Snow Ordinary Family Page 6

  Sarah nearly spit coffee out of her mouth. “June Bug, that's awful,” she laughed.

  Amanda rolled her eyes again. “With those three old bats anything is possible,” she told Sarah, leaning forward to snatch a few salty fries out of her friend’s to-go container and gobble them down. “They admitted to killing Mitchel Cochran, love. Isn't that enough to throw the book at them? Why all the fuss? Let's lock them up and let the lawyer sort out the mess.”

  “June Bug, that’s illegal, first of all, but most importantly I don't think they're guilty of murder,” Sarah explained. “If I did, I would have them locked up right now. I think it's possible...maybe...I could be wrong...that they saw something they didn’t understand. Or perhaps they're covering for someone.” Sarah put down her coffee. “You did say you heard the front door to the coffee shop open.”

  “Yes, love, I did,” Amanda confirmed. “And when I peeked out into the front room, I saw the O'Healey sisters. My eyes didn't spot another living person. No one was hiding under a table or in the corners, love.”

  Sarah began nibbling on her lower lip again as her mind struggled against the confusion taunting her. “There has to be a sensible explanation,” she insisted.

  “Love,” Amanda said in a voice that told Sarah she was asking for the impossible, “we've fought against people who are anything but sensible. The psycho model...Mr. Mafia...the crooked FBI agent...and how can we ever forget Ms. Nasty Virus who nearly killed us at the hot springs? And if that wasn't enough, we had a killer come all the way from London to try and kill us. I'm sorry, love, but sensible killers are not on the menu.”

  “The Back Alley Killer wasn't sensible either,” Sarah admitted. “But each killer has a reason...and in their minds that reason was sensible. That's what I'm trying to imply, June Bug. The O'Healey sisters obviously wanted Mr. Cochran dead, but look at their age. They could have killed Mr. Cochran when they were younger, stronger, with their minds sharper and intact. Why wait this late in the game?”

  Amanda considered Sarah's question. “Maybe they wanted to make Mitchel sweat it out?”

  Sarah shrugged her shoulders. “I don't know. All I do know is that I have a few facts and a bag full of questions that need to be answered.” Sarah checked the clock hanging on the office wall. “It'll be dark soon. We need to go.”

  Amanda sighed. “I'll get our coats,” she said, then asked, “I guess there's no chance that we can make a side stop at O'Mally's and do a little shopping, is there?”

  “I wish we could,” Sarah replied in a sad voice. “I doubt O’Mally’s is even open in this storm. I wish Conrad were home handling this case and we were at O'Mally's, walking down our favorite aisle, browsing through the beautiful clothes—”

  “Having the time of our lives.”

  “And then resting in the snack bar,” Sarah agreed, “for a cappuccino and a freshly baked cookie.”

  Amanda sighed again. “Love, I'm about ready to cry.”

  “Me, too,” Sarah moaned. “The truth is, June Bug, I know I have work to do as a cop, but deep down I want to shop until I drop, drive back to my cabin, bake a cake, start a fire, and play in the snow.”

  “I know what you mean,” Amanda replied. “Civic duty isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. Speaking of cabins, it's a good thing you had Conrad put in a doggy door for Mittens. At least she's at home all nice and warm and happy and can let herself out to tinkle if she needs to.”

  “She’s very spoiled,” Sarah pointed out, and a fond smirk crossed her lips.

  “I wouldn't mind being spoiled myself.”

  Sarah forced a cheerful smile to her face. “I promise to take you shopping when this case is solved, June Bug.”

  “You better,” Amanda smiled back.

  “You have my—” Sarah began to reply but was interrupted by the phone. “I better get that.”

  “I'll go get our coats,” Amanda said, grabbed a few more fries, and left the office.

  Sarah grabbed the phone. “Hello, Detective Gar...Spencer speaking. How may I help you?”

  “Mrs. Spencer, this is Dr. Milton,” Dr. Milton greeted Sarah in a serious tone of voice.

  “Dr. Milton, is everything okay?”

  “I drew blood from Mr. Cochran and sent it to the lab while I prepared the autopsy,” Dr. Milton explained. “On your suggestion of the possibility of poisons, I ran a series of specialized blood, tissue, and hair follicle tests.”

