Snow Blind-J Collins 4 (15 page)

“Not until you answer my question. Are you really a private investigator?”

“Yes.”

“And you came here pretending to check out the facility so you could spy on us?”

“Pretty much.”

Her face turned a mottled red. “You’re despicable,” she spit. “Lying, sneaking around, acting—”

“You know what I think is despicable, Dee?” I crowded her against the wall until her frizzy hair caught on the ridged wallpaper. “That an eighty-five-146

year-old man has been missing for three fucking days and
no one
cares. You’re all too busy covering your goddamn fat asses to get off them to find him. So the day you can call
me
despicable is the day you stop worrying about your fucking paycheck and start worrying about the people who are stuck with this facility’s piss-poor implementation of elderly care.”

I stormed out the front door. The minute my boots hit the pavement, I lit a cigarette and started stalking the interconnected sidewalks. Fucking idiots. Wasn’t like Vernon Sloane was my grandfather. I don’t know why I’d gotten so worked up.

Yes, you do. Neglect is neglect; doesn’t matter if the
person is five or eighty-five. Wrong is wrong. And this
is wrong.

Stupid ideology. My life would be so much easier if my conscience would take a powder once in a while.

I smoked. And walked. And marveled that the sidewalks were snow free. What was the point? Who the hell was out here clattering around in a walker? I’d bet not many octogenarians were clamoring to get out in the fresh air and pop wheelies in their wheelchairs.

That thought stopped me. Vernon Sloane not only wanted to get out of Prairie Gardens, but he’d been successful at sneaking out. Several times. What if he’d done it again?

What if he’d gone looking for his car?

Nah. Even if he had managed to escape, he couldn’t have gotten far with the arctic temperatures, 147

the blowing snow, and his advanced age.

A worse thought settled in, one too awful to contemplate, so naturally that’s the one my brain stuck on.

I stopped and gauged where I was outside the complex in relation to the inside. Off to the right, way at the back of the acreage, were the separate buildings housing the acute care. Then the temporary care wings with separate entrances and parking lot. Around the corner to the left was the private condo wing.

If I followed the sidewalk straight back, I’d end up at the rear of the main building, by the hive. Each corridor had an exit. Where did the exits lead? To a common courtyard? Somewhere by the common rooms? No. I’d parked in the east lot and remembered the single unit apartments were to the west of the common rooms.

Since the emergency alarms on the exterior doors were disengaged, anyone could leave easily. What about the security cameras? Wouldn’t there be a record? Why hadn’t Boner brought it up?

Duh. Because there were no cameras. But at least that security oversight fell on his head. No matter what he claimed, that fact couldn’t be hidden from the cops.

As I walked the perimeter, I began to pay very close attention to benches and bushes and trees. The machine used to clean off the sidewalks left the discarded snow in neat, uniform rows along the side. Snowdrifts behind the ridges were postcard pristine. No people or animal tracks marred the thick crust.

148

In my neighborhood, the snowy areas surrounding the houses were trampled from kids making snow angels or Eskimo forts or snowballs. Or from them carving a channel to the woodpile or a path to a friend’s house.

Even at the ranch, where the white space was vast, there were bumps and dirt everywhere; in the empty fields, in the shelterbelt, in the abandoned garden.

Here? Everything was neat and tidy. Here, I saw nothing.

Except that.

My stomach lurched at the snow-covered lump between the evergreen shrubs and the brick wall. It looked out of place. I stared at it for the longest time.

I scanned the area. No windows overlooked this section where two buildings intersected. The shrubs were an attempt to spruce up the hidden corner. But even those shrubs were straggly, neglected, and forgotten.

A shiver trickled down my spine as I took that first step. My boot broke through the unspoiled crust and buried my leg midcalf. To make progress through the thick layers, I had to raise my knees high, making me look like a demented majorette as I threw my arms out for balance. My blood pounded in time to the rat-a-tat-tat of a snare drum in the phantom marching band in my head.

Maybe I was mistaken. Maybe I’d reach that lump and find a sack of yard waste. Or some lazy person’s discarded garbage. Or a bag of old, unwanted clothing.

149

Or an old, unwanted man.

My warm breath cut through the air. I crouched and gently brushed the snow away.

Please be wrong, please be wrong.

When my gloved fingers uncovered the frozen skin and hair, I shrieked and fell on my ass.

He appeared to be lying on his side, curled up in a fetal position. No hat. I couldn’t tell if he wore gloves or a coat beneath the shell of snow covering him.

I didn’t want to see anything else. This was not my job. I’d done my job in finding him. Period. Done done done.

Against my will, my fingertips reconnected to his face. I brushed away a little more snow just to be sure it was him. When his whole head was visible, I stopped. Vernon Sloane didn’t look peaceful in death.

He looked . . . pained. Cold. Terrified. Just like those frozen corpses at the end of the movie
Titanic
. But this wasn’t a movie set where he’d get up, scrub off the makeup, and walk away. He was dead.

My vision became blurry. I stumbled back to the sidewalk and dialed Kevin’s cell. He didn’t answer until the third time I tried him.

“I found Vernon Sloane. Yes, I’m serious. No. I’m outside. Take the sidewalk heading east. In the corner.”

I glanced down at the old man. “No, I’ll wait. Just don’t bring a ton of people with you, okay? It’s bad enough he died this way. He doesn’t deserve to be gawked at like some kind of freaky human ice sculpture.”

150

After I shut my phone, I peeled off my gloves, not caring about frostbite. I wouldn’t wear them again.

Ever. I rolled them into a ball and shoved them in the closest trash can.

God. I craved a cigarette, but I’d already fucked up the scene. I hunched deeper into myself, into my coat, and didn’t budge until I heard Kevin shouting my name. Even then I didn’t move very fast. I was too numb—in body and soul. I let him wrap me inside his big wool coat, soaking up his warmth and strength. I eased away from him when I could think again.

