Frozen Ground Read online

  “I’d like to have a look around the treehouse,” he said, dragging her back to the present with his deep voice.

  The sound warmed her. She would have liked to chalk up the flush of warmth to the coffee only she hadn’t so much as taken a sip. No, it was him. He’d always made her feel safe and cared for. Warm. “Of course. I’ll feel far more at ease when you’ve had a look around. I wouldn’t actually be concerned if the dates on the snack packaging hadn’t been so recent. With the murder…” She shrugged. “I had to tell you about it.”

  “It’s possible a hunter has used the treehouse recently, but I don’t think your father had any arrangements with anyone as far as hunting goes which means whoever was there, was trespassing.”

  Abbey had considered this as well. “If it turns out to be a hunter, I’m okay with that. I’m just hoping it has nothing to do with Mrs. Hansen’s murder.”

  “The location puts it about halfway between your place and theirs.”

  The concern on his face told her this was the part that bothered him. Since the last snow had melted for the most part, finding tracks wasn’t likely. That would change, however, with the way the white stuff was coming down now. If the trespasser dared to show up again, he wouldn’t be able to avoid leaving behind tracks.

  “If he shows up again, we’ll know,” she said, voicing her thought.

  He nodded, chugged more of his coffee. When he stared into the cup once more, he said, “I was thinking it might be better if you came into town and stayed for a few days. Until we get a handle on the Hansen murder.”

  A chill trickled through her. The idea had crossed her mind. She wasn’t foolish enough not to see the danger. “I don’t have a lot of time, Garrett. There’s so much here to do and I have a deadline looming. I really need to stay and get this packing done.”

  Falling any farther behind on her deadline would be a serious problem. She was genuinely concerned about her ability to meet the date that had been pushed out once already—at her request. She did not want to ask for another extension. Particularly not with contract negotiations coming up after this book was turned in and accepted.

  He set his mug on the table that fronted the sofa. “I spoke to Ted Brisbain. He’s a Park County DDA I’ve worked with on a number of cases. At my request, he called a friend of his, a detective who lives in Billings. He dropped by the duplex where Steven lives. Didn’t appear he’d been there in a couple of days. Brisbain went to his employer then. Steven worked on Friday, but no one has seen him since. When he didn’t show this morning, his boss attempted to reach him by phone and got nothing.”

  This was the news Abbey had hoped not to hear. Part of her had recognized that Steven’s involvement was a possibility—one she couldn’t so easily dismiss under the eerie circumstances. But she had hoped that wouldn’t be the case.

  “So he could be anywhere?”

  Garrett nodded. Then he closed his eyes and shook his head. When he opened them once more, he said, “I hated to pass this news along to you, but this isn’t the time to play loose with the variables. I can’t fathom why Steven would come back and do something like this, but it’s a risk I can’t take. I have to consider him a suspect until he’s been located and cleared.”

  “I wouldn’t expect anything less,” she agreed, in hopes of providing some measure of relief for the guilt he obviously felt at coming to the conclusion. “I’m sorry about the way I overreacted when you were here earlier. This is an emotional time for me.”

  “I understand. We’ve been friends far too long to doubt each other’s motives.”

  He had her there.

  “Under the circumstances,” he went on, “I’m hoping you’ll change your mind about staying in town for a few days. You’re welcome at my home anytime. You know this.” He chuckled. “Mom might ask you a million questions about the next book. She can’t wait to get her hands on it.”

  “The next book is one of my problems,” Abbey admitted on a weary sigh. “I’m behind already. I can’t afford not to stay on track at this point.” She shrugged. “With everything I need to do to prepare the house for going on the market, I feel like I’m drowning.” She pressed his gaze with her own. “I’ll be okay, really. I have Dad’s shotgun. Scott’s Market will be delivering my order any time now. I’m all set.”

  “Your order. I almost forgot.” He stood. “I stopped by and picked it up since I was headed this way.” At her confused expression, he explained, “Scott called to confirm whether the road was open after we’d blocked it off this morning.”