  “You performed the autopsy already?” Sarah asked, surprised.

  “Not yet,” Dr. Milton explained. “Sarah, there are rules I have to follow and people I have to call. I can't perform an autopsy until I get a green light.”

  “Right, right. I'm aware of the rules, Dr. Milton.”

  “Good,” Dr. Milton told Sarah. He cleared his throat uncomfortably. “Rules are very important to follow. However, there aren't any rules against drawing a few tubes of blood and other samples. Well, there are...but what certain people don't know won't hurt them. No one is going to miss a little blood.”

  Sarah felt a deep respect for Dr. Milton. The man could be strict and even difficult at times, but he knew when to bend the rules in order to discover the truth. “Dr. Milton, what did the tests reveal?”

  “Poison,” Dr. Milton stated. “A very deadly poison in sufficient quantity to stop the heart within seconds of injection.”

  Sarah closed her eyes in pain. “Any idea how the poison was delivered?”

  “Mrs. Spencer,” Dr. Milton said, standing in a cramped office full of medical books and old hunting photos, “I found no sign of violence on Mr. Cochran. I searched the man's entire body, in between his toes, his head, behind his ears, his neck, in between his fingers, his belly button, underneath his arms, every nook and cranny you can think of. I found a few old scars, some recent scrapes caused by carrying firewood, and nothing else. The only suggestion I can make is that it wasn’t injected.”

  “What are you saying?” Sarah said in confusion.

  “I don’t normally make suggestions, but one possibility you should consider is whether the poison was placed in Mr. Cochran's coffee and he drank it.”

  Sarah saw a hideous snowman chewing a candy cane amidst a powerful storm. The black leather jacket covering the snowman flapped menacingly in the icy winds. You will never escape, Sarah...I'll always be around to get you...boo…

  Sarah shook the image from her mind. “What's the name of the poison, Dr. Milton? What can you tell me about it?”

  “Mr. Cochran’s heart enzymes were saturated with the poison,” Dr. Milton explained. “The man died of a massive, instant heart attack. As for the name of the poison...I don't know. I'm trying to determine the name now.”

  Sarah opened her eyes. “Dr. Milton, could the O'Healey sisters have created this poison?”

  “Mrs. Spencer...Abigail O'Healey's son is a medical researcher. It's...possible,” Dr. Milton confessed in a miserable voice. “I'm afraid...my opinion of the O'Healey sisters might be...biased.” Dr. Milton was quiet for a moment. “Please don’t let my opinion of my fellow Snow Falls citizens affect you in the performance of your duties, Mrs. Spencer. You have a duty to perform. I expect you to do it.”

  Sarah felt a deep shot of grief enter her heart. “I wish there was some other way, Dr. Milton. But as it stands, right now I have to allow the evidence to guide my course of action.”

  “Yes, Mrs. Spencer, you do,” Dr. Milton agreed. “I'll be in touch.”

  Sarah heard Dr. Milton hang up. She put down the phone and turned around. Amanda was standing in the doorway holding her coat. “Those three old bats poisoned Mitchel, didn't they?” she asked.

  “Someone poisoned him,” Sarah said and took her coat from Amanda. “Right now, all the evidence is pointing at the O'Healey sisters. But we need more proof.”

  “Are you going to arrest them?” Amanda asked. “I mean, I know they're old and kooky, but it's a little sad to imagine them behind bars.”

  “I'm not going to arrest t
hem...yet,” Sarah promised. “We'll drive out to Mr. Cochran's cabin and look around. Maybe we can find clues that will help us.”

  “You still think the O'Healey sisters are covering for the real killer, don't you?” Amanda asked.

  “June Bug, Mr. Cochran was killed by a very deadly poison. Abigail O'Healey's son is a medical researcher. I'm worried the old woman might be covering for her son...but she's not acting in that way. Instead, all three women seem very excited about the murder.” Sarah shook her head. “It doesn’t make sense. There’s got to be more to the story. Come on, June Bug, and let's hurry. Old Steve is about to make his last plow run of the day and we need to stay ahead of the storm.”

