Cold Hunter's Moon (16 page)

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Authors: K. C. Greenlief

BOOK: Cold Hunter's Moon
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Before she could respond, Lark jabbed the speaker button. Mary Lou's voice stammered out into the room. “Sheriff Swenson, I don't know what else to do. I could try to find you a couple of motel rooms or you could always go over to my house—”
“Mary Lou,” he interrupted, “give me the Ransons' number.” He leaned against the counter, rigid with anger as he scribbled it on a notepad.
“Do you want me to call Mr. Ranson, sir?” Mary Lou asked.
“No, thank you, I'll do it myself.” Lark hung up and dialed the Ransons'. He put the phone on speaker while it rang. John sleepily answered on the sixth ring.
“John, this is Sheriff Swenson, I need your help,” Lark said, his tone professional.
“Damn, what time is it?” John asked. “What's wrong?”
“Almost three-thirty. Do you have any plywood left from boarding up your windows?
“Yeah, what happened?”
“Someone just shot the glass out of my family room. We can't seem to raise the people we usually use for this sort of thing.”
“Jesus Christ, was anyone hurt? Did you get the guy?”
“Got away and no one was hurt.”
“I'll be there as soon as I get dressed. Give me directions to your house.”
It was 5 A.M. by the time the windows were boarded up.
“Do you think whoever did this also took a shot at Ann?” John asked as he packed up his tools.
“This is too much of a coincidence to be accidental,” Lark replied.
“Then someone shot at Ann deliberately?”
“It looks that way.” Lark watched anger flood John's face. “It wouldn't be a bad idea for you to stay around the house as much as possible until this is wrapped up.”
“I'll take care of her,” John said as he left.
The deputies left right after John. Lark called Mary Lou and let her know he'd be in by eleven, but to call him if they needed him sooner. He asked her to have one of the patrols check the Ransons' house at least every hour. The adrenaline surge he and Lacey had been running on
was gone; they were both exhausted. The house was so cold you could see every breath despite the furnace running full blast.
“There's a fireplace in my bedroom. That room will hold the heat better than this cave,” Lark said, lugging a load of firewood. “You're welcome to sleep there.”
“Good idea,” Lacey said, rubbing her hands up and down the arms of her coat. “I feel like I could sleep standing up. Besides, I take great comfort in knowing that I'm not your type.”
“Fine,” Lark said, plodding up the stairs. “All I want to do is sleep and keep warm. We can argue about types and age differences later.”
He got the fire going and Lacey retrieved a couple of extra blankets out of the linen closet. They climbed into Lark's bed and were asleep as soon as their heads hit the pillow.
NOVEMBER 24—SWENSON
When the phone rang at 8 A.M. Lark was sleeping so soundly he didn't hear it. After four rings, Lacey crawled across him and grabbed it.
“Yeah,” she said as she rolled back to her side of the bed.
“Uh, is this the Swenson residence?” asked a male voice.
“Yeah,” she said, still half asleep.
“Lacey?”
“Yeah.”
“What the hell is going on? You sound like you're nursing the worst hangover in history,” boomed Grenfurth.
“Jesus, is that you, Joel?” she asked, gaining a bit more consciousness.
“No, Smith, it's the good fucking fairy. I repeat, what the hell is going on up there? The dispatcher said you and Lark had some kind of accident and wouldn't be in until eleven.”
“Someone shot the glass out of the back of Lark's house last night. We didn't get to bed until after five.” She stifled a yawn.
“Are you OK?”
“No problems a week of sleep wouldn't cure.”
“Is that Grenfurth?” Lark mumbled. “If it is, tell him he'd better get off the damn phone unless he's called to tell us this fucking case is solved.”
“Is that Swenson?” Joel asked.
“Here, talk to each other,” she said, dropping the phone on Lark's chest as she got up.
“If you were here I'd put a stake through your heart,” Lark said after he found the phone. He realized Lacey had left when he heard the door close just a bit louder than necessary.
“Wow, I can't hardly believe it. You two are already sleeping together. You're back to your old self. Molly and I knew you two would be perfect for each other.”
“Shut up, Joel, it's not what you think. We slept in my bedroom in front of the fire so we could keep warm. We've both got on two layers of sweats. This was survival, not romance.”
“Yeah, uh-huh, survival. That's gotta be the best line I've ever heard, even from you.”
