been afraid of him, but he had sensed her discomfort with him. Something more than her grief was bothering her. Was it because he was law enforcement? Because he was a man? Something else?
He didn’t like unanswered questions. It was one of the things that made him a good investigator. He liked figuring people out—why they acted the way they did. If he hadn’t been a law enforcement officer, he might have gone into psychology, except that sitting in an office all day would have driven him batty. He needed to be active and doing.
Ed Nichols lived in a small, ranch-style home with dark green cedar siding and brick-red trim. Giant blue spruce trees at the corners dwarfed the dwelling, and must have cast it in perpetual shadow. In the winter twilight, lights glowed from every window as if determined to dispel the gloom. Ryder parked his Chevy Tahoe at the curb and strode up the walk. Somewhere inside the house, a dog barked. Before he could ring the bell, the door opened and a man in his midfifties, thick blond hair fading to white, answered the door. “Is something wrong?” he asked.
“Dr. Nichols?” Ryder asked.
“Yes?” The man frowned.
“I need to speak with you a moment.”
Toenails clicking on the hardwood floors announced the arrival of not one dog, but two—a small white poodle and a large, curly-haired mutt. The mutt stared at Ryder, then let out a loud woof.
“Hush, Murphy,” Dr. Nichols said. He caught the dog by the collar and held him back, the poodle cowering behind, and pushed open the storm door. “You’d better come in.”
A woman emerged from the back of the house—a trim brunette in black yoga pants and a purple sweater. She paled when she saw Ryder. “Is something wrong? Our son?”
“I’m not here about your son,” Ryder said quickly. He turned to Nichols. “I wanted to ask you some questions about Kelly Farrow.”
“Kelly?” Surprise, then suspicion, clouded Nichols’s expression. He lowered himself into the recliner and began stroking the big dog’s head while the little one settled in his lap. “What about her?”
“You might as well sit down,” Mrs. Nichols said. She perched on the edge of an adjacent love seat while Ryder took a seat on the sofa. “When was the last time you saw Kelly Farrow?” he asked.
Nichols frowned. “I don’t know. Maybe—last week? I think I passed her on the street. Why? What is this about? Is she saying I’ve done something?”
“What would she say you’ve done?”
“Nothing! I don’t have anything to do with those two.”
“Those two?”
“Kelly and that other girl, Darcy.”
“I understand you weren’t too happy about them opening a new practice in Eagle Mountain.”
“Who told you that?”
“Is it true?”
Nichols focused on the big dog, running his palm from the top of its head to the tip of its tail, over and over. “A town this small only needs one vet. But they’re free to do as they please.”
“Has your own business suffered since they opened their practice?” Ryder asked.
“What does that have to do with anything?” Mrs. Nichols spoke, leaning toward Ryder. “Are you accusing my husband of something?”
“You can’t come into my home and start asking all these questions without telling us why,” Nichols said.
“Kelly Farrow is dead. I’m trying to find out who killed her.”
Nichols stared, his mouth slightly open. “Dead?”
“Ed certainly didn’t kill her,” Mrs. Nichols protested. “Just because he might have criticized the woman doesn’t mean he’s a murderer.”
“Sharon, you’re not helping,” Nichols said.
“Where were you between nine and one today?” Ryder asked.
“I was at my office.” He nodded to his wife. “Sharon can confirm that. She’s my office manager.”
“He saw patients all morning and attended the Rotary Club meeting at lunch,” Sharon said.
“Listen, Kelly wasn’t my favorite person in the world, but I wouldn’t do something like that,” Nichols said. “I couldn’t.”
Ryder wanted to believe the man, who seemed genuinely shaken, but it was too early in the case to make judgments of guilt or innocence. His job now was to gather as many facts as possible. He stood. “I may need to see your appointment book and talk to some of your clients to verify your whereabouts,” he said.
“This is appalling.” Sharon also rose, her cheeks flushed, hands clenched into fists. “How dare you accuse my husband this way.”
“I’m not accusing him of anything,” Ryder said. “It’s standard procedure to check everyone’s alibis.” He nodded to Nichols. “Someone from my office will be in touch.”
Ryder left the Nicholses’ and headed back toward Main. He passed a familiar red-and-white wrecker, and Christy O’Brien tooted her horn and waved. Weather like this always meant plenty of work for Christy and her dad, pulling people out of ditches and jump-starting cars whose batteries had died in the cold.