  Amanda slid on her gloves and tossed on her hat. “Love,” she said, “someday I'm going to get through a winter without a murder taking place. And when that happens, I'm going to faint in the snow and have some hunter find my body when spring arrives.”

  Sarah put on her coat. “June Bug,” she replied, “I'll be right next to you. Come on.”

  Outside in the snow a strange figure lurked, unseen and unheard, footsteps silent in the snowdrifts that piled ever higher along the streets and sidewalks of Snow Falls.

  4

  Sarah drove her jeep down a snow-packed driveway. The tires on the jeep fought through the snow, crunching across hidden rocks, struggling to find purchase. Large, snow-coated trees loomed over the driveway, with heavy limbs drooping down and threatening to crush the small wooden cabin on its small lot. “I didn't realize Mitchel Cochran lived so far out,” Amanda said in a worried voice. “I hope we make it back to town.”

  “The snow has eased up some,” Sarah told Amanda as she eased her jeep to a stop. “I'm sure if we hurry, we'll be able to make it back into town before the snow becomes heavy again.”

  Amanda looked forward and studied the small cabin. The cabin’s roofed porch sagged under the weight of rows of dry, stacked firewood; the left side of the cabin was lined with more firewood in a tidy row and covered with a thick gray tarp, now barely visible with the snowdrifts. As far as Amanda could see, the cabin appeared normal—just like any other rugged cabin in Alaska. “What exactly are you looking for?” she asked.

  “I'm not sure,” Sarah confessed. She let her jeep stand idle for a couple of minutes and warmed her gloved hands against the vents. “To be honest, June Bug, this case has me baffled. The O'Healey sisters don't seem very upset about Mr. Cochran's death. In fact, they appear excited over being marked as suspects. It's like...” Sarah paused and stared at the snowy cabin. No smoke issued from the chimney. She knew that made sense because a dead man surely could not stoke a fire, yet it still gave the cabin a dark and cold appearance.

  “It's like what?” Amanda asked.

  “June Bug,” Sarah responded in a troubled voice, “it's like the O'Healey sisters actually believe they killed Mr. Cochran in a way that they planned...but I think he was, in fact, killed another way. The only problem with that theory is that you only remember hearing the door to the coffee shop open once...which leads me to believe someone entered the coffee shop with the O'Healey sisters...the real killer. But when I think about that idea too much, that doesn't make sense, either. We’re missing some important pieces of information.”

  “But you’re not ruling out the O'Healey sisters being the real killers, right?” Amanda asked in a regretful voice.

  “Abigail O'Healey's son is a medical researcher,” Sarah sighed. “I'm afraid the O'Healey sisters are in some really hot water now that we know Mr. Cochran died from poison.” Sarah turned off her jeep and opened the door. “We better try and stay ahead of the snow.”

  “I guess we should,” Amanda agreed. She opened her own door, eased out into an icy wind, shivered, and carefully walked to the front of the jeep. “The temperature is dropping. All the roads will turn into an ice sheet within a few hours.”

  Sarah cradled her arms together. “We need to use caution,” she stated over the howling winds. “I'm sure no one is in the cabin. The snow isn't disturbed, and it looks like no one has been here, but you can never tell.”

  Amanda nodded. “You have your gun, right?”

  Sarah glanced down at her ankle. Her holster rested just inside the lining of her snow boots. “Yeah,” she said, “but I don't want to pull it out...not yet anyway. If someone is watching us, I don't want them knowing I have a gun.”

  Amanda studied the cabin. As she did, a powerful gust of wind swept through the trees and shocked the snow right off the evergreen limbs above them. A pile of snow dropped right down onto Amanda's head. “Oh...” Amanda shouted and began slapping snow off her face, “could this day get any worse?”

  Sarah fought back a grin. “Come on, June Bug,” she said and began fighting her way through the snow toward the front porch of the cabin. The snow quickly began to make war with the boots on her feet, allowing the cold to slip through and transform her feet into frozen blocks of ice. No matter how warm a fortress a person’s clothing was in Alaska, Sarah thought, the cold always found a way into the castle.