“What the hell did you call for? I've had less than three hours of sleep and my fuse is very short.”
“I think we may have a line on Yellow Mitten.”
“You're shitting me,” Lark said, lurching up in bed.
“I'm serious as a heart attack. Get some coffee, and call me back at the office.” Joel hung up.
Lark staggered out of bed just as the shower in the next room started running. He felt like he was ninety. He lumbered downstairs to make coffee only to find it already made.
He wandered through the first floor surveying the damage. His television looked like Elvis had taken a shot at it. Glass had been swept into three large piles on his floor. He went to salvage the pottery pieces from the rubble and found that someone had already placed them on a dishtowel on the dining-room table. Miraculously, the rest of the furniture was intact, with the exception of some gouges in the dining-room table. He was laying out the pottery pieces to see if it was worth having the bowl repaired when he heard the shower stop. He rushed upstairs to take his turn.
When he came downstairs Lacey was sitting at the bar drinking coffee. She had her coat on over top of her jeans and a sweatshirt.
“What did Joel want?” she asked, sipping her coffee.
“He has a line on Yellow Mitten. We're supposed to call him at the office.”
Lacey hit the speaker button and dialed Joel.
“A Mrs. Foltz from Superior called the Madison campus police last night and asked them to check the dorm for her daughter, Terry. She was expected home on Monday but never made it. Campus police called us this morning. Terry Foltz fits the description of Yellow Mitten.”
“Why did her mom wait so long to call and report her missing?” Lacey asked.
“Don't know. Mrs. Foltz is on her way down to take a look at Yellow Mitten. She's sure it isn't her daughter because she doesn't know why she would have come to Big Oak. She wants to see the body to put her fears to rest.”
“Did Madison have a photo of Terry Foltz?” Lacey asked, jotting notes.
“Yep, they faxed it up just before you called. It's her, no question.”
“Shit. How long ago did she leave?” Lark asked.
“Who? Joel asked.
“Mrs. Foltz, dammit. How long ago did Mrs. Foltz leave for Wausau?”
“My, my, If you get any crankier we'll have to send you to charm school one-oh-one.”
“Up yours, Grenfurth,” Lark said, pausing to sip his coffee.
“They'll be here at noon. She had to stop and get her husband.”
“We'll meet you there,” Lark said. “Can you fax us what you got from Madison so we can read it on the way?”
“Sure thing.”
After Joel hung up, Lacey went upstairs to change, and Lark called his insurance adjuster. He called Park Falls Furniture Mart and they agreed to deliver a new television if he came in by noon and picked it out.
Lark called the station and got George Knutson, who was working after having most of the week off for Thanksgiving. Lark asked him to have the notes and photos on the shootings at both his house and the Ransons' ready to pick up in half an hour. He also asked George to start files on David Banski, Michael Waltner, Sandi Waltner, Katey Lowery, Shelley Marten, Jim Kryjack, and Ron Chevsky. George had been with
the sheriff's department for twenty-five years and, like Flo, knew everyone. He would have thorough information on each of the students when they got back from Wausau.
By the time he was done with his phone calls, Lacey was dressed. They left the house just after nine. Although they brought a thermos with them, Lacey insisted that they stop at the Big Oak Diner for pastries before they picked up the case file and the information on the shootings. After stopping in Park Falls to pick out a television, they headed for Wausau.
Usually, the trip from Big Oak to Wausau was a relaxing two-hour drive through some of Wisconsin's most beautiful countryside. Today the rolling hills were covered with snow. The radio informed them that parts of northern Wisconsin had received a record forty inches in the last ten days. They dodged huge snowplows, out in force to clear the snow and ice-covered roads. Despite the weather, the roads were littered with trucks and cars parked on the berm, and blaze orange suits dotted the fields.
They were fifteen miles out of Park Falls when five deer ran across the road. Ten miles later, Lark slammed on the brakes as four hunters ran across the road in front of them. One skidded and fell. In his effort to break his fall, he dropped his rifle, which came whirling down the highway towards their Jeep. Thankfully, the gun didn't discharge. The hunter sheepishly waved to them after he retrieved it.
“Jesus, there's living proof that God does take care of drunks and fools, or maybe that's drunken fools,” Lacey said as they drove slowly by the group.