  Abbey sat her untouched coffee on the table next to her chair and pushed to her feet. “Makes sense. I can help you bring everything in.”

  He held up a hand. “I’ve got it. No need for both of us to go out there.”

  Before she could argue he’d hurried out the door without his coat or his hat. By the time she’d reached the door he had returned with two bags. She followed him to the kitchen where he deposited his haul onto the counter and went back for the third. Abbey stared at the damp-with-snow paper bags for a moment before she had the presence of mind to start putting things away.

  If Steven was here, had he come to see her? If so, why hide? She hadn’t written him since their father died, but even then she had told him she loved him and would like to see him. It was possible he had heard she intended to sell the place and decided to come and then lost his nerve when it came to facing her.

  But where would he have parked? Why hide in the treehouse when he could have knocked on the door? This was his childhood home the same as it was Abbey’s. Why not call?

  Unless he was guilty of something.

  Hurt and disappointment rolled through her. She did not want to think the worst, but how could she pretend it wasn’t a distinct possibility? She wasn’t that naïve.

  The sound of Garrett returning with the final bag spurred her back into action. She placed the milk in the fridge and reached for the eggs to do the same.

  He placed the final bag on the counter and lingered a few feet away for a moment before saying, “I want to have that look around now. Lock the door behind me. We’ll figure out what’s next when I return.”

  Rather than argue, she nodded and followed him to the door. He pulled on his coat and hat, and she watched him cross the porch and descend the steps. When he’d disappeared around the corner of the house, she closed the door and locked it. Part of her wanted to pull on her boots and coat and go with him.

  Instead, she rounded up her father’s shotgun and stood vigil at the back door. She watched beyond the glass as Garrett disappeared into the woods. He was right. The snow was coming down really hard now and the wind whipped madly. But the weather didn’t scare her. What terrified her was what blew in with this damned storm.

  Murder.

  A woman was dead.

  A woman she had known her entire life.

  A woman her brother had every reason to want dead.

  Chapter Seven

  The ground was covered now. Even this deep in the woods with the canopy of trees overhead, there was already an inch or more blanketing every horizontal surface.

  Garrett pulled the brim of his hat down lower to prevent the snow from flying against his face. The cold wind blew just hard enough to be annoying. The temperature had fallen dramatically in the short time since he arrived at Abbey’s. By tomorrow morning they would be lucky to hover barely above single digits.

  The timing of this storm could not be worse. He had a murderer to find. On top of that, he needed to ensure Hansen and Abbey remained safe. At this point they were the most likely targets in the killer’s crosshairs—assuming he was even still around. If the murder had been a random attempted robbery by a stranger just passing through, then he was likely long gone. But if Mrs. Hansen’s murder was about the past, then he was in all probability still here. Worse, if the latter was the case, there was a good possibility the killer was Abbey’s brother.

  Like Abbey, Garrett hadn’t seen Steven s
ince the trial. Back then, at fifteen, Garrett wasn’t the slightest bit interested in law enforcement as a career. Patrick Fielding had been the sheriff in Park County for as long as Garrett could remember. After his father’s accident, he’d spent a couple of years just taking care of the ranch. Eventually he’d needed more. It was Fielding who’d talked him into becoming a deputy. Abbey’s rush off to New York to follow her dream had left him feeling unmoored. His family had needed him more than ever. He couldn’t exactly pick up and leave—no matter that his mother had attempted to talk him into just that. Even then, she had understood how he felt about Abbey.

  But he’d stayed. Three years after he’d joined the department, his father had died. Abbey had come home for the funeral. She and her father had been there for Garrett and his mother. But afterward she’d gone back to New York. He’d watched from afar as Abbey’s dream came true. He’d been happy for her, though he’d missed her. He’d learned to settle for her rare visits. It was difficult to believe more than a decade had passed. Closer to thirty-one than thirty, it wasn’t like there wasn’t plenty of time for him to build a future with someone. His dad hadn’t married his mother until he was thirty-two. No need to rush into a lifelong commitment.