Ryder pulled into the grocery store lot and parked. He could see a few people moving around inside the lit store—employees who had to be there, he guessed. People who didn’t have to be out in this weather stayed home. The automatic doors at the store entrance opened and a trio of teenage boys emerged, bare-headed and laughing, their letter jackets identifying them as students at the local high school. Apparently, youth was immune to the weather. They sauntered across the lot to a dark gray SUV and piled in.
Ryder contacted his office in Grand Junction to update them on his progress with the case. Since state patrol personnel couldn’t reach him because of the closed road, he had called on the sheriff’s department to process the crime scene. After the medical examiner had arrived at the scene and the ambulance had transported the body to the funeral home that would serve as a temporary morgue, he had had Kelly’s car towed to the sheriff’s department impound lot. But none of the forensic evidence—blood and hair samples, fingerprints and DNA—could be processed until the roads opened again. Eagle Mountain didn’t have the facilities to handle such evidence.
“The highway department is saying the road won’t open until day after tomorrow at the earliest,” the duty officer told Ryder. “It could be longer, depending on the weather.”
“Meanwhile, the trail gets colder,” Ryder said. “And if the killer is on the other side of the pass, he has plenty of time to get away while I sit here waiting for the weather to clear.”
“Do what you can. We’ll run a background check on this Ed Nichols and let you know what we find. We’re also doing a search for similar crimes.”
“I’m going to talk to the sheriff, see if he has any suspects I haven’t uncovered.”
He ended the call and sat, staring out across the snowy lot and contemplating his next move. He could call it a night and go home, but he doubted he would get any rest. In a murder investigation it was important to move quickly, while the evidence was still fresh. But the weather had him stymied. Still, there must be more he could do.
A late-model Toyota 4Runner cruised slowly through the parking lot, a young man behind the wheel. He passed Ryder’s Tahoe, his face a blur behind snow-flecked glass, then turned back out of the lot. Was he a tourist, lost and using the lot to turn around? Or a bored local, out cruising the town? Ryder hadn’t recognized the vehicle, and after two years in Eagle Mountain, he knew most people. But new folks moved in all the time, many of them second homeowners who weren’t around enough to get to know. And even this time of year there were tourists, drawn to backcountry skiing and ice climbing.
Any one of them might be a murderer. Was Kelly Farrow the killer’s only victim, or merely the first? The thought would keep Ryder awake until he had answers.
* * *
DARCY PARKED IN front of Kelly’s half of the duplex off Fifth Street. Kelly had liked the place because it was within walking distance of the clinic, with easy access to the hiking trails along the river. Darcy let herself in with her key and when she flicked on the light, an orange tabby stared at her from the hall table, tail flicking. Meow!
“Hello, Pumpkin.” Darcy scratched behind the cat’s ears, and Pumpkin pressed his head into her palm.
Mroww! This more insistent cry came from a sleek, cream-colored feline, seal-point ears attesting to a Siamese heritage.
“Hello, Spice.” Darcy knelt, one hand extended. Spice deigned to let her pet her.
Darcy stood and looked around at the evidence that someone else—Ryder, she guessed—had been here. Mail was spread out in a messy array on the hall table, and powdery residue—fingerprint powder?—covered the door frame and other surfaces. Darcy moved farther into the house, noting the afghan crumpled at the bottom of the sofa, a paperback romance novel splayed, spine up, on the table beside it. A rectangle outlined by dust on the desk in the corner of the room indicated where Kelly’s laptop had sat. Ryder had probably taken it. From television crime dramas she had watched, she guessed he would look at her emails and other correspondence, searching for threats or any indication that someone had wanted to harm Kelly.
But Kelly would have said something to Darcy if anyone had threatened her. Unlike Darcy, Kelly never held back her feelings. Darcy blinked back stinging tears and hurried to the kitchen, to the cat carriers stacked in the corner. Both cats watched from the doorway, tails twitching, suspicious.
She set the open carriers in the middle of the kitchen floor, then filled two dishes with the gourmet salmon Pumpkin and Spice favored, and slid the dishes into the carrier. Pumpkin took the bait immediately, scarcely looking up from devouring the food when Darcy fastened the door of the carrier. Spice was more wary, tail twitching furiously as she prowled around the open carrier. But hunger won over caution and soon she, too, darted inside, and Darcy fastened the door.
