Frozen Ground Read online

  As she entered the room, he knocked back a slug of coffee and moaned with pleasure. “You always make the best coffee. What’s your secret?”

  “Joe,” she told him.

  A frown furrowed across his brow. “Someone I know?”

  She laughed and shook her head. “That’s my preferred coffee brand. I brought some with me.”

  “Ah, I see.” He lifted his cup in a kind of salute. “Good stuff, this Joe.”

  She moved across the room and leaned against the counter near the sink, ensuring a safe distance since her every nerve ending still jangled at seeing him. “How’ve you been?”

  “Good. Busy. You know how it is. Tourists are always getting lost. The regulars who frequent the honkytonks like to engage in the occasional brawl. Hikers and hunters get into trouble deep in the woods.” He shrugged. “Same old, same old. How about you?”

  “Busy,” she echoed his answer. “I’ve spent the better part of the past year on the road doing signings and speaking engagements.” She sighed. Everything but writing. Now she was paying the price.

  “Everyone’s really proud of you, Abbey. You made the big time.”

  Abbey smiled. “I was very fortunate. Lots of writers far better than me don’t get so lucky. It’s a feast or famine business.”

  “You beat the odds.” He savored more of the coffee. “I always knew you would.”

  He wasn’t just blowing smoke. She remembered well all the times he’d told her that she was going places. He was the one person she’d dared to use as a sounding board on her story ideas. He’d always liked them and offered whatever criticism crossed his mind. A lover of books, he wasn’t going to sugar coat his thoughts.

  “How’s your mom?” It struck her again that she no longer had any family for anyone to ask about. Strange, she hadn’t realized how lonely she was until now. Maybe it was just those unexpected emotions at seeing this man. Or reading that darn journal.

  “Doing really well. Mom’s still bossing the wranglers around no matter that we have a ranch foreman. She still rides, believe it or not.” He laughed. “She says someone has to make sure they do their jobs while I’m out catching the bad guys. In the evenings she still quilts. She swears she’s starting a shop online so that when she’s too old to boss everyone around, she’ll have something to fill her time.”

  Abbey laughed. “More power to her. She’s amazing.” Like you, she barely bit back the words. Okay, no more reading in the journals for her.

  “She’s something all right,” he agreed.

  His mother was incredibly talented. One of her quilts was on the sofa at Abbey’s apartment. She wasn’t surprised at all that the woman was still running things. She always had and Garrett’s father had been happy to let her. No one decorated like her either. Her home resembled something from a popular design magazine layout.

  “She loves your books, by the way.” He sat his empty mug aside. “In fact, she called you amazingly talented.”

  Abbey smiled. “Thank her for me. Her opinion means a great deal to me.”

  “We have to spend some time together, Abbey.” His hands settled on his hips. “Last time was too hard to think of anything except your daddy. But it feels like it’s been forever since we caught up.”

  He was right. The truth was, she wasn’t sure when she would be getting back this way. Catching up would be a good thing. “Definitely,” she agreed. “It’s been too long.”

  “You know that storm will likely hit us hard later today.”

  “I do and I’m prepared. I have food and plenty of firewood in case the power goes out. Propane for the generator. Most important, enough wine to stay happy through the entire event.”

  He chuckled. “Sounds like you’re good to go.”

  “If only I had all things packed up around here, I might actually be able to relax.”

  “That settles it.” He gave a nod. “As soon as I’m done for the day, I’ll be here to help. I’ll bring the pizza.”

  Growing up they’d loved pizza. If they were together there was pizza involved. The memory had Abbey smiling. “I will gladly take any help I can get, and pizza would be great. You should probably bring beer. I only have the wine I brought with me.”

  She had understood that this was going to be a difficult task, emotionally speaking, so she’d come prepared.

  “You heard anything from your brother?”

  She shook her head. “Maybe one day, but not so far.”

  “It’s too bad. I always looked up to Steven. I never understood what went wrong.”

  “None of us understood. I hoped in time we’d become a family again, but I guess he still can’t forgive us for not being able to save him from prison.”

  “Speaking of murder,” Garrett said, his tone somber now.

  Tension slid through her. “What’s going on?”

  Park County had its share of crime, but there had never been that much trouble around this area. Other than her mother’s murder. It was the most heinous crime to ever happen in this part of the county. Abbey wondered, as she had hundreds of times, if her brother hadn’t murdered their mother…who did? Was this unknown person still running around free? A trickle of uneasiness slid through her veins. She barely suppressed a shiver.

  “Dottie Hansen was murdered last night.”

  A quake of shock shuddered through Abbey. She had lived in New York City for more than a decade. There were murders on a too regular basis merely because of the sheer number of people jammed into the area. But this was Park County. It was an uncommon event. The reality that it was her neighbor, a woman she had known her entire life, made the news all the sharper and more stunning.

  “What happened? Is Mr. Hansen all right?” She had called the Hansens aunt and uncle when she was growing up. They had been the closest to extended family she and Steven had. The two had been particularly helpful after her mother’s death.

