Murder on Ice Page 2

  Because Clarke County was the smallest county in Maine, and violent crime was practically non-existent, the sheriff’s office was not manned twenty-four/seven. Everyone knew Cammie and Rick’s cell phone number and could dial them in an emergency. Only during bad weather, when icy blizzards blew down from Canada once or twice a year would Cammie and Rick spend the night at the station, ready to provide assistance to anyone who was crazy enough to venture out into the deadly storms. In a true emergency, Cammie also had a group of temporary deputies she could call upon, as well as police officers from the neighboring and much larger Aroostook County.

  However, on this night, the only emergency was the one raging in Cammie’s mind. With the ticking of a nearby clock and the twinkling of the small orange lights from the Thanksgiving tree Emmy had put up to keep her company, she sat back in her chair and idly tapped her pencil against her desk. Why was she letting that old nutjob get to her? It was obvious the woman was not dealing with a full deck.

  Since childhood, she could remember Cora insisting they were all about to be destroyed by a falling meteorite. When that didn’t happen, Cora then swore they were about to be abducted by aliens. Still waiting on that one. When she announced in the middle of Main Street that she’d discovered who really killed John F. Kennedy, everyone nodded and continued walking. So what was it about this particular prediction that had Cammie so rattled?

  She once again saw the hatred in Cora’s eyes and heard the venom in her voice as she uttered her vicious words. Against her will, a shiver went through her as the tapping of the pencil increased.

  Cammie had been hated before; who couldn’t go through life without having at least one person dislike you? With Cora though, it bordered on irrational. And the hatred had only started since Cammie’s return to Twin Ponds the year before. The sheriff couldn’t be in the same room

  Tap, tap, tap

  Couldn’t be on the same city block

  Tap, tap, tap

  without Cora going off.

  What had she done to make that crazy old woman despise her so much?

  She rested her head against the back of her chair and sighed. It was a waste of time trying to figure Cora out. She’d have better luck figuring out who was getting their jollies stealing bird feeders off people’s lawns.

  She tossed her pencil aside and gently rubbed the ache that was beginning to throb in her temples. She should just call it a day, go home, and climb into the tub with the latest New York Times bestselling murder mystery. If she was lucky, the answer to the birdfeeder thefts would present itself between page 5 and a scrub with her favorite jasmine vanilla shower gel.

  She cleared her desk and started the arduous task of throwing on all three of her heavy woolen sweaters. A little over a year had passed since coming back to the town of her birth and her body was still screaming against the outrageously cold temperatures. Hopefully the day was coming soon when she wouldn’t spend the winter resembling a waddling, well fed tick.

  She jammed her furry bomber hat on her head and was just reaching for her parka when the phone on her desk rang. She hesitated picking it up. What if it was a report of another birdfeeder missing? Maybe she could sneak away and pretend the phone wasn’t ringing. Maybe she could pretend to be the answering machine and announce in a toneless voice that she’d gone to Florida. Maybe….

  Her strong sense of duty however, won out and she grabbed the receiver. “Sheriff Farnsworth speaking.”

  “Hey, what do you say you meet me at Zee’s in five minutes?”

  A warm tickle ran through her stomach as Jace’s low voice filled her ear.

  “Boy, is it great to hear your voice.”

  “Tough day, huh?”

  “Very.”

  “Yeah, me too. I was so busy today I skipped lunch. I’m jonesing for one of Zee’s cheeseburgers and a tall cold one. Sound like a plan?”

  At the mention of food, Cammie’s stomach started to growl. She quickly accepted and hung up.

  She shut off the lights, leaving the twinkles blinking on and off on Emmy’s Thanksgiving Tree. Before meeting Emmy, she’d never heard of a Thanksgiving Tree, or a Halloween tree or an Easter Tree or a list of other holidays their twenty-two year old dispatcher insisted on celebrating by putting up a tree in its honor. Nor did she imagine that these little plastic trees came in all sorts of colors – orange for Halloween/Thanksgiving, green for Christmas, pink for Easter, white for Valentine’s Day and so on. Yet, watching Emmy lovingly hang each ornament and drape the strings of twinkle lights, Cammie realized how much she’d come to enjoy these little trees. They were warm and sweet and a reminder that there was the possibility of light in a world that sometimes felt so dark.

  Not to mention that it always alerted her to an upcoming holiday.

  With the office lights off, she paused to watch the orange lights reflect against the tiny pumpkins, turkeys, cornucopias and pilgrims dangling from its plastic orange branches. For the first time that day, she smiled. And Cora’s words finally started to slip away into the corners where the light didn’t reach.

  She let herself out into the cold frigid air, locking the door behind her and started down the short block towards Zee’s.

  Short for Zevon’s Bar and Grille, Zee’s was the gathering place for good food and reliable gossip. On any given night, half the town of Twin Ponds could be found inside its warm, cozy walls.

  Bruce Zevon, the proud owner, was a dead ringer for Santa Claus, with a full white beard and a belly that shook like a bowlful of jelly. He took great pride in knowing everything that happened in and around Clarke County. It was said that if Zee didn’t know about it, it didn’t happen. He also loved to cook, whipping up mouthwatering hamburgers one minute, before serving an exquisite goat cheese and arugula flatbread pizza the next.