She was loading the second crate into the back of her Subaru when the door to the other half of the duplex opened. A man’s figure filled the doorway. “Darcy, is that you?”
“Hello, Ken.” She tried to relax some of the stiffness from her face as she turned to greet Kelly’s neighbor. Ken Rutledge was a trim, athletic man who taught math and coached boys’ track and Junior Varsity basketball at Eagle Mountain High School.
He came toward her and she forced herself not to pull away when he took her arm. “What’s going on?” he asked. “When I got home from practice two cop cars were pulling away from Kelly’s half of the house.” He looked past her to the back of her Forester. “And you’re taking Kelly’s cats? Has something happened to her?”
“Kelly’s dead. Someone killed her.” Her voice broke, and she let him pull her into his arms.
“Kelly’s dead?” he asked, smoothing his hand down her back as she sobbed. “How? Who?”
She hated that she had to fight so hard to pull herself together. She tried to shove out of his arms, but he held her tight. She reminded herself that this was just Ken—Kelly’s neighbor, and a man Darcy herself had dated a few times. He thought he was being helpful, holding her this way. She forced herself to relax and wait for her tears to subside. When his hold on her loosened, she eased back. “I don’t know any details,” she said. “A state patrolman told me they found her up on Dixon Pass—murdered.”
“That’s horrible.” Ken’s eyes were bright with the shock of the news—and fascination. “Who would want to hurt Kelly?”
“The cops didn’t stop to talk to you?” she asked.
“When I saw the sheriff’s department vehicles I didn’t pull in,” he said. “I drove past and waited until they were gone before I came back.”
“Why would you do that?” She stared at him.
He shrugged. “I have a couple of traffic tickets I haven’t paid. I didn’t want any hassle if they looked me up and saw them.”
She took a step back. “Ken, they’re going to want to talk to you,” she said. “You may know something. You might have seen someone hanging around here, watching Kelly.”
“I haven’t seen anything like that.” He shoved his hands in his pockets. “And I’ll talk to them. I just didn’t feel like dealing with them tonight. I mean, I didn’t know Kelly was dead.”
She closed the hatch of the car. “I have to go,” she said.
He put a hand on her shoulder. “You shouldn’t be alone at a time like this,” he said. “You’re welcome to stay with me.”
“No. Thank you.” She took out her keys and clutched them, automatically lacing them through her fingers to use as a weapon, the way the self-defense instructor in Fort Collins had shown her.
His expression clouded. “If it was someone else, you’d accept help, wouldn’t you?” he said. “Because it’s me, you’re refusing. Just because we have a romantic history, doesn’t mean we can’t be friends.”
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 overpowers 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?”
“Maybe,” Travis said. “Or he could have walked back into town. It’s only about three miles. We’ll try to find out if anyone saw anything.” He walked to the back of his cruiser and took out a shovel. “I don’t think Christy was killed very far from here. There wasn’t time. I want to see if I can find any evidence of that.” He followed the fast-filling tracks of the wrecker back to the road and began to scrape lightly at the snow.
Ryder fetched his own shovel from his vehicle and tried the shoulder on the other side of the road. The work was slow and tedious as he scraped, then shone his light on the space he had uncovered. After ten minutes or so, the work paid off. “Over here,” he called to Travis.
The blood glowed bright as paint against the frozen ground—great splashes of it that scarcely looked real. Travis crouched to look. “We’ll get a sample, but I’m betting it’s Christy’s blood,” he said.
“Whoever did this would have blood on his clothes, maybe in his vehicle,” Ryder said.
Travis nodded. “He could have gone straight home, or to wherever he’s staying, and discarded the clothes—maybe burned them in a woodstove or fireplace, if he has one. There’s no one out tonight to see him, though we’ll ask around.” He stood. “You said you were at Darcy’s place?”
“Right. When she got home tonight, there was a strange vehicle leaving. I found signs that someone tried to break in.”
“What time was this?” Travis asked.
Ryder checked his notes. “Seven forty.”
“The person or persons who tried to break in to Fred Starling’s place might have come from Darcy’s, but I don’t see how they would have had time to drive from Darcy’s, kill Christy, then break in to Fred’s,” Travis said. “We’ll see what the ME gives us for time of death.” He glanced down the road. “He should be here soon.”
