Linda Crowder - Jake and Emma 01 - Too Cute to Kill (11 page)

2

The snow finally stopped early the next morning, dropping more than four feet on a water-starved Casper Mountain.  The May Day Storm, as the newscasts referred to it, broke records across Wyoming for snowfall and low temperatures.  Some parts of the state got nearly twice as much snow in that one storm than they’d had all winter.

Wyomingites rarely complain about snow.  In fact, men across the state were humming as they broke out neglected snow blowers or hooked little-used snow blades to their pick-up trucks and started to dig out.  They were too happy to see the moisture to complain about getting it in one storm.

Jake whistled as he waded through the drifts to the barn.  Some of the drifts were over his head and at more than 6 feet tall that was saying something. 

Casper, named for his all-white coat long before Emma ever thought about moving to Wyoming, rolled over for Jake to rub his belly.  Charlie, jet black yin to Casper’s yang, jumped up and down, barking excitedly at Jake until he finished petting the older dog and had time to pet the six year-old “puppy.”

He fed the dogs and the barn cats, filling their heated water dish from the frost free tap the previous owner had installed for his horses.  After doing a quick cat count, Jake went through to the attached equipment shed and started up his skid-steer. 

Even though it was cold in the unheated cab, Jake was always happy to break out the heavy equipment.  Emma thought Jake was a little crazy when he’d bought the used skid-steer at an estate auction.  “When are you ever going to use that thing?” she’d asked him.  Jake had just smiled and assured her he would find uses for it.

They’d gone to the auction to look at furniture when Emma had first moved to Casper and needed to set up her office.  That she’d lost out on the desk she wanted while Jake scored the loader was something Emma still teased him about.

The snow was heavy, as spring snows often are, and the little skid-steer struggled to push through the drifts between the equipment shed and the driveway.  Jake methodically scooped, backed, dumped and scooped again as he worked his way from the house to the road, clearing a path.

He looked up to see Emma waving to him from the cleared drive.  He cut the engine as she made her way to him with hot chocolate. Jake smiled, watching his transplanted California wife picking her way gingerly through the cleared path. 

Emma was dressed warmly enough for ten blizzards.  She wore waterproof ski pants in deep blue with a matching parka.  She had a red and gold scarf and matching gloves – Emma refused to relinquish her beloved 49’ers for Jake’s equally loved Broncos.  A hand knitted wool hat, with snug warm ear flaps pulled down in what Jake called her “Elmer Fudd” look completed the picture.

As he’d been doing for the last eight years, Jake thanked God for the good fortune that brought Emma into his life.  He’d been married once before, as had she.  They had both emerged from those relationships with more than a few emotional scars.

After his divorce, Jake had closed himself off from women, determined not to even think about getting into another relationship.  Then he met Emma and it all changed in an instant. 

Relationships had been a struggle before he met Emma.  Jake cringed to think how many times he and his ex-wife had tried to “work” on their relationship before giving up and filing for divorce. 

With Emma, there wasn’t any work.  Their relationship flowed easily right from the start.  Before they even admitted they were in love, they started talking about making a home together someday.  Both agreed it seemed they had always been together.

“You’ve got a lot done,” noted Emma when she handed Jake the insulated mug of hot chocolate.  “Once Kenny pushes through to the county road, we’ll be connected to the world again.”

“Yeah,” agreed Jake, “Damn Kenny.”  Emma laughed.  Kenny was their closest neighbor and like Jake, he relished any opportunity to break out what Emma called his big boy toys.  The fly in the ointment was that while Jake had a little skid-steer, Kenny had a front-end loader. 

Jake plowed their drive, but Kenny plowed the ten miles of unpaved County road connecting them to the highway.  Emma thought the County might eventually get around to plowing it for them, but in the years she’d lived there, Kenny had never waited long enough for her to find out. 

She waved at Kenny as he passed their driveway and he tipped his hat cheerfully as he chugged along.  Kenny had a heated and air conditioned cab that was the envy of the men in small community of families that lived up this stretch of road.

Emma turned her attention back to her husband whose hands were cupped around the warm mug.  “You should take a break and go inside to warm up,” she told him. 

Jake shook his head and handed the empty mug back to her.  “I’m almost done,” he told her, putting his heavy work gloves back on.  “I should be able to get you into your office in time for your afternoon appointments.”

“Poor baby,” soothed Emma.  “That means you’ll be in your office in time for
your
afternoon appointments.  Then it’ll be goodbye Mountain Man, hello Mr. Attorney.”

Jake laughed.  “I do wish being a mountain man paid a little better.  At least I don’t have a trial today so I don’t have to wear a monkey suit.”  In Wyoming, attorneys wore jeans and cowboy boots more often than three piece suits.  You could always tell in a room full of lawyers which ones had to be in court that day.

Emma smiled and stepped back from the skid-steer so Jake could resume his methodical plowing.  She watched him scoop up another load of snow and dump it on the side of the path he was clearing.  It wasn’t quite wide enough yet to fit the truck through but it wouldn’t take him much longer.

She followed the loader’s path to the equipment shed and from there into the barn to check on the animals.  She knew Jake would have made sure they had fresh food and water but she wanted to see for herself that they had all weathered the storm. 

During the blizzard, she kept a worried eye on the falling thermometer, but Jake assured her the snow would insulate the barn and the animals would be just fine.  He was right, of course.  Emma was surprised just how warm the unheated barn was. 