  Still, the rest of his and Abbey’s graduating class were happily settled in relationships. Most had kids.

  As far as he knew, Abbey was like him and hadn’t had a serious relationship.

  He’d often wondered if that meant she felt the same as he did—that the one for him was unreachable.

  Probably not. Abbey loved her work and her life. It was doubtful she even thought of him other than when she came home for the occasional visit. He was glad she was happy. Even if he was a little jealous.

  The treehouse, former hunting stand, came into view in the distance. Garrett pushed forward, pressing into the wind. He wanted to have a look then get back to the house to try and somehow convince Abbey to be reasonable. Staying out in this remote area with Holly descending and a murderer on the loose was irrational.

  The fallen ladder was mostly covered with snow as he approached. Grateful for his thick gloves, Garrett picked it up and leaned it against the base of the treehouse. The splintering of the wood at the top told him someone had knocked it loose. It might not have taken much but the damage hadn’t happened without a little help from some sort of outside force.

  One more knot tied in his gut. Someone had been out here with her—too damned close.

  Garrett shook off the troubling thought as he again scanned the freshly fallen snow. Cold leached beneath his coat and through his flannel lined jeans. No tracks beyond his own. Confident the ladder was steady enough, he climbed into the treehouse. He saw the boards she had pulled up to get down without jumping. He noted the table and chairs, the sleeping bag and pillow, and shifted his attention to the discarded food and drink packaging. The chip bags confirmed Abbey’s belief that the visitor had been staying in the treehouse recently. Garrett took his time, sifted through the bags and bottles, checked under the sleeping bag and pillow. Nothing stashed under the tabletop or the seat of the chairs.

  He stood then and surveyed the primitive wood walls and ceiling. No markings beyond the ones he and Abbey had made as kids. They’d each carved their names into the wood. He removed his glove and traced his fingers over the groves that spelled out her name. He’d never imagined a life that didn’t include her.

  His mother had told him more than once that he should share his true feelings with Abbey, but his ego wouldn’t let him. He’d come close a couple of times, but he’d backed out at the last minute.

  “Sad, really sad,” he muttered as he tugged his glove back on.

  There wasn’t anything in the treehouse that gave him pause beyond the discarded packaging and sleeping bag. No question someone had been here. The only question that mattered was did that person have anything to do with Mrs. Hansen’s murder. He pulled an evidence bag from his coat. He’d tucked a couple into his pocket this morning while going through the Hansen scene. He selected a water bottle and a chip bag, placed both into the evidence bag.

  After one final look around, he climbed down the ladder and headed back toward the house. The wind was at his back this time, making the going somewhat easier. With the white stuff whipping around him, the tracks he’d made coming this way were already mostly covered and nearly invisible. He stopped from time to time to survey the area around him. He didn’t spot any other tracks. Not that he really expected to in light of the weather, but he had to be certain. When the barn came into view, he broke through the tree line, moving faster toward the back door of Abbey’s house.

  She was watching for him and opened the back door as soon as he was on the porch. He stamped the snow from his boots and hurried inside. The warmth immediately enveloped him.

  “I built a fire,” she said, “you should warm up before you head back into town.”

  He recognized the offer for what it was: a reiteration that she had no intention of leaving.

  In the living room, he tugged off his gloves, tossed them on the hearth and held his open palms toward the flames. The heat seared through his freezing hands. “I don’t believe leaving you out here alone is a good idea.”

  She gestured to the shotgun propped next to her chair. “I’ll be fine. I’m certain you remember that my father made sure I was proficient with that thing before I was twelve.”

  “You didn’t sound fine when you called to tell me about what you’d found in the treehouse.” This was not a point she would appreciate him making but there was no help for it. She needed to understand this was not the time for misplaced bravado. That treehouse was less than half a mile from her back door. Someone had been holed up there very recently. The idea that a murder in the area had occurred just last night made what could simply be a coincidence something far more.

