In The Bleak Midwinter: A Special Agent Constance Mandalay Novel (19 page)

“Yeah,” was all Constance could think of to
say in that moment. She took another sip of the hot brew, then
stared thoughtfully at the thick fingers of steam rising from the
metal cup. “Have you checked on her this morning?”

“Yep… Always do.”

“How is she?”

“On the outside, just like I said: starin’
off into space.” He paused and drew in a deep breath. “On the
inside, I’m afraid nobody really knows what’s goin’ on except her.
And since there’s not a damn thing I can do to fix it, I try not to
think about it too much… Hard not to, though... Guess you found
that out last night.”

Once again, words failed her. “Yeah.”

“So, do you want to stop over at
That
Place
and grab breakfast first?”

She shook her head. “No. I’ll grab something
later.”

“Okay… Well, go on then. Buckle up,” the
sheriff instructed with a wave of his hand, then shifted around in
his seat and levered the cruiser into reverse. He cast his gaze
over his shoulder and began to back the vehicle out of its parking
space as he added, “We’ve got police work to do.”

IN
the fresh light of morning, the
house at 632 Evergreen Lane on the north side of Hulis Township was
still a simple one and one-half story bungalow, sitting on an
average-sized lot, with a bare-branched, somewhat malformed pin oak
tree rising out of the front yard. The white paint on the clapboard
siding was still dull and peeling, and the gutter was still
separated from the fascia on the left front corner; and it was
still held up only by the grace of the downspout that was barely
clinging to the wall itself. And the weathered plywood was still
covering the windows.

However, now the old dormant tree looked like
nothing more than an old dormant tree. The house looked like
nothing more than an old abandoned house, and the plywood looked
like nothing more than what it was—weathered plywood covering
windows.

And just as the light had washed away the
eerie shadows, it also revealed a few other salient issues, such as
the glass missing from the storm door, some absent shingles, and a
desperate need for tuck pointing on the brick chimney.

However, the one thing that truly stood out
to Constance was that in this light, the house gave no outward
indication of the horrors that had occurred inside over the years.
Still, even that fact couldn’t keep the uncomfortable prickling
sensation from crawling across the back of her neck once again.

They had pulled in and parked behind a patrol
car that was already in front of the house. After climbing out of
his own cruiser, the sheriff ambled over to the driver’s side of
the first vehicle while Constance waited in the yard. The deputy
inside rolled down her window as he approached.

“Morning, Skip,” she said.

“Mornin’, Mel,” he replied. “Thought Johnson
was supposed to relieve you around seven?”

“Clovis radioed. His kid’s sick and he’s
running late,” she replied.

“Ahh, okay,” he grunted. “Didn’t know.
Haven’t been by the office yet this morning. So, all quiet I
guess?”

“Just like always,” Mel replied then nodded
toward the yard where Constance was standing. “That the Fed? Clovis
said they sent another new one this time.”

He rested an arm on top of the car and leaned
in a bit closer, lowering his voice. “Yeah. Gotta do the annual
tour.”

“Think she’ll figure it out?”

“Guess we’ll see. Not holdin’ my breath, but
I gotta say, she’s different from the others. So... Maybe...”

“Different how?”

He shrugged with his eyebrows and continued
to keep his voice low. “Just somethin’ about her seems a little
driven.”

Mel glanced toward Constance, who was
standing in the center of the yard with her back to them as she
visually inspected the exterior of the house. Turning back to Skip
she said, “So… Have you told her anything?”

Carmichael gave his head a small shake. “Just
the official spiel, like always.”

“But if she’s really different–” Mel
began.

He cut her off. “Different doesn’t mean
she’ll believe… Nope… Better to just let things take their
course…”

The deputy nodded. “I’m sure you’re
right.”

“Believe me, I know how you feel, Mel,” Skip
offered in a fatherly tone. “It sure wouldn’t hurt my feelings to
get an answer to all this either… Just don’t wanna get too hopeful,
you know?”