“Everyone's trying to get their deer before the end of the season.”
“Up here it's always open season on deer. There were hundreds of poaching arrests last year in Wisconsin, and that's a mere fraction of what goes on. The only difference between deer hunting now and next week is that it's legal now.”
“My, my, aren't we in a great mood,” Lark commented, smiling over at her.
“Jeez, sorry about that. I normally do much better on three hours of sleep.”
“Take a nap. We'll go over the case notes on the way back.”
Lacey turned on the radio and settled in to doze with her head up again the car door.
NOVEMBER 24—ANN RANSOM
When the alarm went off, Ann rolled over to hit the snooze button. She yelped in pain the minute her left shoulder hit the mattress. After getting herself into a more comfortable position, she glanced at the clock and groaned when she saw it was only 7:30. She felt as if she hadn't slept a wink. She rolled out of bed, pain shooting up her left arm and shoulder. Without bothering to put on a robe, she headed into the master bathroom only to remember that they were sleeping in a spare bedroom until the windows were replaced.
If she hadn't felt so bad she would have had a good cry. She didn't need a degree in rocket science to realize that she had to get her pain under control before she did anything else. She went downstairs to get her pain pills.
John had left a note on the island telling her to call him when she was ready to go in for her antibiotic. Knowing that he had gone from one construction job to three in less than twenty-four hours, Ann made a mental note to let him know she'd drive herself. She washed down one Tylenol with codeine with a glass of grape juice and fished a bagel out of
the breadbox. She sat down at the kitchen table facing the sliding-glass door.
It wasn't snowing but it was dark and overcast. The thermometer said ten below. Water lapped up on the ice that had formed out to about ten feet from the lakeshore. The wind created small snow devils. Chickadees made perilous assaults on the bird feeders, snatching up sunflower seeds and speeding back into the bushes. Woodpeckers clung to the suet feeders as they swung in the wind, and half a dozen gray squirrels scampered around the bottom of the trees, picking up leftovers, fur puffed out to twice its normal size.
Ann had finished her breakfast and was thinking about getting dressed when the phone rang. It was Cathy Lowery calling to find out how she was.
“Are you guys home?” Ann asked.
“No, I flew up to Bessemer. I just wanted to check up on you.”
“We're fine. Couldn't be safer with the cops everywhere.”
“That's not what I hear.”
“Tell me what's out there on the grapevine,” Ann said, knowing that Cathy had the best network in Big Oak.
“I heard that you got shot and then refused to stay at the hospital.”
Ann laughed. “I didn't get shot. A deer hunter shot through our bedroom window and I got some glass through my shoulder.”
“I wish people would get it straight,” Cathy said. “I also heard they've identified one of the bodies as Gemma Patterson. Katey's in shock. We can't imagine who would do such a thing to her. She was such a nice girl. Have they identified the other person yet?”
“Not that I know of, but then I didn't know they had officially identified the first body”
“Myra told me she heard about it when she came over to visit you yesterday. She said they questioned David about her.”
“Cathy.” Ann sighed. “They were questioning him because Gemma's missing, not because the body has been officially identified.”
“Well, they must be pretty sure or they wouldn't have mentioned her.”
“You couldn't prove it by me.” Ann knew that every word she said would be all over Big Oak at the speed the rural long-distance lines would allow.
“How did Katey know her?” Ann asked.
“They were college friends.”
“Well, if it's her, the sheriff will probably want to talk with all of you. If I see him, I'll tell him where he can find you.”
They talked a few more minutes about the usual stuff: the weather, the holiday, the progress of her father's competency exam, the dastardly deer hunters, including Cathy's own husband and sons. By the time Ann got off the phone, her pain was starting to ease up.
She headed upstairs to get dressed and got to the top of the stairs just as the phone rang. She made it into the ice-cold master bedroom just as the answering machine picked up.
“Ann, pick up,” John yelled overtop of the loud racket from a nail gun.
“I'll call you back from downstairs. I'm in our bedroom freezing my ass off.”
“Just tell me what time you want to go to the ER.”
“I can drive myself.”
“Bullshit, you shouldn't be driving on these roads, full of codeine.”
Ann pictured roads full of codeine and started laughing. She was fascinated by the little puffs of fog her breath made. At that point, she knew she wasn't in any shape to drive. They agreed that John would pick her up in an hour. She gathered up her clothes and headed for the bathroom.
