While the half dozen pelts randomly thrown on the floor amidst dry branches of evergreen gave no clear indication of how many people slept inside, the lone pillow with a beige nightgown folded on top suggested only one occupant. A woman. He picked up the garment and brushed his thumb against the fox embroidered on the front. The worn fabric smelled of cedar wood, not a scent he associated with Hannah.
Avery looked for any piece of clothing Hannah might have worn the day she disappeared. Among a pile of women’s clothes stashed in an alcove, he uncovered a purple sport bra with matching panties and a pair of orange wool socks.
Hannah’s coat had been purple and gray.
He wasn’t sure about the socks, but the lingerie set looked like something Hannah might wear. Unwilling to take the risk of leaving any incriminating evidence behind, he pocketed all the suspicious garments. He then continued his search for a token Greta might have kept of her knife attack.
A torn piece of fabric…a note…
The wounds on Greta’s shoulder had to have been inflicted at close range. She would have kicked and punched to defend herself. Despite her fight, the assailant had managed to slash her twice before he was stopped by Hannah’s old man. Another fight had ensued during which the grandfather’s skull was crushed.
Avery paused by a rain barrel near the entrance. A ladle sat on top along with three hunting knives.
Neither Fred, nor Hannah, had mentioned any knife wounds on their grandfather’s body.
Greta’s assailant had a knife, but he didn’t use it to kill Pike.
Stabbing the old man would have been less messy than clobbering him to death.
In the heat of the battle, it didn’t make sense that the assailant hadn’t used the weapon at his disposition—unless he’d dropped his knife during Greta’s assault.
The odds Greta had picked up her attacker’s knife were not in Avery’s favor, but he couldn’t dismiss the remote possibility.
He seized all three knives.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Hannah shampooed her hair twice, then ended the coloring treatment with a heavy dose of conditioning. Running her fingers through her hair only to stop short of her shoulders felt weird. She
would
get used to it.
After drying off, she wiped the foggy mirror. A stranger with curly cinnamon-brown hair looked back at her.
This is interesting…and rather pretty.
Hannah would never have guessed that beneath her long, thick hair were bouncy curls waiting to escape gravity. The uneven haircut framed her face, giving her a free and youthful appearance.
A shadow swept across the window, momentarily darkening the blinds.
Not another one?
Wary of the phenomenon, Hannah counted to three before peeping through the slats. A cloudless, blue sky watched over the cold landscape.
Confident in her disguise, she peered through the other windows. From the one above the kitchen sink, she caught sight of a silhouette standing by Avery’s civilian truck, her back to the house. The intruder swayed her head, and the driver side window reflected her puzzlement.
Her again?
Determined to add a name—or an address—to the woman’s face, Hannah slipped on Avery’s winter gear.
“You stay here, Snowflake. I’ll be right back.”
***
Avery entered Fish & Games, one of the two outdoor stores in town. A seasoned guy with more tattoos on his muscular arms than hair on his head manned the counter.
“What can I do for you, Officer?” The name Steve Rogers was embroidered in bronze thread on the guy’s green polo shirt above a logo depicting a broom and a curling rock.
“I need your expertise, Steve.” People often proved more cooperative if Avery feigned ignorance, which in this case wasn’t too far from the truth. “I have three old hunting knives, and I’m thinking of replacing them. What do you think?”
He displayed them on the counter. After five years, looking for prints had been a waste of powder. All he’d gotten were smudges not worth sending to the lab.
“Let’s see.” The employee worked his way from the smallest to the biggest knife. As he traced a finger along the carved handle and rust free blade of the third one, a glint of admiration showed on his face. “The other two are crap, but this one is a beauty. I know a guy who’d pay good money for it, enough for you to buy two of my bestsellers.”
Many of the knives advertised behind the locked glass counter ranged in the hundreds of dollars. That a guy might be willing to give Avery that much intrigued him.
“Why would the guy buy my dull, old knife instead of buying a new one from you? That sounds too good to be true.”
“He had a knife similar to this one, and lost it a few years back. I tried to order him another one, but the company had stopped making them.” His gaze on the knife, the employee raked his skull with his fingers. “Come to think of it, it might have been more like four or five years ago. In any case, it didn’t pan out. I tried all the retail stores in the country if you can believe it. Nobody had any left in stock. Vic was pissed big time.”