  A light snow was falling and the main thoroughfare that ran down the center of Twin Ponds was silent as her boots crunched along the sidewalk. The air was crisp and cold and she unconsciously burrowed deeper into her parka.

  Although it was early November, the lampposts that ran up and down Main Street were already decorated with evergreen bows and bells and large white Christmas lights. Every year, several old timers complained that it was too early for Christmas decorations. They insisted that they were supposed to go up the day after Thanksgiving. But Cammie was always happy to see them. Just like Emmy’s holiday trees, the sight of the wreaths and lights never failed to lift her spirits. It also kindled a wish, deep down inside that she never shared or would share with anyone. She knew it was silly really, yet each year when the decorations went up, a small piece of her hoped and prayed that this holiday season would be just like the ones she grew up watching in the movies of the 30s and 40s. The snow would be falling, the sleighs would be filled with presents and it truly would be a time of peace on earth and goodwill towards men. Bing Crosby would walk down Main Street singing ‘White Christmas’ while Edmund Gwenn would magically appear, dressed up as Kris Kringle, giving Zee a run for his money. She chuckled at the thought of Edmund Gwenn and Zee fighting it out, mano a mano, for title of Best Santa Claus. Of course each year she was disappointed that it never turned out the way she imagined, but there was always the possibility that next year, the world and her imagination would get it right.

  Walking beneath the halo of wreaths, Christmas lights and street lamps banished all traces of Cora, replacing them with warm feelings towards Jace and his uncanny ability to sense whenever she was having a bad day.

  Jason Northcott, known to everyone as Jace, was Twin Ponds’ mechanic extraordinaire. There wasn’t anything he couldn’t fix and the long line of machines and cars outside the garage where he worked was a testament to his skills. However, what Jace was really known throughout the county for was his hockey skills. He was captain of the town hockey team, the Night Hawks, a collection of dedicated players that ranged from high schoolers to baby boomers. In a town that loved their hockey, he was a hero. A humble, sweet natured hero who turne
d into a phenom on the ice. He and Cammie had been living together for almost a year now, a fact that still left her amazed.

  In a life so far filled with disillusionment and sorrow and mistrust of the opposite sex, Cammie had been unprepared for the instant attraction she felt for the town jock. Or to discover his attraction to her. It was more than just his extraordinary good looks. Or his eyes that were an unusually deep blue, or his long dark brown bangs that had a habit of falling shyly over his eyes. It was also more than his low and melodious voice that sang a deep, sensuous tune. If she had to put words to it, it was a sense of safety that hung about Jace – a warm harbor in a cold world. A lack of pretense or artificiality. A man who wasn’t afraid of his emotions.

  It terrified her.

  And continually drew her in. Despite the protests, the evasions. The constant lies she told herself that this was temporary, based on convenience. The illusion it could never work because he was seven years younger than she was and so many other untruths, she’d lost track of them. One day she’d wake up and he’d be the ogre that all men eventually turned into. Or a complete stranger that left one aghast and appalled.

  She couldn’t quite remember when he moved into her tiny cabin on Mkazawi Pond, the smaller and more remote of the two ponds the town was named after. It seemed as though she awoke one morning and he was as part of the place as her favorite afghan or her late father’s fishing poles still hanging over the large picture window.

  Now almost a year later, she realized how much effort she’d wasted denying her feelings for Jace. The part of herself that resisted was eroding away, the ghosts of her past finally fading and evaporating as her breath in the quiet night air.

  The neon lights from Zee’s establishment sent multi-colored shadows onto the mounds of shoveled snow that lay by the front door. She heard the muffled sounds of music and laughter seeping through the brickwork and stopped for a moment, enjoying the hush of the gently falling snow and the comfort of what awaited her behind the doors to Zee’s.

  It wasn’t just Jace. It was a sense of belonging, of walking through that door and knowing everyone who was there. Of being greeted and respected and feeling a part of something bigger than herself.

  A place where everybody knows your name.

  Ironic that she would find all of that in the one town on earth she’d once sworn never to step foot in again.

  Cammie smiled at the unpredictability of life. And was happy that it had led her back to here.

  She grabbed the door and swung it open. Then stopped. A sudden chill ran down her back that had nothing to do with the frigid temperature. She slowly turned around, expecting to find someone standing behind her. But there was nothing but the snow falling against her parka.

  The hairs stood up on the back of her neck, her instincts on high alert. She’d long ago learned to trust those instincts; it had saved her life countless times.

  She scanned the parking lot across the street. She was being watched. She knew it. She could feel it. For a moment, she felt the ridiculous impulse to run. Fast. Anywhere. Just away from here.

  There were a handful of cars parked under the street lamps, some owned by people sitting inside of Zee’s, some by a group of women she could see getting their hair done in Wanda Simm’s beauty salon nestled to the left of the lot. The lights from the lamps shone down on the cars, giving her a shadowy view through the windshields. She was tempted to walk across and peer into each car, to shake off the icy fingers of whatever or whoever was watching her. But she was cold. And hungry. And eager to forget the day. If there was someone out there looking for her, they were going to have to wait.