“I didn’t like leaving Darcy alone out there,” Ryder said. “It’s kind of remote.”
“I’ve already called in one of our reserve officers,” Travis said. “I’ll have him drive by Darcy’s place and check on her. Why did she call you?”
“I gave her my card when we spoke earlier and told her to call if she needed anything.” Ryder shifted his weight, thinking maybe it was time to change the subject. Not that he thought Travis was a stickler over jurisdiction, but he didn’t think Darcy would welcome any further attention from the sheriff. “What are you doing, pulling the night shift?” he asked. “Doesn’t the sheriff get any perks?”
“The new officer who’s supposed to be working tonight has the flu,” Travis said. He shrugged. “I figured I’d make a quick patrol, then spend the rest of the night at my desk. I have a lot of loose ends to tie up before the wedding and honeymoon.”
“I hope the weather cooperates with your plans,” Ryder said. “The highway department says the pass could be closed for the next two or three days—longer if this snow keeps up.”
“Most of the wedding party is already here, and the ones who aren’t will be coming in soon,” Travis said. “My sister, Emily, pulled in this afternoon, about half an hour ahead of the closure.”
He turned to gaze down the street, distracted by the headlights approaching—the medical examiner, Butch Collins, followed by the ambulance. Butch, a portly man made even larger by the ankle-length duster and long knitted scarf he wore, climbed out of his truck, old-fashioned medical bag in hand. “Two dead women in one day is a little much, don’t you think, Sheriff?” He nodded to Ryder. “Is there a connection between the two?”
Ryder checked for any lurking reporters, but saw none. He nodded to the ambulance driver, who had pulled to the side of the road, steam pouring in clouds from the tailpipe of the idling vehicle. “Both women had their hands and feet bound with duct tape, and their throats slit,” he said. “It looks like they weren’t killed in the vehicle, but their bodies were put into the vehicles after death.”
Collins nodded. “All right. I’ll take a look.”
Ryder and Travis moved to Travis’s cruiser. “Darcy said Kelly was going shopping today,” Ryder said. “She couldn’t think of anyone who would want to hurt Kelly. No one had been threatening her or making her feel uneasy. You’re a little more tied in with the town than I am. Do you know of anyone who might have had a disagreement with her—boyfriend, client or a competitor?”
“I didn’t know her well. My parents had Kelly or Darcy out to the ranch a few times to take care of horses. I remember my mom said she liked them. I knew them well enough to wave to. I don’t think she was dating anyone, though I’ll ask Lacy. She keeps up with that kind of gossip more than I do.” Travis’s fiancée was a local woman, near Kelly’s age. “I never heard anything about unhappy clients. As for competitors, there’s really only Ed Nichols.”
“What do you know about him?” Ryder asked. “Darcy said he wasn’t too happy about them opening up a competing practice.”
“Ed’s all right,” Travis said. “He might have grumbled a little when the two women first arrived, but it’s understandable he would feel threatened—two attractive, personable young women. I imagine it cut into his business.”
“I talked to him and his wife this afternoon,” Ryder said. “He seemed genuinely shaken by the news that Kelly was dead.”
“It’s hard to picture Ed doing something like this,” Travis said. “But we’ll check his alibi for the time of Christy’s death.”
“What about a connection between Kelly and Christy?” Ryder asked. “Were they specific targets, or random?”
“Maybe Kelly was the target and the killer went after Christy because she was the one who pulled the car with Kelly’s body in it out from its hiding place?” Travis shook his head. “It’s too early to make any kind of hypothesis, really.”
“I’ve got a bad feeling about this.”
“I don’t like to use the words serial killer,” Travis said. “But that could be what we’re looking at.”
“After I found Kelly’s body, I was worried her murderer had gotten away before the road closed,” Ryder said. “If he did, we might never find him.”
“Looks like he didn’t get out,” Travis said. “Which could be a much bigger problem.”
“I hear you,” Ryder said. As long as the road stayed blocked, the killer couldn’t leave—but none of his potential victims could get very far away, either.
* * *
DARCY CONSIDERED CLOSING the clinic the next day, out of respect for Kelly. But what would she do, then, other than sit around and be sad? Work would at least provide a distraction. And the clinic had been her and Kelly’s shared passion. Keeping it open seemed a better way to honor her than closing the doors.