  “I was shaken, yes,” she admitted, her shoulders squaring with the reluctant confession. “But whoever has been staying out there is long gone, I’m certain. Who in his right mind would wander in the woods with a storm like Holly flexing her muscles?”

  Her conclusion held some merit. “What about around your barn? The woodshed? You’re certain there’s no one been lurking around there?”

  “I was out there this morning. I didn’t see anyone or anything that would suggest so. But you’re welcome to look if you feel it’s necessary.”

  If he’d thought she might have mellowed with age, he’d been wrong. Abbey Gray was still just as headstrong and independent as ever.

  “I’ll post a deputy to keep an eye on things.” The boots on the ground search for Dottie Hansen’s killer would end at dark so he’d certainly have an extra deputy to assign to the detail, but he’d feel better if she was at the ranch…with him.

  “Do not waste resources on me, Garrett Gilmore,” she argued with an adamant shake of her head. “I can take care of myself. I’m not going out that door and I have no intention of allowing anyone to come through it. You should focus on your investigation, Sheriff.”

  Well, that was plain enough. The determination on her face and the crossing of her arms over her breasts underscored her words. He couldn’t exactly make her go. With a sigh, he reached for his gloves and tugged them on. “Since I can’t force you without arresting you, I suppose I’ll be on my way.”

  “I don’t mean to sound ungrateful.” She mustered an apologetic smile. “Like I said, I have so much to do and, obviously, you have your hands full.”

  Before his brain could override the decision, he’d walked over to her and pulled her into a hug. The feel of her body next to his almost undid him. “I just want you safe.”

  She hugged him back. “I appreciate that.” She drew away, searched his eyes. “If Steven shows up, I’m not afraid of him. I refuse to believe he would kill anyone, much less our mother or Mrs. Hansen. Wherever he is, he has some reason that doesn’t include revenge or guilt or murder. I’m certain of it.”

  Garrett wanted to be certain, bu
t his lawman instincts wouldn’t allow him to go quite that far. “Just be careful. Think long and hard before you let him in—if he shows up at your door.”

  “I will. Now go,” she nodded toward the door, “before the roads get any worse.”

  She followed him to the door and when he walked out she closed and locked it behind him. He glanced back at her one last time before hurrying through the snow and wind to climb into his truck. She watched from the window as he backed up and turned to drive away. He waved again, and she waved back.

  Part of him resisted the idea of leaving, but she was right. He had a murder to solve.

  When he reached the end of her long, snaking drive, he made a right onto Mill Creek and headed back to town. The Hansen place was in the opposite direction, but only a mile at most. Most of the road that was Mill Creek was dirt and gravel. A mile or so before intersecting with Highway 89, the dirt and gravel gave way to pavement. But here, there was no pavement and no true shoulder. Passing another vehicle or getting off the road wasn’t a simple matter, particularly in this weather. With the storm coming, staying off the road once darkness fell would be in everyone’s best interests.

  As he reached the old Munford place, he braked to a stop. He peered through the white stuff filling the air and surveyed the ramshackle old house that was on the verge of falling in on itself. When he’d been a kid, Hal Munford and his wife Lanita had lived there. The couple had been ancient even then. No kids. The property had gone to a nephew of Hal’s who lived in California, but he’d never come to collect any of the belongings there. He paid the taxes and that was about it.

  Garrett eased off the road into what had once been a narrow drive. The old house was close to the road so he didn’t have to go far. He climbed out of the truck and scanned the area. The roar of the river that ran along the other side of the road was nearly deafening in the otherwise silence. Like any barn or structure this close to the crime scene, the deserted house had been checked earlier today but it didn’t hurt to have another look. Particularly considering it was this close to Abbey’s place and that treehouse recently used for shelter by an unknown person.