That Vic character had just become a person of interest. “Must have been one special knife.”
“A birthday gift from his old man when he was a lad. I still hear about it every time he buys a new knife. He’s never happy.” The big, helpful employee rested his elbows on the counter and leaned forward. “You think he’d stop obsessing about it…” His tone had become hush-hush. “In any rate, you could make a few hundred bucks easy. Want me to sharpen it for you, so it’s ready to sell?”
“Sure, and if you could give me his name and address, I’d appreciate it.”
***
“Here’s my little buddy.” Pleased to see Rory and Rowan, Bill patted the edge of his hospital bed. “Come in.”
The youngster crawled on the mattress and sat near his hip, his timid grin showing a front chipped tooth. “Finger chewed her box. We gave her a new one.”
Tears clouded Bill’s eyes and choked his comeback. Rory’s crystalline voice was the most beautiful thing he’d heard since the birth of his great-granddaughter.
From the foot of the bed, Rowan smiled. “I think he’s eager to show you Finger’s new bed.”
Rory’s head bobbled up and down. “You come home?”
“The doctor promised to let me go home tomorrow.” The fall had broken three ribs, split his forehead, and the claw of the hammer had impaled his butt. He’d required many sutures, not all visible at first sight. “What happened to your tooth?”
The boy’s small shoulders raised in a mischievous shrug.
Rowan shook her head but didn’t hide the amusement on her face. “It’s a long, bathtub story. I hope Avery gets a laugh out of it.”
“Mama will laugh. She likes to wash the floor when I take a bath. Is she coming home soon?”
The hopeful longing in Rory’s eyes stung more than the tetanus shot Bill had received.
“Avery is looking for her, buddy.” Unsure how much he should say, he exchanged a wistful look with Rowan. “Your mama will be mighty surprised to hear you talk.”
“Mama cannot hear.” His expression growing sober, Rory hugged his knees to his chest. “Brent said not to talk…that he’ll bring my mitt right away.” Tears clouded his eyes. “He…he’s dead. Mama told me in the church. Avery said he’ll bring Mama back…I don’t want Mama to be like…to be dead like Brent.”
Quiet sobs racked Rory’s thin frame, transporting Bill to that dreadful summer day when he almost lost his only granddaughter. He’d felt the same despair.
“Your mama…” The boy’s heartrending pain choked Bill’s feeble response.
Broken ribs be damned.
All he wanted to do was hug Rory and squeeze the sadness and hurt out of his small body.
Scooping the youngster in her arms, Rowan held him tight against her chest, like she did with her baby daughter.
“Your mommy loves you very much, Rory.” Dusting a lock of brown hair off his forehead, she brushed a tender kiss in its place. “She misses you as much as you miss her. I know she can’t wait to see you again.”
Back when Bill had feared Rowan dead, Avery had refused to give up the search. The RCMP officer would keep looking for the boy’s mother until he found her—like he did for Rowan. That much Bill knew for certain.
“I’m sure Avery will be back shortly.” Reaching out, he patted the boy’s shoulder. “Why don’t you tell me about Finger’s new box? Did you put a new blanket at the bottom?”
To ensure everyone’s safety, Officer Stone had forbidden them to contact him. For Rory’s sake, Bill hoped to hear from him soon.
***
Victor Young…unpaid speeding tickets…charged for impaired driving…license revoked…bar fights…charged for disorderly conduct…charged for drug possession…hunting mishap resulting in the hospitalization of a fellow hunter…charged for unsafe discharge of a weapon…sexual assault…solicitation…death threats…
Vic’s rap sheet listed more misdemeanors and felonies than the criminal code, but none of the offenses had earned him a paid holiday behind bars. A combination of heavy fines, probation, and community service, which showed no proof of having been served, had kept him free to pursue his destructive habits.
Not the type of guy anyone wants to meet in the forest, let alone a lone woman.
The door of the detachment opened. Cooper strolled in.
“Hey, Cooper, what do you know of Vic Young?”
His colleague slammed his cap on the counter and glared. “You try selling the paternity result to Vic, he’ll chop you into pieces and throw you to the wolves.”