The morning proved busy. Most of the people who had come in had heard about Kelly and were eager to share their memories of her. Darcy passed out tissues and shed a few tears of her own, but the release of admitting her grief felt good. Knowing she wasn’t alone in her pain made it a tiny bit more bearable.
The office manager, Stacy, left for lunch, but Darcy stayed behind, claiming she had too much work to do. If she was being honest with herself, however, she could admit she didn’t want to go out in public to face all the questions and speculation surrounding Kelly’s murder, especially since one of her last patients of the day had told her the newest edition of the Eagle Mountain Examiner had just hit the stands, with a story about the two murders filling the front page. The editor must have stayed up late to get the breaking news in before the paper went to the printer.
Murder. The word sent a shiver through her. It still seemed so unreal. Who would want to harm Kelly? Or Christy? Darcy hardly knew the other woman, but she had seemed nice enough. Not that nice people didn’t get killed, but not in places like Eagle Mountain. Maybe she was wrong to think that, but she couldn’t shake her belief that this small, beautiful town was somehow immune to that kind of violence.
She was forcing herself to eat a cup of yogurt from the office refrigerator when the phone rang. She should have let it go straight to the answering service, but what if it was Ryder, with news about Kelly? Or Kelly’s parents, wanting to talk?
She picked up the receiver. “Hello?”
A thin, quavering voice came over the line. “Is this the vet?” The woman—Darcy thought it was a woman—asked.
“Yes. This is Dr. Marsh. Who is this?”
“Oh, my name is Marge. Marge Latham. You don’t know me. I’m in town visiting my cousin and I got trapped here by the weather. Me and my dog, Rufus. Rufus is why I’m calling.”
“What’s the problem with Rufus?” Darcy called up the scheduling program on the office computer as she spoke.
“He’s hurt his leg,” the woman said. “I don’t know what’s wrong with it, but he can’t put any weight on it and he’s in a lot of pain. It’s so upsetting.” Her voice broke. “He’s all I have, you see, and if something happens to him, I don’t know what I’d do.”
“If you can bring Rufus in at three today I can see him,” Darcy said. The patient before that was routine vaccinations, so that shouldn’t take too long. The patient after might have to wait a little, but most people understood about emergencies.
“I was hoping you could come here,” Marge said. “He’s such a big dog—he weighs over a hundred pounds. I can’t possibly lift him to get him into the car.”
“What kind of dog is Rufus?” Darcy asked.
“He’s a mastiff. Such a sweet boy, but moving him is a problem for me. I was told you do house calls.”
“Only for large animals,” Darcy said. “Horses and cows.” And llamas and goats and one time, a pig. But they had to draw the line somewhere. Most dogs were used to riding in the car and would climb in willingly—even mastiffs.
“Well, Rufus is as big as a small horse,” Marge said.
“Is there anyone who can help you get him to the office?” Darcy asked. “Maybe your sister or a nephew—”
“No, dear, that isn’t possible. Won’t you please come? The other vet already said no and I don’t know what I’ll do. He’s all I have.” She choked back a sob and Darcy’s stomach clenched. She couldn’t let an animal suffer—or risk this old woman hurting herself trying to handle the dog by herself.
“I could stop by after work tonight,” she said. “But we don’t close until six today, so it would be after that.”
“That would be wonderful. Thank you so much.”
The address the woman rattled off didn’t sound familiar to Darcy, but that wasn’t unusual. Four months was hardly enough time to learn the maze of gravel roads and private streets that crisscrossed the county. “Let me have your number, in case I’m running late,” Darcy said.
“Oh, that would be my sister’s number. Let me see. What is that?” The sounds of shuffling, then Marge slowly read off a ten-digit number. “Thank you again, dear. And Rufus thanks you, too.”
Darcy hung up the phone and wrote the woman’s information at the bottom of the schedule, and stuffed the notes she had taken into her purse.
Five and a half hours later, Darcy drove slowly down Silverthorne Road, leaning forward and straining her eyes in the fading light, searching for the address Marge had given her. But the numbers weren’t adding up. She spotted 2212 and 2264 and 2263, but no 2237. Had Marge gotten it wrong?
Darcy slowed at each driveway to peer up the dark path, but usually she couldn’t even make out a house, as the drive invariably turned into a thick tunnel of trees. Growing exasperated, she pulled to the side of the road and took out her phone and punched in the number Marge had given her. A harsh tone made her pull the phone from her ear, and a mechanical voice informed her that the number she had dialed was no longer in service or had been changed.