“Yeah, Skip. I know.”

He shrugged, then straightened his posture
and hitched up his belt. After repositioning the flashlight he was
carrying tucked under his armpit, he nodded toward the house. When
he spoke, he allowed his voice to return to a normal volume. “I
expect we’re gonna be here for a bit. Why don’t you go grab some
breakfast, and maybe Johnson’ll be in by the time we’re done, and
that way you can go home.”

“Don’t have to tell me twice,” Mel replied,
reaching for the steering column and cranking the engine on the
patrol car. “Thanks, Skip. I’ll swing back by in a bit, unless I
hear from you or Clovis.”

“Sounds good.”

The sheriff took a step back and waited for
the car to drive off before meandering over to join Constance on
the overgrown concrete walkway somewhere near the center of the
yard.

“Everything okay?” she asked as he drew up
alongside her.

“Yeah, nothing earth shattering,” he grunted
as they began walking toward the house. “Got a deputy with a sick
kid. Might mean rearranging some schedules.”

She nodded. “Sorry I didn’t introduce myself
to the deputy. I’m just not feeling overly social this
morning.”

“I wouldn’t worry about it,” he replied,
motioning for her to go ahead up the stairs. “All she’s interested
in right now is hitting the sack.”

“I can imagine.”

“I see you took my advice,” Skip said,
nodding toward the porch in front of Constance as he stepped up and
dug a hand into his coat pocket.

“What? Oh...” Constance replied, glancing
down at the running shoes that were laced onto her feet. Looking
back up, she cocked her head to the side. “No offense, Skip, but
you seem to have an odd preoccupation with my footwear.”

“I just notice things is all,” he told her
with a shrug. He pulled out a key ring, then clucking his tongue,
he waved it toward her like a pointer. “For instance, the fact that
you also have a goose egg on the back of your head, probably from
hitting it against the desk in your room last night when you were
plugging in your laptop computer to the Internet. Plus you’re
expecting a call from someone and it’s starting to bother you that
he hasn’t called yet.”

She cocked an eyebrow and stared at him.

He answered the unspoken question, continuing
to gesture with the keys. “You keep reaching up to touch a spot on
the back of your head and then you wince. You probably don’t even
realize you’re doing it. You’re a federal cop on a case, so I’m
just about positive you’re dragging a laptop computer around.
Greenleaf Motel doesn’t do Wi-Fi because Artie’s too cheap to buy
the equipment, and the jack for the wired connection is under the
desks in the rooms. Hell, the only reason he has wired connections
is because his son’s an electronics guy and he did it for free with
some surplus from other jobs. So if I had to guess I’d say you came
up too soon and bang, there you go. Goose egg.”

He pointed toward her right coat pocket and
continued. “As far as the call goes, you checked your cell phone
four times on the way over here and at least twice while I was
talking to Deputy Slozar. Either you have a fascination with
clocks, or your waiting for a call, or maybe a text.”

“Okay. So how do you know it’s a
he
I’m waiting for?”

“Educated guess. I’ve told you, this isn’t my
first rodeo. Every one of your predecessors called their
predecessor about this case. And every one of ‘em was all antsy
waitin’ for a call back. Last agent on this was Drew, and he’s a
‘he,’ best I could figure. My guess is that’s who you’re waitin’ on
to call. Either that or a boyfriend. Maybe husband, but I doubt it
because you don’t have a ring or show any signs of having worn one.
Of course, I could be wrong. Maybe you go the other way or
somethin’, which is none of my business.”

“If I did, I have a feeling you probably
would have already figured it out,” Constance said.

“Yeah, probably,” he returned.

She sighed. “Uncanny. That’s all I have to
say.”

“Nope. I just pay attention is all.”

“Okay. Then I guess it would be uncanny if
you could tell me what I ate for dinner last night,” she joked.

