The Winter Widow (12 page)

“Well now, what can I get you? A cup of coffee?”

“No, thank you.”

“A nice hot cup of chicken broth. I just made some fresh. Just the thing. Warm you right up. Are you sure? Won't take a minute.”

“No, no, I—”

“Wouldn't want you to catch your death. I'll just turn up that old floor furnace a little. Not like central heating, I know, but it does the job.”

“No, no,” Susan said again quickly as Bess started toward the thermostat. “I'm fine, thank you. Really.”

“Are you sure you're warm enough?”

“Quite sure.” In fact, too warm. She was barely able to survive outdoors, but inside, she'd found, everybody kept their homes too hot for her comfort. She was accustomed to less heat and much more moisture content in the air.

Bess dropped heavily, with a breathless whoosh, into the overstuffed green chair by the window, propped the crutches against the side and used both hands to lift her leg onto the footstool. “Can you imagine anyone being so clumsy?” She slapped the cast. “I fell on my own front steps, slipped on the ice and went rolling all the way down. I thought I was gone for sure.”

“Your niece Phyllis mentioned you had seen Lucille's car.”

“Well, I have, you know. My goodness, where do you suppose that young lady is? With this leg of mine, I have trouble sleeping and I sit right here so I can look out the window. Not that there's anything to see most times, but I look at the stars and the moon and sometimes the night creatures go by, owls and foxes, you know. That's how I come to notice her car.”

“Did you see it Monday night?”

“Monday … no-o, no, not Monday.”

“When did you see it?”

Bess rubbed her chin with thumb and forefinger. “Three weeks ago today that I fell. Doctor says I have three more weeks to go with this fool cast. So it would be three, four days after that I started having trouble sleeping.”

She laughed. “First few nights, no problem. Pills, you know, but a body can't take pills all her life. Goodness gracious, I'd turn into one of those drug addicts. Then where would I be? I have a business to tend to. I don't know about those girls. They're good girls, of course, but—”

“How often did you see Lucille drive past?”

“Oh dear now, let me see. Maybe two or three times. What could she have been up to?”

“You never asked her?”

“Well, I didn't, you know. I didn't see her to talk to. It's hard for me to get out much with this confounded leg.”

Susan asked if Bess had seen Lucille on January seventh or fifteenth, the two dates on the cassette tape.

Bess wasn't very clear on dates. She might have. On the other hand, it might have been the day before or the day after, or maybe some other day entirely.

“But it's odd, you know,” Bess said. “Always so late I'd see her, two or three in the morning sometimes. And once, maybe on the fifteenth, around there, I saw that nephew of Sophie's.”

“Brenner? You recognized him?”

“Well, no, not to say recognized, but I saw a car I didn't know and I heard he was coming to visit, so it must have been him.”

Couldn't have been, Susan thought. He hadn't arrived until yesterday, the nineteenth.

“About time, too,” Bess was saying. “Can you imagine? All those years, treating Sophie like that, and her like a mother to him. I just don't know about young people these days.”

“This car was following Lucille?”

“Oh, I don't think anything like that. I saw her go by and then a while later I saw this other car. Of course, Lucille knows him. Or did, anyway. He used to work for her father, but that was a long time ago. I can't remember exactly how many years. My goodness, it must be ten or twelve. How time goes. And used to be I could remember all these details, but my memory just isn't what it was.”

She smiled. “But there now, I guess I'm getting on just like everybody else. There was some kind of trouble.”

“Trouble with what?”

“About Brenner when he worked for Otto. I don't know what it was. Otto never spoke of it and Brenner never said. Nobody knows. Only that he was fired and wasn't to ever go back.”

“You're sure you didn't see Lucille last Monday night?”

“Well, I didn't, no. But then I wasn't watching Monday. I got a blessed night's sleep. She might have driven by. I wondered, you see, where she could possibly be going. That's a road doesn't really lead anywhere. Well, of course, Vic Pollock's out that way. But surely she wouldn't be going there in the middle of the night, would she? He has a new car, you know.”