Darcy double-checked the number, but she had it right. And she was sure she hadn’t written it down wrong. So was Marge completely confused, or was something else going on? “I should have asked her sister’s name,” Darcy muttered. “Then maybe I could have looked up her address.”
Or maybe there wasn’t a sister. A cold that had nothing to do with the winter weather began to creep over her. No. She pushed the thought away. There was no reason to turn this into something sinister. It was simply a matter of a confused old woman, a stranger in town, getting mixed up about the address. Darcy would go into town and stop by the sheriff’s department. The officers there knew the county front to back. They might have an idea where to find a visitor with an injured mastiff and her sister.
With shaking hands, Darcy put the car in gear and eased on to the road once more, tires crunching on the packed snow, even as more of the white stuff sifted down. As soon as she found a place to turn around, she would. But houses were far apart out here, and the narrow driveways difficult to see in the darkness. She missed the first drive, but was able to pull into the next, and carefully backed out again and prepared to return to town.
She had just shifted the Subaru into Drive when lights blinded her. A car or truck, its headlights on bright, was speeding toward her. She put up one hand to shield her eyes, and used the other hand to flash her high beams. Whoever was in that vehicle was driving much too fast, and didn’t he realize he was blinding her?
She eased over closer to the side of the road, annoyance building, but irritation gave way to fear as she realized the other car wasn’t slowing, and it wasn’t moving over. She slammed her hand into the horn, the strident blare almost blocking the sound of the racing engine, but still, the oncoming vehicle didn’t slow or veer away.
Panic climbed her throat and she scarcely had time to brace herself before the other car hit her, driving her car into the ditch and engulfing her in darkness.
Chapter Five
Travis had offered one of the sheriff’s department conference rooms as a temporary situation room for the investigation into the murders of Kelly Farrow and Christy O’Brien. Until the roads opened and Colorado State Patrol investigators could take over, Ryder would work with Travis and his officers.
On Wednesday evening, he met with Travis and deputies Dwight Prentice and Gage Walker, to review what they knew so far. Travis yielded the whiteboard to Ryder and took a seat at the conference table with his officers.
“Our interviews with neighbors and our calls for information from anyone who might have seen anything in the vicinity of both crime scenes have turned up nothing useful,” Ryder began. He had spent part of the day talking to people in houses and businesses near where the crimes had taken place. “That’s not terribly surprising, considering both murders took place in isolated areas, during bad weather.”
“That could mean the murderer is familiar with this area,” Dwight said. “He knows the places he’s least likely to be seen.”
Ryder wrote this point on the whiteboard.
“It’s a rural area, so isolated places aren’t hard to find,” Gage said.
“Point taken,” Ryder said, and made a note. He moved on to the next item on his list. “We didn’t find any fingerprints on either of the vehicles involved.”
“Right. But everyone wears gloves in winter,” Dwight said.
“And even dumb criminals have seen enough movies or television to know to wear gloves,” Gage said.
“What about the tire impressions?” Ryder asked. “There was a lot of fresh snow at both scenes.”
“We don’t have a tire impression expert in the department,” Travis said. “But we know how to take castings and photographs and we’ve compared them to databases online.”
Dwight flipped pages in a file and pulled out a single sheet. “Best match is a standard winter tire that runs on half the vehicles in the county,” he said. “We’ve even got them on one of the sheriff’s department cruisers.”
“And the snow was so fresh and dry that the impressions we got weren’t good enough to reveal any unusual characteristics,” Travis said.
Ryder glanced down at the legal pad in his hand for the next item on his list. “We have blood samples, but no way to send them for matching until the roads open up,” he said.
“Could be tomorrow, could be next week,” Gage said. “One weather station says the weather is going to clear and the other says another storm system is on the way.”
Impatient as the news made him, Ryder knew there was no point getting stressed about something he couldn’t control. “What about the duct tape?” He looked at the three at the table.
“Maybe a fancy state lab would come up with something more,” Gage said. “But as far as we could tell, it’s the standard stuff pretty much everybody has a roll of.”
Ryder nodded. He hadn’t expected anything there, but he liked to check everything off his list. “Have we found any links between Kelly and Christy?” he asked.