  “We’re trying to piece that together,” Garrett said, worry etching itself across his face. “Mr. Hansen is fine. He was out of town. Making a pickup for the auction house. He arrived home early this morning and found her.”

  Abbey’s hand went to her mouth. Her stomach flipped and her chest tightened with disbelief. “How awful. I can’t believe it.”

  “I’m sure sorry to have to pass along this news. I know you and your family were very close with the Hansens.” A smile tugged at one corner of his mouth. “I remember she worked on the dress you wore to senior prom. You were all out of sorts because you’d ordered it, waited forever for it to arrive and then it didn’t fit.”

  Abbey smiled too. She had forgotten all about that dress. But now that he mentioned it, she was fairly certain it was still hanging in her closet upstairs. “She was a lifesaver on more occasions than I can recall.”

  Dottie Hansen and Abbey’s mom had been good friends. The Hansens were always coming over for dinner. Always bringing a freshly baked cake or other goodies. The best neighbors. They had no children of their own. Abbey supposed she and her brother were their surrogates. When her mother died, Dottie had cooked and cleaned and done laundry for weeks. Abbey and her father would have been lost without the couple.

  “I should go over there.” Abbey suddenly felt the urge to try and help as the Hansens had helped them so many times.

  “We’re still going through the crime scene,” Garrett explained. “It’ll be a while before we release the property.” He plowed the fingers of one hand through his hair. “When one of my deputies mentioned that you were here, I was worried. The Hansen house is not that far from yours. The killer could have come here after…” He drew in a weary breath. “After he left their house.”

  “Do you have a time frame when this happened?” Abbey hadn’t arrived until shortly after eleven last night.

  “The coroner estimated time of death between midnight and two, but that’s a rough estimate considering her body was outside in the cold.”

  Abbey’s breath trapped in her throat. “I turned
into my driveway just before midnight.”

  The idea that someone may have been next door murdering poor Mrs. Hansen at that same time twisted inside her.

  “Did you encounter a vehicle as you were driving along Mill Creek?”

  She shook her head. “It was dark as pitch. There wasn’t anyone else on the road.”

  “Did you call and let the Hansens know you were coming?”

  Another shake of her head. “I didn’t. It was kind of spur of the moment. I was at a frustrating place in my work in progress and I thought the drive and the change of scenery would,” she shrugged, “shake things loose.”

  “You drove all the way from New York?”

  She laughed. “I did. I’m relatively certain I won’t be doing that again.”

  “Still impulsive as ever, I see.”

  “Sometimes,” she admitted.

  The vague hint of a smile he’d shown as he asked the question faded and his face turned serious again. “Were you in and out of the house for a bit when you first arrived? Maybe unloading your bags?”

  “I was. Yes. I got out and unlocked the door. Came in and looked around, turned the thermostat up. Then I went back out and brought in my suitcase and laptop case.” She sighed. “I’m on deadline and,” she held her hands up in a helpless motion, “I need to do this to get the house ready to sell.”

  “I understand.” He searched her face a moment before asking, “You didn’t hear anything in the distance? Maybe a shout or the sound of a vehicle door closing?”

  Abbey concentrated hard on those few minutes of going in and out when she first arrived. “No. Nothing. It was completely quiet. The complete opposite of nights at home.”

  He stared at her a moment longer and she realized she had just called Manhattan home. It was, she supposed, on one level. Still, a part of her would always consider this place home.

  “Have you looked around outside since you arrived?”

  “I have. I checked the barn and shed. Walked around the yard and visited the family cemetery. You think the killer came through here after what he did?”

  “Just trying to cover all the bases.”

  “What happened?” Abbey hoped the poor woman hadn’t been brutalized before being murdered. No one deserved to die like that.

  “She was stabbed. In the back. Repeatedly.”

  The news took her aback. Again, she found herself having difficulty slowing her pounding heart. So that was why he was here. This wasn’t just about proximity.

  As if he’d read her mind, he asked, “You’re certain you haven’t seen or spoken to Steven?”

  And there it was. After all these years and no matter that Garrett had known Steven, her brother was suddenly a person of interest in another murder.

  “I haven’t seen or spoken to him.” She hadn’t intended for her tone to sound so curt, but the question triggered a defensive instinct she couldn’t control.

  “I’m not accusing him of anything, Abbey. These questions are standard procedure.”

  Funny. She’d just been thinking that eventually the bond between the two of them would fade. Seemed as through maybe it had. Before, he had believed Steven just as she and her father had. Had becoming a member of law enforcement changed his view?

  “Why would he kill Mrs. Hansen after all this time?” Her arms had crossed over her chest in yet another display of defensiveness. She hadn’t intended to let him see how this line of questioning irritated her but there it was.

  “He spent a lot of years in prison primarily based on her testimony. Now he’s out and no longer required to have close supervision.”

  Anger sparked deep inside her. “I really should get back to this.” She glanced around. “Please convey my sympathies to Mr. Hansen.”

  Without waiting for him to answer, she turned and walked back to the front door. He followed.

