Danger in the Snow

  Danger in the Snow

  Alaska Cozy Mystery #9

  Wendy Meadows

  Like Cozies and Sweet Romance?

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  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Thanks for Reading

  About the Author

  Read more by Wendy

  1

  Sarah walked into the kitchen of her cozy, warm cabin wearing a pink bathrobe that she had purchased at O'Mally's. The bathrobe was new and so fluffy it made even the cold morning feel inviting. “Ah,” she sighed happily as she poured herself a cup of coffee, “an entire morning to myself. Maybe I can finally get caught up on my work.” Sarah glanced out the kitchen window and studied the snowstorm just beginning to howl through the trees outside. “Maybe I'll soak in a hot bath later and warm my bones,” she added.

  Mittens, Sarah's Husky puppy, let out a little whine and looked at the back door. Sarah let out a low moan. “Oh no, not again,” she begged. “Conrad let you out before he left for work.” Mittens sat up on the brown corduroy dog bed resting in the warmest corner of the kitchen and trotted over to the back door. “Oh…poor thing,” Sarah sighed and let out a laugh. “Okay...okay, I'll go get dressed. Give me a few minutes.”

  Sarah put down her coffee and left the kitchen. She returned ten minutes later dressed for the freezing weather and donned a heavy parka over her burgundy wool dress. “Just a second,” she told Mittens and quickly pulled on a pair of white gloves and a warm pink ski hat. “Okay...boots...hat...gloves...coat...we're all set, girl,” she smiled and opened the back door. “Let's go.” Mittens let out a happy bark and stormed out into the snow. Sarah wrapped her arms together, eased out into an icy wind, glanced up at the heavy falling snow, and closed the back door behind them. “Wait up,” she called out and hurried around to the back of the cabin after Mittens.

  As Mittens searched the snow around her favorite trees, a truck rumbled past on the front road. Sarah spotted the truck. A broad smile appeared across her face. “June Bug is home, Mittens. She's back from London. Come on!” Mittens quickly finished her business under the trees and ran after Sarah.

  “June Bug!” Sarah called out and began waving her hands as Amanda pulled her truck into the driveway.

  Amanda, who was usually the sort to honk the horn like crazy, eased her truck to a stop behind Sarah's jeep, put it in park, and sat very silent. Sarah stopped waving, stared at the truck, and then hurried over to the driver’s side door and opened it. “June Bug?” she asked. Sensing that something was terribly wrong, Sarah took her gloved hand and lifted Amanda's chin. Amanda's eyes were full of tears. “Oh honey, what's the matter?”

  “It's...it’s too horrible…” Amanda whimpered and wiped at her nose.

  “Did something happen? Are you okay? Is your husband okay?” Sarah asked.

  Amanda shook her head no. “I’m fine—my hubby is fine. But he…he had to stay behind in London. Again. But that’s not it…” Amanda lowered her eyes and let out a painful moan.

  “And your son—?”

  “My son is in London with my hubby,” Amanda explained as frosty snow began to stick to her face. She grabbed a green ski cap and held it down on her head with her white glove.

  “Then what's the matter? Did you and your husband have a fight?” Sarah asked, confused.

  “Oh no...we're still warm in each other's hearts,” Amanda assured Sarah.

  Sarah wiped the heavy falling snow away from her face and hugged her arms and tucked her chin down against the wind. “Did someone pass away?” she guessed, at a loss.

  Amanda shook her head no. “Everyone is alive and well.”

  Sarah felt increasingly confused. “Then why are you crying, honey?” she begged. Mittens propped her paws against the open car door, looking at Sarah and waiting for Amanda to answer.

  Amanda lifted her teary eyes up to Sarah and tried to speak again, but began sobbing before she could say anything much. “Oh, it's too horrible!”

  Sarah looked down at Mittens, shrugged her shoulders, and then focused on the snow soaking her cold face. “Honey, you’re going to freeze. Come inside where it's warm.”

  “I can’t…it feels like the world is about to come to an end. How can I possibly go inside and warm my...my tortured heart?” Amanda cried. “I would rather sit here and freeze into an iceberg.”