“Christy had a cat,” Gage said. “Kelly saw it one time, for a checkup.”
“When was that?” Ryder asked.
“Three months ago,” Gage said.
“Anything else?” Ryder asked. “Did they socialize together? Belong to the same groups or organizations?”
The other three men shook their heads. “I questioned Christy’s mom and dad about who she dated,” Gage said. “I thought I might be able to match her list to a list of who Kelly went out with. I mean, it’s a small town. There are only so many match-ups. But I struck out there.”
“How so?” Ryder asked.
“Christy is engaged to a welder over in Delta,” Gage said. “They’ve been seeing each other for three years. I talked to him on the phone. He’s pretty torn up about this—and he couldn’t have gotten here last night, anyway, since the road was still blocked.”
“What about Kelly’s dating history?” Ryder asked. “Anything raise any questions there?”
Gage shook his head. “That was harder to pull together, but Darcy gave me some names. One of them moved away two months ago. The other two have alibis that check out.”
Ryder had to stop himself from asking how Darcy was doing. She obviously hadn’t had any more trouble from whoever had tried to break into her place. He might find an excuse to stop by there later, just to make sure.
“Ed Nichols was home with his wife, watching TV last night when Christy was killed,” Travis said.
“I’m guessing he wasn’t too happy to see you,” Ryder said, recalling his own less-than-warm reception in the Nicholses’ home.
“Ed was okay, but his wife is furious,” Travis said. “But I think they were telling the truth. There was six inches of snow in the driveway when I pulled in last night, and no sign that Ed’s truck or her car had moved in the last few hours.”
Ryder consulted his notes again, but he had reached the end of his list. “What else do we have?” he asked.
“I questioned some of the high school kids this afternoon,” Gage said. “And I talked to the teachers. No one knew anything about any guys in letter jackets who might have been out last night, trying to break into homes. I got the impression some of the students might not have been telling me everything they knew, but it’s hard to see a connection between attempted break-ins and these murders.”
“If students were in that area last night, they might have seen the killer, or his vehicle,” Travis said. “I want to find and talk to them.”
“Anything else?” Ryder asked.
“The ME says both women had their throats cut with a smooth-bladed, sharp knife,” Travis said. “No defensive wounds, although Christy had some bruising, indicating she might have thrashed around quite a bit after the killer taped her hands and feet.”
“So the murderer was able to surprise the women and bind them before they fought much,” Dwight said.
“Might have been two men,” Gage said. “No woman is going to lie still while you tape her up like that.”
“One really strong man might be able to subdue a frightened woman,” Travis said.
“Or maybe they were drugged,” Dwight said. “A quick jab with a hypodermic needle, or chloroform on a rag or something.”
Ryder frowned. “I don’t think there are any facilities here to test that,” he said. “And even if we collect DNA from the bodies, we don’t have any way of testing or matching it here.”
“Right,” Travis said. “We’ll have to hold the bodies at the funeral home until the roads open.”
Meanwhile, whoever did this was running free to kill again. “I spoke with the friends and family of both women,” Ryder said. “None of them were aware of anyone who had made threats or otherwise bothered Kelly or Christy.”
“There was no sexual assault,” Travis said. “Whoever did this was quick. He killed them and got out of there. No lingering.”
“We can’t say they weren’t targeted killings, but right now it feels random,” Ryder said.
“Thrill killings,” Gage said. “He did it because he could get away with it.”
“If that’s the case, he’s likely to kill again,” Travis said.
The others nodded, expressions sober. Ryder’s stomach churned. He felt he ought to be out doing something to stop the murderer, but what?
Travis’s phone buzzed and he answered it. “Sheriff Walker.” He stilled, listening. “When? Where? Tell the officer we’ll be right there.”
He ended the call and looked to the others. “A 911 call just came in from Darcy Marsh. Someone attacked her tonight—ran her car off the road.”
* * *
“DARCY! DARCY! Wake up, honey.” Darcy struggled out of a confused daze, wincing at the light blinding her. She moaned, and the light shifted away. “Darcy, look at me.”
She forced herself to look into the calm face of a middle-age man who spoke with authority. “What happened?” Darcy managed, forcing the words out, the effort of speaking exhausting her.
“You were in a wreck. I’m Emmett Baxter with Eagle Mountain EMS. Can you tell me what hurts?”