  “Thanks for coming by, Garrett.” She managed to meet his eyes. Saw the disappointment there.

  “I’ll check on you later today,” he offered. “I’ll bring that pizza and help with the packing.”

  “I’m fine really.”

  He nodded. “All right. You know my number if you need anything.”

  She watched him go and promised herself she would not need anything.

  Some things about this place never changed.

  The newspapers, the community had been all too ready to condemn Steven. Someone was dead—murdered—and the masses wanted someone to blame. She just hadn’t expected that mentality from Garrett.

  Hesitation slowed her next thought, but she couldn’t ignore the undeniable fact in his words. Mrs. Hansen was the one to seal Steven’s fate.

  If her brother wanted to hurt someone for what happened to him, the poor woman would most likely have been the target.

  Abbey closed the door and pressed her forehead there.

  No, she told herself, her brother wouldn’t come back here. He wouldn’t kill anyone.

  But what if she was wrong?

  Chapter Four

  11:00 a.m.

  Abbey pulled on her coat and gloves once more. She shouldn’t have allowed Garrett’s suggestion to get under her skin.

  Still, after due consideration she had to admit he was right. Steven was a logical suspect.

  But her brother wasn’t a killer. She had never believed him capable of murder and she was not going to start now. Whether he ever spoke to her again was irrelevant.

  Abbey closed her eyes and took a deep breath. There had been blood all around her mother’s body. The butcher knife her mother had been using to slice ham from the pork shoulder on the cutting board had been rammed over and over into her back. Steven was covered in her blood. He insisted he had pulled the knife from her back and tossed it on the ground in an attempt to help her. He’d turned her over and attempted CPR.

  Falling to her knees, Abbey had only been able to stare at the scene before her. She had been in the woods on her way back from her secret place—not that the old treehouse was a secret, but she’d pretended it was. She’d heard her brother screaming and come running. Shortly after she came upon the scene, her father returned from a trip into Livingston. He had rushed around the house and snatched his wife from his son’s arms. Both men had been crying and screaming.

  Mrs. Hansen had been on the back porch. She’d been sitting on the steps, weeping and covered in blood from trying to help as well. She had already called the police.

  Garrett was right. It was Dottie Hansen who had insisted that she’d come to the front door to borrow vanilla extract. She was baking and had run out. She’d heard Steven shouting. She’d rushed around the house just in time to watch Steven chase his mother from the house and stab her repeatedly. When he finally stopped and just sat there staring at what he’d done, Mrs. Hansen had rushed into the house and called the police. When she’d come back outside to try and help her injured friend, Steven had screamed for her to stay away. It was her testimony that confirmed the scenario the police had developed. After all, Steven’s fingerprints were on the knife.

  Abbey could never get right with that scenario. There had to be another explanation. Someone else had to have been in the house. Dottie Hansen couldn’t have seen what she thought she saw.

  Now she was dead.

  For sixteen years Abbey had never swayed from her belief in her brother even when he pushed her away repeatedly. But now, the woman who cemented his fate was dead, murdered in the same manner as their mother.

  Abbey blinked back the burn of tears. It was time for her to reevaluate what she had believed all these years. She walked out the back door, shuddered at the blast of cold. Her gaze went immediately to the sky. The storm wasn’t going to give them a pass. It was coming. Soon.

  Bracing herself against the cold, Abbey headed into the woods. Her secret place was deep in the woods where she had played as a child. A long abandoned hunting stand—the kind built into a tree—had become her private sanctuary. She’d taken all sorts of things to the treehou
se. Her father had helped her. A small table with a couple of chairs. Her favorite set of pink tin dishes. A quilt her grandmother had made and a pillow.

  Her boots crunched against the leaves and snow seemingly turned to glass atop the frozen ground. She had stopped going to the treehouse after the day her mother died. But the way to it through the woods was permanently etched into her memory.

  When she reached the treehouse, she studied the ladder a moment before daring to climb up the rickety structure. She glanced around, didn’t see any tracks in the patches of snow. Though it was more drifts here and there rather than a solid blanket, surely if someone had been lurking they would have stepped in the snow at some point.

  Taking a breath, she reached for the ladder and started to climb. The boards creaked, one moved a little and she stilled, waited to see if it would hold her weight. Two more rungs upward and she could see inside the treehouse. The table and chairs her father had made for her were still there, a bit worse for the wear. There was a sleeping bag and a pillow but not the one she had put there all those years ago.

  Heart pounding, Abbey climbed into the treehouse. Water bottles, some empty, were tossed about. Packaging from chips and cookies were scattered over the roughhewn wood floor. She picked up one of the chip bags and checked the expiration date. Her chest tightened. Someone had been here recently.

  Abbey sifted through the items in the space. Checked beneath the sleeping bag and inside the pillow slipcover. There was nothing beyond the evidence that someone was or had been eating and sleeping here.

  She closed her eyes and forced away the little voice in her head. This could not be her brother. He wasn’t a killer.

  A crack rent the air and Abbey instinctively drew deeper into the treehouse.

  Fear seared through her veins.