  Sarah pressed her lips together and tried to understand what could possibly be making her best friend so upset. “Did you...ruin a new dress?” she asked, grasping at straws. She quickly snatched onto an idea. “Oh, maybe that’s it. Did the airport lose your luggage and all the new dresses you bought in London? Oh honey, I'm so sorry.”

  “No, no. Don’t worry about that. All of the dresses I purchased are safely at home,” Amanda promised through a quiet, sobbing wail.

  “Then honey, what's the matter?” Sarah asked as her teeth began chattering together.

  Amanda's face twisted into a painful expression. The poor woman looked as if someone were taking a wrench and pulling her teeth out. “Bertha,” she hissed.

  “Bertha?” Sarah asked. “Who is Bertha?”

  Amanda grabbed Sarah's hands as if she were about to fall off a cliff. “She's…oh, words can't describe her,” she exclaimed with wide, terrified eyes.

  “Honey, you better come inside with me.” Sarah pulled Amanda out of the truck and hurried her back inside. “Now,” she said, taking off the brown coat Amanda was wearing and hanging it on the wooden coat rack next to the back door, “go sit down and I'll pour you a cup of coffee.”

  Mittens scampered in behind Amanda, then walked over to her dog bed and lay down. Now that Amanda’s coat was off, it was apparent she was wearing a strange—if not crazy—blue dress with colorful flowers on it. Sarah did not comment, worried about her friend’s mental state. Amanda let out a heavy moan, clomped over the kitchen table, and plopped down like a woman whose life was coming to an end. “Make my coffee black, Los Angeles.”

  Sarah closed the back door, hung up her coat, and hurried to pour Amanda a cup of coffee. “Now honey, take a deep breath, try to calm down, and tell me: who is this Bertha person?”

  Amanda lifted her eyes. “She's too horrible to speak of,” she whispered.

  Sarah sighed, walked a cup of coffee over to the kitchen table, and sat down. “Here, take your coffee,” she told Amanda.

  “Oh, how the warm flavors of coffee once caressed my sad lips,” Amanda sighed. “Never again will the sweet taste of java warm this weary, torn heart.”

  Sarah put her hand over her face and fought back laughter. Amanda shot her a serious look. “Sorry,” Sarah apologized, “but you're being so...dramatic.”

  “Dramatic?” Amanda asked as fresh tears flooded down her cheeks, “Do these tears look...dramatic to you?”

  Sarah shot Mittens a desperate look. Mittens tucked her head between her paws. “Uh...well...I'm just a little...confused,” Sarah eased forward like she was walking on eggshells. “You turn up looking like someone killed your loved ones, you won’t answer my questions except to tell me nothing is wrong except for this mysterious Bertha person. Why don’t you start there and explain why she’s so awful? Who is she?”

  “Who is she?” Amanda asked in a hysterical voice, “Who is she? I'll tell you who she is...” Amanda grimaced, holding back tears. “She's my...nanny,” she whimpe
red.

  “Your nanny?” Sarah asked. Amanda bowed her head. “Honey, aren't you a bit too old for a nanny?”

  “Not according to my hubby,” Amanda replied in a pained voice. “I've been getting into so much trouble lately that my hubby...” Amanda squeezed her eyes closed. “My husband had to stay in London so he hired my old nanny to fly to Alaska and babysit me. She'll be in town tomorrow morning...she's already in Fairbanks. Oh…” she groaned and hid her face again.

  Sarah grinned, finding the whole thing suddenly quite humorous. “Bertha is…your old nanny?”

  Amanda popped her eyes open. “Not funny, love,” she fussed. “Bertha is...a nightmare.” Amanda grabbed her coffee, took a sip, and burned her tongue in the process. “Oh drat,” she complained.

  “June Bug, calm down,” Sarah pleaded, fighting back laughter. “I'm sure that your gracious husband meant well.”

  “Oh, I know he meant well,” Amanda whined, “and I'm not angry at him. After all, he’s not wrong. You and I did come close to dying...on more than one occasion.” Amanda set down her coffee and checked her burned tongue. “You see,” she explained, “Bertha hates me. She loathes the very air I breathe. Of course, in the eyes of other people she pretends to worship the ground I walk on...but in private,” Amanda shivered all over, “she turns into a hideous monster.”