Charlie ran excitedly up to greet her as she came through the door.  His whole body wagged with joy as only a dog can do.  Casper looked up calmly from the cast-off loveseat he used for a bed.  His tail thumped happily as Emma greeted him.  Sleek, sleepy barn cats yawned at her from various perches but didn’t trouble themselves to jump down.

Emma loved animals.  She never had a pet in California because she didn’t think it was fair for a cat or dog to be stuck inside while she commuted two hours into work and two hours back again each day.  She thought wistfully of California sunshine as the cold hit her coming out of the barn, but life in Wyoming had its compensations.

3

There was at least one person in Casper who was not happy with the May Day Snow.  It had taken him four months to make up his mind about what to do but he’d finally decided.  He was going to leave Casper, leave the state of Wyoming – Hell he’d leave the country if he had to. 

He’d seen what they did to their last “associate” and there was no way he was going to sit here and let that happen to him.  They always wanted something more from him, pushing him a little farther every time.  He’d seen where they were going with this and he was drawing the line.  If he wasn’t going to do what they asked though, he knew he was going to have to disappear. 

He assumed they’d wired the apartment before moving him into it so he guarded his conversations closely.  He wondered if they had someone watching him.  However they were doing it, they always seemed to know what he was doing so he kept his departure plans secret.

He had told no one he was leaving.  He regretted that he wouldn’t be able to let his boss know he was leaving or give the man time to find a replacement.  He had written a letter he would mail on his way out of town, explaining that a family emergency had arisen and he’d had to leave without notice.  It was a lousy way to repay the man’s kindness but it was the best he could do.

He’d set aside as much cash as he could over the last few months.  He had wondered if he could clean out his bank account and get far enough away before they noticed.  He knew wouldn’t be able to touch it after he was gone for fear they would track the transactions.  He had decided he couldn’t risk it for what little cash he kept in the account.

He’d set May 1 as his departure date because it would bring him one last paycheck.  He wasn’t quite sure when it would be safe to go back to work.  He would have to buy a fake Social Security card if he were going to make a clean break of it. 

He’d gone to bed on April 30, sleeping fitfully knowing it was the last night he’d be spending on a real bed for quite awhile.  When he woke to record snow in the morning, he cursed the blizzard as if it were sent especially to thwart his escape.

There was nothing for it but to postpone his plans.  The roads were choked with snow and even if he could make it out of town, the Interstate was closed for a hundred miles in either direction.  He sat on his couch and watched the snow falling outside his window, chain smoking until he ran out of cigarettes, and waited.

He didn’t have to look at the number when his cell phone rang.  He knew who would be calling.  He considered ignoring it but he didn’t want to give them any reason to be concerned about him now, not when he was so close to freedom.

He answered in as normal a voice as he could muster.  He listened.  The voice on the line was terse, as usual.  He grunted an acknowledgement and hung up.  He sat in the darkening room, mulling his options, realizing his time had run out.

He wasn’t going to be able to wait out the storm.  The local newscast at Noon had reported there was only one road open out of Casper, a two-lane state highway heading west. 

It was in bad shape and they were recommending no unnecessary travel but at least it was open.  He hadn’t really planned on going West but he supposed when you weren’t sure where you were going, any direction would do.

He pulled a battered duffel bag out of the bedroom closet and started packing.  He didn’t have much so it didn’t take long.  He thought about the job the voice had sent him to do.  He knew if he disappeared, they would find someone else to do it.

Did he care?  What was she to him?  He’d only met her once.  She had been kind to him, talking to him like he mattered.  He shook his head.  There wasn’t any time, she’d have to take care of herself.

Still, she didn’t strike him as someone who went through life with her guard up.  She was trusting of strangers - strangers like him - and that was going to get her killed.  Could he just walk away?

“Damn,” he swore under his breath, mindful of the ears he assumed were always listening to him.  He would warn her.  From there, she was on her own.

Finished with his packing, he went to the kitchen for a beer then started rummaging through the junk drawer.  He pulled out a battered notebook and a pen and sat down at the table.

He wrote quickly, stopping once or twice to drink his beer and stare out at the storm.  When he finished, he read over what he had written and nodded to himself.  He had done his part.  The ball was in her court now.

He rummaged again until he found an envelope.  He folded the letter, put it in the envelope and went to pick up his bag.  He would drop it off on his way out of town.

He was reaching for his keys when he heard a noise.  He froze.  He listened intently and realized it was the sound of someone at his door, working the lock.  “Damn,” he swore again.  It was their apartment, of course they would have a key.

If they were sending someone to make sure he did his job, that person would have knocked at the door, or followed him as he assumed they’d been doing for months.  Breaking into his apartment - how had they known he was leaving town?  Fear clenched around his heart as he retreated to the bedroom to buy time. 

He scanned the room for a hiding place, not for himself – he knew there was no place he could hide – but for the letter he had crumpled in his hand on hearing the noise.  He heard the door open and listened while someone stepped inside and quietly shut the door. 

Frantically, he looked for somewhere he could put the letter where they wouldn’t find it but the police would.  His eyes fell on the unmade bed.  He shoved the letter into the pillow case and hoped they wouldn’t notice it.  Then he cast his eyes around the room for something that would serve as a weapon. 

“Why do I have to be the only man in Wyoming who doesn’t have a gun?” he thought as he heard the bedroom door open.

Read the rest in

Main Street Murder

Coming September 2014