After browsing Vic’s criminal record, Avery had no trouble picturing the gruesome fate. It was the reason that stumped him. “What does Vic have to do with the paternity test?”
“Don’t play innocent, Stone. Everyone knows Vic is more than Terri’s cousin, he’s the big brother she never had.” Each step Cooper took across the floor left a small puddle of melted snow in its wake. He didn’t halt until he was by the side of Avery’s desk. “You make the mistake of hurting Terri, he’ll seek revenge, and I won’t shed a tear at your funeral.”
“Nice to know.”
If Cousin Vic was involved in the death of Hannah’s grandpa, and Abbott found out about it, it would have put him at odds with his wife’s family.
The possible ramifications extended far beyond Avery’s wildest theories. “I need to go home. Make sure you mop the floor during your coffee break.”
Chapter Thirty-Four
As Hannah walked on the hard-packed tracks created by the snowmobiles crisscrossing in the open field adjacent to Avery’s house, the officer pulled into his driveway. Avery stepped out of his truck with a big shopping bag and climbed the porch with a few bouncy strides. As soon as he opened the door, which she’d locked with his spare key, Snowflake zoomed passed him and squatted in the snow.
Hannah didn’t remember training the fur ball, but it was apparent someone had done a great job. Man and dog entered the house. A few minutes later, Avery returned outside without his cap. With one hand shielding his eyes, he seemed to scan the surrounding landscape. When his body shifted in her direction, she waved at him.
He stilled in place. The scowl on his face dumped a cold front on her otherwise fruitful day. Eager to share her discovery despite his sullen reception, she hurried toward him.
“Lady, I don’t know who you are, but—” His gorgeous brown eyes widened in shock. “Lucky? Is that you?”
Relief washed over her. He’d mistaken her for a stranger, only recognizing her when she’d come within arm’s length. And he’d used her nickname, which could mean he wasn’t a hundred percent sure of her identity.
“It doesn’t look like me, does it?”
He grabbed her by the shoulders. Through the insulation of her—
his
winter coat—she felt his hands tremble. “You’re supposed to be hiding. You’re—” His head snapped up, and a fleeting look of panic crossed his face. “You’re going to be the death of me.”
“Why?” No one had come within thirty feet of her. She’d been careful to remain as conspicuous as possible. “No one paid any attention to me.”
“Trust me.” Leaning forward, he brushed a tender kiss on her lips. “Now get in and stay there.”
Without further explanation, he nudged her inside the house and closed the door behind her.
Mystified by the man responsible for the tingling on her lips, she curled the blind up to spy on him. At the sight of his sergeant charging toward the house, understanding dawned on her.
Great.
Miffed by his scheme, she moved away from the window. Whatever story he intended to concoct for his sergeant had better be good or—
Something tripped her ankle. She tumbled on the kitchen floor, sore and undignified. Snowflake stared at her from underneath the table with her ears laid back and a sad puppy face.
Yeah…my feelings exactly.
Sitting with her legs crossed, she picked up the bag responsible for her mishap. It looked to be the same shopping bag Avery had carried coming in, and he’d left it in the middle of the floor. For a cop, he didn’t show much attention to avoidable accidents.
Mad at him for his lack of consideration, she emptied the contents of the bag onto the floor. She couldn’t care less about infringing on the privacy of a man who kissed her for fun.
Sweat pants. Tee-shirts. Sweat shirts. Boxers. Socks. Toothbrush. Antiperspirant. And a hairbrush?
Avery’s hair was so short, he didn’t need a brush, he didn’t even need a comb, but…but she sure could use one. As another possibility entered her mind, she took a closer look at his purchase. All the clothes were of neutral color. Navy blue, grey, black, and forest green. Nothing to stand out in a crowd. And they were all of the same size.
Small.
Two black socks with large feet in them appeared in her corner vision. She twisted around and met Avery’s gaze.
“I would have liked to buy you women’s clothes, but that would have raised too much suspicion.”
The qualms she harbored toward him sailed away. “That was nice of you. I promise to repay you.”
“Don’t worry about money.” He reached inside his open jacket and presented her with a set of purple underwear and orange socks. “I found these in Greta’s cave. I’m thinking they might be yours.”