“Who?”

“Vic. Big black thing.”

Bess rambled on contentedly and Susan interrupted to ask how she could find Vic Pollock's farm. Bess obliged with detailed directions and numerous digressions.

*   *   *

SUSAN drove for miles, past empty fields with barbed wire fencing and bare trees, headlights barely able to penetrate the gauzy curtain of billowing snow, without seeing a house or a barn or even a mailbox. Already, snow covered the road and obscured the shoulders. She hoped Aunt Bess hadn't left out a vital part of the directions.

At the next crossroad, she turned right and spotted the glowing red taillights of a car some distance ahead. Increasing her speed slightly, she pulled close enough to make out a large, black car. Vic Pollock? Well, good, a little piece of luck. All she had to do was follow.

He turned left, right, left and two more rights. She did the same, leaning forward with her eyes glued on the taillights so she wouldn't lose him.

Suddenly, he sped up and slewed through turns. The truck fishtailed as she rounded corners to stay with him. What kind of idiot would drive like that in weather like this?

His taillights swung left. She came around and hit a patch of ice. The back wheels slid. She tapped the brakes gently and turned into the skid.

The truck skated to the edge of the ditch and hung there. She pressed the accelerator. The motor strained. The truck teetered, almost pulled out, then with a fast lurch the rear end slid and the truck dropped backward and down eight feet into the ditch.

She bounced, struck her head and swore. The front wheels were just below the shoulder of the road, the headlights aimed upward like searchlights. Swearing again, she turned off the lights and ignition, and watched the windshield rapidly become opaque. She rubbed her forehead.

Well, Daniel, now look what you've gotten me into.

With the heater off, cold seeped in quickly and she listened to the wind howl. Dammit, she'd have to radio for help. She reached for the mike, then stopped, dropped her hand, and let her head fall back.

Oh Lord. She pulled in a long breath.

She had no idea where she was. She had not kept track of those turns, left and right. It hadn't been necessary. As long as she was mobile, she could head the truck generally in the right direction and sooner or later she'd get to town.

Well, she wasn't mobile, knew only vaguely where she was, and a blizzard raged around her. She was lost, lost in the wilds of Kansas. A giggle rose in her throat. Out here where there was a road every mile, absolutely straight and true, north–south, east–west, one-mile intervals, laid out like a checkerboard, and she was lost.

She was to call and inform the citizens of Hampstead that their police chief not only couldn't find a killer and a missing woman, but couldn't find her way home either?

No. She'd stay here and freeze to death.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

HER hands were numb, her feet were numb, and her face felt cold enough to crack if she touched it. Freezing to death was a real possibility here unless she did something. Oh shit. She took a breath, exhaled with a frosty puff and reached for the mike.

“Hi, Hazel. It's Susan. Could you let me talk with George?”

“Sorry, he's not in. Anything wrong?”

“Well, I've managed to drive the pickup into a ditch.”

“Are you hurt?”

“No. I just can't get the damn thing out.”

“Hold on. Osey's here. I'll let you talk to him.”

“No, Hazel—” Oh damn. She wanted somebody who could help, not Osey.

“Ma'am?”

“Yes, Osey. I've got a little problem.”

“Where are you?”

“That's part of the problem. I haven't any idea.”

Silence. Then Osey said, “Could you describe the area?”

“Empty fields and barbed wire fences.”

“Yes, ma'am. If you could maybe do a little better than that. Can you remember what you passed? Any mailboxes?”

“No.”

“Any buildings?”

“Not that I could see.”

“What about trees? Any where you are now?”

“It's hard to see with the snow, but I think there are two just ahead of me by the road.”

“I don't suppose you know what kind they are?”

“I'm afraid not.”

“Have you seen any ponds?”

“One, but it was a long time back.” Trees and ponds, for God's sake. They were all over the county and nearly identical as far as she could see.

“Can you remember anything else? What about gates, wood slats or wire?”

“I didn't notice,” she snapped.