  Or come into Zee’s and find her.

  With one last backward glance, she threw open the door and slipped inside.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Forensics had come, done their job and gone. Outwardly, she’d remained coolly professional. To look at her, no one would know how devastated she was. Or the voice inside her screaming that none of this could be happening. Nor did she ever betray the pain at seeing the technicians’ faces as they catalogued the evidence. This was a slam dunk as far as they were concerned. The fact that they’d hurried along with their work made that all too clear. Murderer found near the victim with the weapon under his body, gun residue on his dominant hand and blood on his shirt. Open and shut. Easy as pie. All she had to do was make the arrest and it was over.

  If only all their cases were this easy.

  Doc Westerfield had arrived, officially pronounced the victim dead, concurred with her estimated time of death, done one more examination, then departed with the body to conduct the autopsy.

  She was alone in the room now. Someone had mercifully turned the heat down and the room was no longer stiflingly hot. The body was gone, the forensics team was gone. The bedroom was empty. Except her. And her thoughts.

  There were things about the crime scene that didn’t make sense. Things she should have seen that weren’t there. She felt the weight and responsibility of the upcoming investigation fall heavily onto her shoulders. Ready to crush her if she allowed it.

  The doubt monster raised its ugly head, taunting her, accusing her of being unable to do what she needed to do. Telling her she was too emotionally involved to carry out an objective investigation.

  Perhaps it was true. She could call the nearest town of Houlton and ask for help. She could step back and allow them to take over.

  But even as she thought this, she knew it would never happen. Experience was key here. And she had it. She would see this through. No matter where it led.

  She looked around the bedroom, at the walls that cried out for new paint. At the small full size bed with the chipped pine headboard and the bare box spring, the mattress and sheets having been taken away by forensics. Before she could stop herself, she saw herself at sixteen years of age, lying on that bed with the victim. He’d been seventeen. So handsome, so virile. And with a cockiness that only intensified throughout the years. Even then, he’d been sure he was going to make something of his life. The difference all those years ago was that she’d been a part of it all. Part of the dreams. Part of his future. Part of his life.

  Or had she? Had she simply, in her youthful naiveté and love for him, blinded herself? Had she believed something that wasn’t true and never had been true, except in her imagination?

  It hurt too much to think about. She yanked herself back to the present and deliberately turned her back on the bed where so much had happened, so much had been spoken of, so much had been planned.

  All lies.

  There was pain in the past. And unfortunately, in the next room, there was pain in the present. A pain so great it threatened to crush her. Intermingled with a mind numbing fear.

  Had she done it again? After swearing she’d never fall into that trap again, had she once more blindly trusted? Thinking a situation was a certain way when, in truth, it was the complete opposite?

  Her thoughts were interrupted when she heard a soft footfall behind her. She looked up to find Rick in the doorway.

  “Are you ready to interview –?”

  “Yes,” she replied tersely.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  The mouthwatering aroma of hamburgers and steaks and the welcome heat from the flames crackling in the enormous stone fireplace enveloped Cammie as she entered Zee’s Bar and Grille. As usual, the place was packed. An old Kinks song was blasting from the old fashioned jukebox that still held ancient 45 records.

  A few couples were dancing near the entrance, while the rest were either seated at the long, highly polished mahogany bar that ran along the back of the restaurant, or squeezed into booths and tables. To the right of the bar was the entrance to a smaller room where two pool tables were set up. A wide shelf ran along the perimeter of the poolroom, allowing spectators and players to set down their drinks while seated on stools to watch the games in process. In the main dining room, on walls of dark, rich wood hung scenic pictures and paintings of Maine. Suspend
ed over each booth was a Tiffany-style lamp, giving Zee’s establishment a homey and convivial ambiance.

  Shaking off the cold and melting snowflakes clinging to her hat and parka, Cammie scanned the crowds and saw Jace standing in one of the back booths waving his arm at her.

  At the sight of him, her unease evaporated. She made her way towards him, returning called out greetings and waving to several people.

  “Hey babe,” Jace said as he gathered her into his arms and gave her a tight, affectionate hug. She expected to smell the familiar mixed odors of machine oil and gasoline that always managed to seep through the protective overalls he wore over his clothes. Instead, his blue flannel shirt held the spicy aroma of his favorite cologne. His jeans were the ones they’d bought together a few months ago on a week-end trip they’d taken to see his parents in the seaside town of Calais. Glancing up, she noticed the ends of his hair were damp.

  “You spill oil all over yourself?” she asked as she slid into the booth opposite him and removed her hat and parka, balling them up next to her. Seeing that he’d already ordered her a beer, she took a long sip.

  “No. Why you ask?”

  “Looks like you went home to shower.”

  Jace grinned as he leaned his elbows on the table and took her hands in his.

  “Can’t a guy look his best for his girl?”

  She guffawed. “You’re sounding like a 1960’s surfer movie.”

  “Maybe this will explain.”

  He let go of her hand and as she popped a few kernels of popcorn from a bowl Zee kept on every table, she noticed him pushing a box at her. A long, narrow velvet box that looked suspiciously like a jewelry box.