Kevin tipped my chin up to look in my eyes. “I’m sorry you found him.”

“I know.”

“You want to head back inside and I’ll catch up with you when I’m done out here?”

“Hell, no.”

He cocked an eyebrow at me. Since my near-death bout with hypothermia I tended to get cold faster than most people, hence my reluctance to stay in the cold, hence Kevin’s concern over my willingness to do just that.

I’d survived calving in subzero temps with my father. I’d survive this, too. “Look, I don’t want to be by myself, especially not in there. I’ll wait for you.”

“Then I’ll make it fast.”

Before I witnessed the Search and Rescue guys chipping away ice so they could load the body, Officer Smith escorted me back inside and took my statement.

I don’t know if my investigative skills impressed him or 151

scared him. But his solicitous act caused a headache.

I was damn glad when Kevin and I were formally excused from further questioning.

Kevin drove back to the office.

I gazed out the window. I’d had a lot of practice in staring aimlessly into space, contemplating death in recent months. “Did you call Amery?”

“Yeah. She’s on her way home.”

“I’m sorry, Kev. This’ll be rough on her.”

As I said it, the truth hit me. I could be in Amery’s situation right now. If I hadn’t gone to the ranch, my phone might be ringing with the news they’d found my father frozen stiff. A niggling sense of unease surfaced for my petty parting shot of wishing him dead.

Was my guilty feeling because his behavior had turned me into a recalcitrant child again? Or the fact I really wouldn’t be so broken up over his death?

Was Amery feeling guilty for flitting off to Vegas?

Probably. I shivered again.

Kevin flipped the heater to high. “She’s taking it hard. This situation raises more questions than answers.”

With any luck he’d choose to counsel Amery in a personal, rather than a professional capacity. And I really hoped she didn’t resent Kevin because they’d indulged in a little slap and tickle during the blizzard while Gramps became a permanent snow angel.

“Jules, you okay?”

“Yeah. But I think I’ll go home. I’m not as fully recovered from my ranch exploits as I thought.” With 152

any luck Martinez would show up and we wouldn’t leave my bed until morning. This time neither of us would be sleeping.

“Take care, babe. See you tomorrow.”

I climbed in my Ford and smoked while the engine defrosted. My cell rang. The caller ID flashed—TM.

Thank God. “You won’t believe what—”

“Julie. Big Mike here. Hang on a sec, bossman wants to talk to you but he’s on another line.”

I rested my forehead on the cold steering wheel. I hated being put on hold.

Finally, Tony came on. “Something came up and I’ve gotta go to Denver.”

“When?”

“Now.”

Great. “Where are you?”

“Outside of Lusk and we’re about to lose cell service so I thought I’d call you.”

“Gee. Thanks.”

Pause. “You okay?”

No.
“Just tired. How long will you be gone?”

“A couple of days.”

Immediately the pissy/whiny/clingy part of me pouted and demanded attention. What was I supposed to do when he was off at another Hombres secret meeting? Learn to knit? Get a fucking cat to talk to?

Join a Bunko club?

Jesus. What was wrong with me? In the past I hadn’t needed a man to entertain me or to make me 153

happy. I oughta kick my own ass for being depressed.

At least I wasn’t IDing a loved one’s body on a metal slab at the morgue tonight.

“Blondie?”

Buck up, tough up, suck it up,
my inner bitch commanded, while my softer side lobbied to make kissy noises in the phone and coo for my man to be careful and come home to me safely.

Talk about unhinged.

“You still there?”

“Yeah. I’ll see you when you get back.” I closed the phone.

In the safety of my empty cab, I snapped, “I hate it that you’re gone again, all right? And I’m pissed off that I need you, you stupid bastard. I’m even more pissed off that I can’t seem to tell you I need you. Why in the hell don’t you know how goddamn bad I miss you when you know every other thing about me?”

There. I felt better already.

I drove within three blocks of Kim’s place, deciding to pop in and say howdy. See if she needed anything, or had a craving for Chinese food. Sounded heavenly to shovel in egg rolls and laugh at stupid baby names from her pregnancy books. Between my job, her job, 154

her engagement to Murray, the baby’s father, and my relationship with Martinez, we were woefully short on girls’ time. I missed that. A little levity in my life after the last few days would perk me up, if only for an hour or two.

Kim’s car was in the driveway. I rang the bell and studied the entwined wire heart festooned with ribbons she’d tacked on her door in honor of Valentine’s Day a few weeks back. Hallmark had brainwashed the poor sap. She decorated for every holiday. Colored M&Ms were the height of holiday spirit in my house.

Damn. What was taking her so long? Even if I’d woken her up she should’ve waddled to the door by now. I rang the bell again and beat on the window for good measure.

Thump thump
sounded from inside, followed by the locks disengaging. The door swung open and I smiled at Murray.

Whoa. Murray looked a little flushed. His glasses were on crooked, and dear God, was he wearing a . . .

chiffon bathrobe?

Jesus. This was exactly why I didn’t show up anywhere unannounced. I did not need another reminder that everyone in the free world was having sex but me.

“Julie. What a . . . surprise.” He tried to discreetly tie the belt on his robe tighter.

“Nice to see you, Murray.”

“You, too. Ah. Was there something you needed?”

A life, apparently. “No. Just thought I’d swing by 155

and remind Kim I’m . . . coming in for a haircut next week.” Christ, that was a lame excuse for
coitus inter-ruptus
.

Murray blinked. “Oh. Well. I’ll be sure to tell her.”

“You do that.” I turned to leave, then turned back.

“Next time, get dressed before you answer the door.

Peach is so not your color.”