“Cobb salad with ranch dressing. In your room
at the motel.”

She shot him an alarmed, wide-eyed stare and
took a visible step back, tensing her posture.

“
Keep it holstered, Constance,” the
sheriff half snorted. “I’m not spying on you. Stella told me your
to-go order this morning when I stopped in to get the thermos
filled.”

“Why would she do that?”

“Because you’re a stranger in town and she’s
a damn gossip that won’t shut up to save her life, that’s why,” he
explained.

“Ahh,” she nodded. “After her call to the
retirement home yesterday I should have guessed that.”

“Yeah, you should’ve, but I wasn’t going to
say it.”

She ignored the gibe. “Well, at least now I
know you aren’t just a dirty old man with a shoe fetish.”

“Me, no, but since you brought it up, Ed
Ruble over at the hardware store on Main? Now he has himself a
pretty serious thing for ladies’ shoes.”

Constance shook her head and raised an
eyebrow. “Stella again?”

“Nope. Figured that one out on my own. Easy
enough to do.”

“I’m not sure I even want to know how.”

“Like I said, I notice things. It’s my job
to.”

“It’s still uncanny.”

“Whatever. Anyhow, as far as Ed goes,
honestly he’s harmless. But while you’re in town you might want to
avoid him if that sorta thing makes you uncomfortable.”

“Well, I don’t think I’ll have any need for a
trip to the hardware store, but it’s okay. I’ve got some experience
with men who have shoe fetishes, so nothing to worry about.”

“Well I guess we’re even then.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean I’m not sure I want to know about how
you’ve got experience with that,” he replied.

Without further comment, Carmichael turned
and shoved a key into the lock. After giving it a twist, he
depressed the latch beneath the deadbolt and pushed the now
unsecured door inward. Stepping back, he gestured toward the
opening. “Ladies first.”

Constance looked past him and trained her
eyes on the gaping maw that was pretending to be a doorway. The
bizarre conversation had momentarily taken her mind off the chill
in her spine, but the sensation had never actually left. Now her
thoughts returned to it, and she could feel the gooseflesh rippling
at the base of her neck. Ben had told her to trust her gut, but she
wasn’t so sure this was her gut talking. Of course, she also
couldn’t say that it wasn’t. All she knew for certain was that she
was operating on even less sleep now than she had been before, so
exhaustion could still be playing a role.

At least this time she wasn’t letting it
spook her—well, not completely, anyway.

She nodded then stepped across the threshold
and into the dark front room. Outside it was overcast, just as it
had been the day before, but at least the sun was climbing behind
the clouds instead of falling below the horizon. Even so, only a
dim, gray light spilled in, and it brought an eerie illumination to
the interior.

Sheriff Carmichael followed her through and
left the door hanging wide open so that they could see. He pulled
the five-cell flashlight from beneath his armpit and switched it
on. The yellow-white beam formed a bright pool on the floor,
casting an ever-softening glow out from the center as he twisted
the lens to adjust it wider.

“A few years back there was talk of tearin’
this old place down,” he offered. “Sorta been wishin’ they had ever
since.”

“I assume it has been vacant for a good
while?” Constance asked, glancing around at the empty walls and
scuffed hardwood floor.

“Coming up on about seven years, give or
take,” he replied. “Like I said, it has been off and on. It was
empty back in seventy-five, as you already know, and what happened
didn’t exactly help its value. Someone did finally buy it around
seventy-seven for next to nothin’, or so I heard. I was in KC by
then. They fixed it up a bit.” He shone the light along the floor,
then through an arched doorway and toward the back of the house.
“Re-did the kitchen, tore off the old back porch. Normal stuff.” He
played the beam around a bit so she could get the lay of the floor
plan. “Those folks lived here awhile, then moved. Don’t know why.
After that it changed hands a couple more times. Last owner was
actually living here when the first body showed up seven years ago.
Well, I guess in a couple of days it’ll be eight years...”