  “I'm coming...I'm coming,” Amanda fussed and hurried after Sarah, lumbering through the high drifts like a frozen bear emerging from an iceberg. Even though she absolutely adored the snow and loved the cold, the stormy day wasn't appearing to make her a fan. “No shopping...no girls' week...no nothing except being cold and confused,” she mumbled under her breath. “Being a cop stinks.”

  Sarah heard Amanda grumbling to herself but didn't say anything. She understood her best friend's frustration. After all they had been through together it was a shame to be stuck inside another murder case that resisted their investigation. “Steps are slippery...careful,” Sarah called out as she navigated the front porch.

  “I'll be careful, love,” Amanda promised. “I wouldn’t want Dr. Milton fussing at me for breaking a leg, now would I? I mean, that bloke would love it if everyone lived inside of a protective bubble in order to spare him the inconvenience of actually having to perform his medical duties, right?”

  Sarah shook her head and grinned and held out a hand to help her best friend up the last couple steps safely. At the top of the steps, Sarah reached into her right pocket, pulled out the set of keys she had found in Mitchel Cochran's coat pocket, and then looked to her left and right. The front porch was freezing cold, nothing but snow drifts and icy winds—winds that swirled the snow around at their feet but didn't disturb the accumulated snow too much. “No tracks,” she said. “No one has been on the front porch.”

  Amanda stepped up beside Sarah. “Let's hurry inside,” she begged. “My ears are freezing off.”

  Sarah studied the front porch for a few more seconds, soaking in as much detail as her mind would allow her to absorb, and then hurried to the sturdy wooden front door and disengaged the door lock with a silver key. “Okay,” she said, “I'll go in first. You stand right here until it’s safe and I call for you. Okay?”

  “Love, we're a team,” Amanda reminded Sarah. “I'm not letting you go inside alone.”

  Sarah looked into Amanda's caring face. “Let's go,” she smiled. She carefully eased the front door open and stepped into a small living room. Amanda followed closely behind. “Careful,” Sarah whispered. “Close the door.”

  Amanda nodded, pushed the front door closed, and then looked around the living room. The first thing she noticed was a stone fireplace that had soft red coals glowing in it. The coals were dark red and quickly dying out. “Mitchel left a fire going when he drove into town,” Amanda whispered.

  Sarah locked her eyes on the fireplace. “It seems that way,” she agreed and then turned her attention to the rest of the living room. She spotted a bookshelf with neatly shelved books, a clean but old brown recliner, and a couch grouped around a coffee table with an old brass lamp. A few photos of the northern wilderness hung on the log walls. “Very basic,” she whispered and then turned her attention to a small kitchen only separated from the living room by a simple wooden dining table with a
few chairs. The kitchen too appeared clean, organized and unremarkable. Sarah checked a few drawers and cupboards but found nothing special or out of the ordinary. “Let's explore down that hallway.”

  Amanda followed Sarah. They found two doors. One door opened into a small bathroom that was neat and clean. The second door led into a spartan bedroom that held a bed, a reading chair with a lamp, a night stand, and a closet only partly full of clothes, mostly the typical plaid flannel shirts and wool sweaters he preferred. “Mitchel wasn't a very materialistic person, was he?” Amanda asked, noting the half-empty closet and the lack of decoration. “No woman’s touch here.”

  Sarah walked over to the reading chair and looked down at a small table next to it. She spotted a tobacco pipe carefully resting across an old black lacquer ashtray. “I guess not,” she said and picked up the pipe and smelled it. “Cheap cherry tobacco.”

  “Cheap everything,” Amanda pointed out. “All of this furniture looks like it could have come from a thrift store.”

  Sarah put the pipe back down and walked over to the brown plaid curtain that looked worn and almost threadbare in a few places. She ran her hands across the curtains, thought for a second, and then turned to Amanda. “No photos of any family members,” she mused.

  “Not a one,” Amanda said.

  “If Mr. Cochran doesn't have any photos of his daughters...that makes me wonder if he was close to them. I didn't find any photos of his two daughters in the wallet I found on his body, either.”

  Amanda walked over to the man’s twin-sized bed and examined an old graying quilt. At one time it might have been a dull blue color, but it had faded with too many washings and lacked all color now. “Feels like a dungeon in here. Very dreary.”