She was doing her hair when the phone rang; Sara Waltner was leaving a message by the time she picked up.
“Sara, sorry about that. I just couldn't get to the phone in time.”
“I'm surprised you can get to it at all. We just got back this morning and heard what's been going on. Is there anything I can do for you? I was going to bring over some food, but Myra tells me she has that covered.”
“No, we're fine. How was your Thanksgiving?” Ann asked, trying to change the subject.
“We went to Wausau to see my family. A nice restful holiday until we saw the news. We came home this morning to hear that both you and the sheriff have been shot at.”
“How'd you hear about that?”
“Steve called me. He heard about the sheriff needing new sliding-glass doors at the hardware store. He said the sheriff and the woman he's living with were nearly killed last night. He also said the sheriff has set up a command post at your house.”
“They haven't set up a command post here, and Sheriff Swenson and Detective Smith aren't living together. She's a Wisconsin State police officer.”
“Rumor has it that one of the bodies might be a girl named Gemma Patterson, a student that went to school with Katey and Sandi?” Sara asked.
“Where did you hear that?” Ann asked.
“Myra and Cathy called and told me. Did you hear that, too?”
“As far as I know the police haven't officially identified either of the bodies.”
“Listen. I'm going to run some errands—grocery shop, dry cleaners, that sort of thing. Is there anything you need?”
“Not a thing.”
“Call me if you do. We'll be home all weekend.”
Sara hung up just as Ann realized she had forgotten to ask her when she wanted to pick up Steve's Flow Blue. She tried to call her back but the line was busy. Ann heard the front door open and close.
“Jeez, you're not ready yet?” John glanced up at her and then down at his watch. “Are you having trouble?”
“Just with the phone,” Ann said, hugging him with her good arm before heading into the bathroom.
“Lark's windows and doors will be in this afternoon. They were able to get them on today's supply truck. I thought I'd try to get them in today,” John said, following her into the bathroom. “If I don't get them in they're going to have to stay with us.”
Once Ann was dressed, they headed for Mason County Memorial. It took about an hour for Ann to get her antibiotic and wound check. They were delayed from leaving when the Marshfield helicopter landed to pick up a man who had gotten drunk and fallen into his campfire. He had second- and third-degree burns over thirty percent of his body. Since his friends were also inebriated, it took them quite a while to fish him out of the fire.
They got home at eleven. Ann's shoulder was starting to ache, so she took two pain pills and lay down on the sofa. She slept soundly until the dogs awakened her. Although they stopped their tug of war when she yelled at them, Buck picked up what they'd been fighting over and brought it to her, his head down in submission. Visions of another body part flashed through Ann's head when she saw the fingers of a glove
dangling from his mouth. Ignoring her pain, she ordered him to release and he dropped his prize into her hand.
It was part of an empty gray cashmere-and-fur glove. She picked up as many pieces as she could find but didn't see a label. It wasn't hers so she assumed it belonged to a visitor. She thought about their recent guests as she went into the kitchen to take a couple more pain pills. She washed them down with soda and noticed the pink-purple tones of sunset low in the west. The kitchen clock said it was 4:15. She was shocked to have slept the day away.
She got a piece of turkey from the refrigerator and sat down at the kitchen table to write down the names of everyone she could remember who had been in the house during the last week: Lark, Lacey, Paul Dolphson, Betty Chevsky, Jim Kryjack, Joel Grenfurth, Sara Waltner, and Myra and David Banski. She decided to ask Lacey if she'd lost a glove. She and Lark had been around the most.
The telephone stopped her musings. It was John letting her know he'd be working until at least eight that evening installing Lark's doors. Ann assured him she was fine and that nine would be a great time to take her to the ER.
As her pain wore off, she became fidgety. She tried knitting, needlepoint, and reading, but they didn't calm her restlessness so she decided to drive over to Lark's. She made enough turkey sandwiches for John and his crew, and slid wedges of pumpkin pie into some Tupperware. She threw a tub of Cool Whip into her care package along with a six-pack of Lienenkugels. The dogs were sound asleep, so she left them in the house.
It was dark as midnight even though it was only 5:45. When she backed out of the garage, she was shocked to see how hard it was snowing. She shut the garage door and put the Explorer in four-wheel drive.

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