  “Honey,” Sarah said, “you're a grown woman. If you don't like this woman, send her packing. This is a free country. No one should ever be subjected to such cruel and unusual...treatment,” Sarah finished and covered a grin with her right hand as quickly as possible.

  “Not funny, Los Angeles,” Amanda griped. “I'm sinking in quicksand and you're making fun.” Amanda shook her head. “Shame on you...shame, shame, shame.”

  “Sorry, June Bug,” Sarah apologized, fighting back laughter, “it's just that...well, honey, you're a grown woman. I can understand if you were a child in a fairytale, but you're...you're not even close to twenty anymore.”

  “I know,” Amanda replied and then let out a miserable cry. “And Bertha has aged into something worse…an old, bitter, hateful monster.” Amanda looked at Sarah with desperate eyes. “She's even worse now than when I was a young girl…oh, far, far worse. And now...Bertha is on her way to our town.” Amanda bolted to her feet, ran to the pantry, and locked herself inside.

  “June Bug,” Sarah said and rolled her eyes, “hiding in my pantry isn't the answer.”

  “Maybe Bertha won't find me in here,” Amanda called out from the pantry. Mittens raised her head, stared at the pantry door, and then went back to sleep.

  “What a morning,” Sarah sighed and stood up. She walked over to the pantry door and knocked. “Anyone home?”

  “Just us scared chickens.”

  “Well Mrs. Scared Chicken, can I lure you out of hiding long enough to eat a cinnamon roll? I baked them last night.”

  Silence fell in the kitchen. Only the sound of the winter winds spoke. And then Amanda's voice whispered, “Cinnamon rolls? Fresh ones?”

  “Baked a batch last night,” Sarah promised.

  “Did you add the special frosting I like?”

  “I sure did,” Sarah smiled.

  Silence fell again. Amanda considered the offer Sarah had placed in her lap. “Stay safe in the pantry...or cinnamon rolls?” she whispered. After a few seconds she made her decision. “Maybe...just one,” she told Sarah as she crept out of the pantry with sad, puppy-dog eyes.

  “Oh, June Bug,” Sarah laughed. She wrapped her arms around Amanda and walked her back to the kitchen table. “I'll get you a cinnamon roll.” Sarah walked to the refrigerator and retrieved Amanda a cinnamon roll, placed it on a green plate, and heated it up in the microwave. When it beeped, she took it out and made her way back to the kitchen table. “Here, honey.”

  Amanda sighed. She looked toward the kitchen window. “Maybe she'll run off the road into the snow and turn up missing?”

  “June Bug,” Sarah scolded Amanda in a playful voice, “that's a horrible thing to say.”

  “I...suppose,” Amanda agreed. She gently picked up her cinnamon roll and took a bite. “Los Angeles, if I could only put into words how awful Bertha is. You're the writer. I wish I had your gift for words.”

  “Try, June Bug,” Sarah urged Amanda.

  Amanda kept her eyes on the kitchen window. “When I was a young girl Bertha used to...what's a good word...oh yes...torture me.”

  “Torture?” Sarah asked. She leaned across the table, picked up Amanda's coffee, and took a sip. “Torture is a very strong word.”

  “Torture is the correct word,” Amanda promised Sarah. She finally looked away from the cinnamon bun. “Bertha tortured me in...how should I put this...oh, let’s say...non-physical ways.”

  “You mean mentally and emotionally?”

  “Yes, that's exactly right,” Amanda agreed. “Bertha was...vicious with her words and actions, even if she never left a mark on me. All carried out behind closed doors, far from my parents’ eyes and ears, of course. Bertha presented herself as the perfect nanny to the public eye. Oh, my parents simply adored her...that monster.”

  Sarah began to feel the seriousness of Amanda's desperation. The situation no longer seemed amusing or funny. “Talk to me, June Bug.”