“Everything,” Darcy said, and closed her eyes again. She had a vague recollection of dialing 911 earlier, but her memories since then were a jumbled mess.
“Don’t go to sleep now,” Emmett said. “Open your eyes. Can you move your feet for me?”
Darcy tried to ignore him, then the sharp odor of ammonia stung her nose and her eyes popped open. “That’s better.” Emmett smiled. “Now, tell me your name.”
“Darcy Marsh.”
He asked a few more questions she recognized as an attempt to assess her mental awareness —her address, birthdate, telephone number and the date.
“Now try to move your feet for me,” he said.
Darcy moved her feet, then her hands. The fog that had filled her head had cleared. She took stock of her surroundings. She was in her car, white powder coating most of the interior, the deflated airbag spilling out of the steering wheel like a grotesque tongue. “My face hurts,” she said.
“You’re going to have a couple of black eyes and some bruises,” Emmett said. He shone a light into each eye. “Does anything else hurt? Any back or neck pain, or difficulty breathing?”
She shook her head. “No.”
He released the catch of Darcy’s seat belt. “I’m going to fit you with a cervical collar just in case.” He stripped the plastic wrapping from the padded collar and fit it to her neck, the Velcro loud in her ears. “How do you feel about getting out of the car and walking over to the ambulance?” he asked. “I’ll help.”
“Okay.” Carefully, she swung her legs over to the side of the car, Emmett’s arm securely around her. They both froze as the bright beams of oncoming headlights blinded them.
“I’m not sure why the state patrol is here,” Emmett said.
Ryder, a powerful figure in his sharp khaki and blue, emerged from the cruiser and strode toward the car. His gaze swept over the damaged vehicle and came to rest on Darcy’s face. The tenderness in that gaze made her insides feel wobbly, and tears threatened. “Darcy, are you okay?” he asked.
She clamped her lips together to hold back a sob and managed, almost grateful for the pain the movement caused. At least it distracted her from this terrible need to throw her arms around him and weep.
“We’re just going to get her over to the ambulance where we can get a better look at her,” Emmett said.
“Let me help.” Not waiting for a response, Ryder leaned down and all but lifted her out of the car. He propped her up beside him and walked her to the back of the ambulance, then stepped aside while Emmett and a female EMT looked her over.
“You’re going to be pretty sore tomorrow,” Emmett pronounced when they were done. “But there’s no swelling or indication that anything is broken and I can’t find any sign of internal damage. How do you feel? Any nausea or pain?”
“I’m a little achy and still shaken up,” Darcy said. “But I don’t think I’m seriously injured.”
“With the highway still closed, we can’t transport you to the hospital, but I’d recommend a visit to the clinic in town. They can do X-rays and maybe keep you overnight for observation.”
“No, I really don’t think that’s necessary,” she said. “I think I just had the wind knocked out of me. If I start to feel worse, I promise I’ll see a doctor.”
Emmett nodded. “Don’t hesitate to call us if that changes or you have any questions.” He glanced over his shoulder at Ryder, who stood, arms folded across his chest, gaze fixed on Darcy. “Your turn.”
For the first time Darcy realized there were other people at the scene—Travis and another man in a sheriff’s department uniform, and several people in jeans and parkas who might have been neighbors. Ryder sat beside her on the back bumper of the ambulance while Travis came to stand beside them. “What happened?” he asked.
She took a deep breath, buying time to organize her thoughts. “I got a call at lunchtime today,” she said. “When I was alone in the office. A woman who said her name was Marge asked me if I could make a house call to look at her mastiff who had hurt his leg. She said she was staying with her sister and had been trapped by the weather. She gave me an address on this street, but I couldn’t find the number. I tried to call her, but the phone number she had given me wasn’t a working number. I turned around and started to head back toward town when this vehicle blinded me with its headlights and ran into me.” She put a hand to her head, wincing. “I must have blacked out for a minute, then I guess I came to and called for help, then passed out again. I didn’t come to completely until the ambulance was here.”
“A man backing out of his driveway saw the accident and called 911, too,” Travis said. “He didn’t get a good look at the vehicle that hit you, though he thinks it was a truck. He said it drove off after it put your car in the ditch.”
Darcy looked toward her car, which was canted to one side in a snowbank. “He hit me almost head-on,” she said. “My car’s probably ruined.”
The free sample has ended.