“Okay. Was there anything you did notice? Any fallen trees or a herd of Holsteins—uh, black-and-white cattle?”

Her teeth began to chatter and all she could think was stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid not to pay attention to what she was doing. Stupid to be sitting here getting colder and colder, answering questions about trees and Holsteins. “No. I only remember a couple of goats.”

“Are you uphill or downhill from the crossroad?”

“Just downhill.”

“Don't worry, I'll find you. Is the truck okay? I mean does it run?”

“Yes.” Don't worry. Osey is going to find me. Osey. My life depends on Osey. Oh dear God.

“How much gas do you have?”

She switched on the ignition. The needle hovered just above empty. She switched it off.

“Ma'am?”

“Not very much,” she said flatly.

“Okay. Keep the motor running and the heater on. Oh, and you probably know to crack a window and check the exhaust pipe is clear?”

She replaced the mike and gazed out the side window at the swirling snow. Taking a breath, she struggled to open the door against the wind, clung to the steering wheel, then dropped into the ditch. She landed hard and felt a sharp pain in one ankle. The wind tore at her trench coat, wrapped it around her legs and hurled snow in her face.

Snowflakes stuck to her eyelashes and she brushed her eyes with the back of a gloved hand. As she staggered through drifts to the rear of the truck, snow made its way inside her boots. She scooped a clear space around the exhaust and floundered back to the door.

Getting in wasn't as easy as getting out. She grabbed at the seat; her hands slid and she fell. She clutched at the steering wheel and hauled herself inside. Puffing like a dragon, she slammed the door and rolled the window down a hair.

When she reached for the ignition, she felt a momentary fear it wouldn't start, but the motor caught immediately. She turned on the hazard lights, thinking they would help if Osey managed to get anywhere near.

She waited.

Minutes crept by. Wind whistled at the crack in the window. The heater droned. Warmth slowly seeped over her. The gas gauge stayed just above empty. She waited. Closing her eyes, she leaned her head back and let her thoughts ramble over what she'd found out in the last two days.

Helen wanted to sell Daniel's farm. She desperately wanted money to get out of here, and there was Daniel in her way, recently married and hoping for a child. If he got his child, he might never agree to sell. She had shot and killed a man years ago.

The man's son, Floyd Kimmell, was pleased with himself, smugly felt he had gotten away with something. Susan was certain of it. She had seen that smirking expression too many times to be mistaken, but she wasn't so certain it meant he had killed Daniel. She couldn't believe, if he had, that the motive was related to his father's death, but he might have killed Daniel because Daniel discovered what he was up to.

Lucille. Lucille. On the trail of cattle rustlers. Evidence of cattle rustling was the bait used to lure Daniel into a trap. Lucille, last seen about ten o'clock Monday night. Missing now for almost two days.

The motor coughed, sputtered and died.

Coming alert with a jerk, she squinted at the gas gauge. Empty. So much for Osey's rescue. How long does it take to freeze to death? She had a vague memory victims felt cozy warm just before expiring. If that were true, she had nothing to worry about; she'd never been so cold in her life.

She heard Daniel's voice saying, “Now, Susan, don't get dramatic. You'll be okay.” She smiled to herself.

He'd said those words to her the day he went back to work and left her alone for the first time. The day had been a long one and by midafternoon panicky thoughts of “Oh my God, what have I done?” scrabbled in her head like wailing demons.

She'd opened the bottle of white wine chilling in the refrigerator and sat at the kitchen table. When Daniel came in, she raised her glass. “Hail, wedded love. Stay me with flagons, comfort me with apples.”

He grinned. “I don't think you got that quite right.”

“Whatever.” She poured him a glass.

“Susan, have you already had a little of this?”

“Only a little. I'm saving the other bottle for dinner. I didn't want to be tipsy when you got home.”

“Uh-huh. Moderation.” He touched her glass with his and sat beside her.

“Did you marry me for my moderation?”

“I did. And to discourage single ladies from bringing me casseroles.”

“Your casserole days are over, buster. I slaved over a roasted chicken from Dilly's Deli.”