  Amanda looked Sarah straight in the eyes. “My parents gave Bertha full authority over me,” she said in a tragic voice. “Bertha would...make up lies...horrible, vicious lies…and tell things to my parents. She would never say a kind word to me...simply smile that evil, cold smile...and behind my back she was working to destroy my life. I...I tried to tell my parents the truth, but they thought I was just being a willful child, trying to get a competent, innocent woman terminated from her position simply because I didn't like her style of discipline. I always was a spirited child and I think they were grateful that Bertha was able to manage me so expertly. They had no idea how she did it…oh, if only they knew the truth. Bertha was a permanent fixture in our home until I grew old enough to truly defend myself against her. Then one day my mother caught her in a lie...after years of agony...and she sent Bertha packing, as you Americans say.”

  “Why didn't you tell me about this woman?” Sarah asked.

  “Because I blocked her from my memory,” Amanda confessed. “Why would I ever think about her? I assumed I would never see her again. But...oh, Los Angeles, she's working as a home nurse now. When my hubby and I arrived in London we had to visit an agency and arrange for my father-in-law to have a home nurse...and guess...oh, guess who was at the agency?”

  “Bertha?”

  “Yes, evil smile and all.” Amanda shivered all over. “And oh, Los Angeles, she pulled my dear hubby into her sticky web quicker than he could blink. I didn’t even see it happen.”

  “What did she do?”

  “I didn’t know until later…while we were there, I stood politely by, waited for my hubby to arrange to hire the home nurse, and we left. I thought...well, that was the end of that horrible experience. But when I arrived in Alaska last night, my husband called me and told me he also hired Bertha to be a...what was his words...oh yes, a Personal Sitter for me, someone to watch me and keep me from trouble while he's away.”

  “June Bug, just call your husband and tell him the truth.”

  “I did,” Amanda replied in misery. “I told him right then and there. He wouldn’t be moved. He said I was being childish, and anyway he already paid Bertha's salary for one full month...and well, when my hubby spends a penny he expects his money's worth.”

  “Yeah...your husband is—”

  “Cheap,” Amanda finished for Sarah.

  “Afraid so.”

  Amanda sighed. “Bertha is coming to extract her revenge, Los Angeles. She's coming to finish me off for getting her dismissed from her position.” Amanda looked at Sarah. “Love, can I stay with you? Please and pretty please with sugar on top, and all the sweets you can imagine.”

  “You know my home is your home,” Sarah assured
Amanda. “And with Conrad around, perhaps this woman will keep on the right side of the law.”

  Amanda shook her head. “Keep Conrad away from her,” she begged Sarah. “Bertha will wrap Conrad around her little finger and have him eating out of her hand.”

  “Is this woman really that awful?”

  “Evil is the word,” Amanda confirmed.

  Sarah looked toward the kitchen window. “June Bug, I trust you with my life and if you say this Bertha woman is evil then I believe you. I'll warn Conrad. In the meantime, we better drive to your house and pack a suitcase.”

  “Already did, love. My suitcase is in the truck.” Amanda picked up her cinnamon roll. “My hubby insisted I let Bertha be a sitter for me...he didn't say I had to sleep in the same cabin with her. As long as I keep my distance and only entertain her when you're around...I should be okay.”

  Sarah shifted her eyes to Amanda. A very bad feeling settled in her stomach.

  Conrad grinned at Amanda. It wasn't that he thought her situation was funny. It was...well, he thought to himself standing beside the fireplace in the living room, typical Amanda. A little over-dramatic, to say the least. “How old is Bertha?” he asked, stoking the fire with a fire iron.

  “Seventy...maybe older, maybe younger, but somewhere around there,” Amanda told Conrad and pointed a harsh finger at him. “Not a word from you, Conrad Spencer, do you hear me?”

  Conrad grinned again and decided to tease Amanda a little. “Hey, I've tangled with my share of vicious street thugs back in New York. I've even run into purse-packing old ladies who gave me a run for my money. Scary stuff.”

  Amanda stuck her tongue out at Conrad. “You’re a bloody riot. Not funny, Conrad.”

  Sarah walked into the living room carrying a wooden tray with coffee cups and a carafe. “How are things going in here?” she asked in a careful voice. “Did you tell him?”