Snow Ordinary Family Read online

  Sarah studied the open closet door. “I want to examine the closet a little closer.”

  “Okay, love.” Amanda smoothed her hand over the quilt again with a sad expression and watched as Sarah got to work.

  Sarah walked over to the closet door, peeked her head inside, and found a light. She switched it on and began to examine the clothes, worn-down boots, and a box full of winter hats and work gloves. Nothing looked like it had been bought in the last ten or twenty years. No other items were present on the shelves or in the back of the closet, no matter how many times she looked. “Clean,” she said in a disappointed voice.

  “Let's go back to the living room,” Amanda suggested.

  Sarah closed the closet door. “Let me look under the bed first,” she said and knelt down for a quick look, not expecting to find anything more than dust bunnies. To her shock, she spotted a small wooden box. “Found something,” she called out and retrieved the box and placed it on the bed.

  “A box?” Amanda asked. “Hmm...this could be interesting.”

  Sarah studied the latch and found it secured by a lock. “Wonder if any of the keys I found in Mr. Cochran's coat will work?” she asked and began to examine the keys. Amanda watched, anxious to find out what secrets might be inside. When Sarah came up short, Amanda sighed. “We'll take the box back to the station,” Sarah explained, “and open it there.”

  “Then let's hurry back to the station.”

  Sarah picked up the box, walked out of the bedroom, and went back to the kitchen. “June Bug, check the refrigerator for me.”

  Amanda hurried over to what appeared to be a Westinghouse refrigerator out of the sixties, opened it using the old fashioned latch, and studied the contents. “Bread...bologna...leftovers that look like chili...a few root beer sodas...nothing much. Freezer has an ice tray…and…” She reached in and then hastily dropped something. “A bag of peas that’s probably older than I am,” Amanda said, making a face as she shut the freezer.

  Sarah set the wooden box down on the kitchen table and explored the kitchen cabinets. “One plate, one bowl, one mug, one glass...hardly much in his pantry aside from some canned soup,” she called out. “It's clear that Mitchel didn't entertain much company.”

  Amanda made her way to the bookshelf in the living room and began going through the books. “All westerns, love,” she called out. “Cheap thrift store books.”

  Sarah bit down on her lower lip. “I found a few dollars in Mr. Cochran's wallet, his driver’s license, a bank card and a few coupons for coffee creamer. From what we've seen and found it would appear Mitchel Cochran was one of two things: a very poor man, or a man who didn't like to spend money.”

  Amanda went to the fireplace and held her hands over the dying coals and had a thought. “Love, there's a great deal of firewood outside that's been hauled in by someone. It’s professionally bundled, I saw the zip tie strapping on the porch. That much firewood costs money.”

  Sarah thought about the firewood outside. “That makes sense. Mr. Cochran couldn't have cut that much firewood by himself.”

  “I didn't see a work shed outside, either,” Amanda added. “No chain saws hanging about and no axe leaning in a corner. He had it delivered. He’s just a tightwad.”

  Sarah walked to the living room window, pulled back a yellowing curtain that was just as raggedy as the curtains in the bedroom, and looked out into the small back yard. It was bare of any work buildings and abutted the tree line after only a few yards; the trees were dense with thicket and she doubted he had any outbuildings in the forest. “Snow is picking up,” she said, “we better get back to the station.”

  “I'm with you, love,” Amanda said in a relieved voice. She hurried to the front door and opened it as Sarah grabbed the wooden box. “At least we're not leaving empty-handed.”

  Sarah handed Amanda the wooden box. “Let's hope not,” she said and locked the front door. “Be careful going down the front steps, June Bug.”

  “You bet,” Amanda smiled, happy to be going back to town. She carefully navigated her way back to the jeep, fighting her way through the drifts, turning her head against the icy winds, and waited for Sarah. Sarah remained on the front porch for a moment, studying the firewood, and then worked her way out into the snow. “What were you looking at?” Amanda asked as they climbed into the jeep and watched the snow turn heavier by the minute.

  “I have my firewood delivered by Mr. Richmond,” Sarah explained, brushing off the snow soaking her coat. “Mr. Richmond isn't cheap.”

  “My hubby buys his firewood from Mr. Richmond, too. The entire town does, I think,” Amanda stated. “Mr. Richmond owns over eight hundred acres of timber land from what I was told.”

  “Nine hundred,” Sarah corrected Amanda. “But that's not what I'm focused on. I'm focused on the tarp covering the wood. Mr. Richmond supplies his customers with red tarps. Easier to see in the snow. The tarp on that porch is gray. But also, that much wood...” Sarah looked back at the porch. “June Bug, I'm sure Mr. Richmond would have provided a tarp for Mr. Cochran if he had bought that much wood from him.”

  “You’re probably right,” Amanda said in an excited voice. But her excitement quickly turned into a frown. “Los Angeles, I hate to ask this...but so what?”

  “I'm not sure,” Sarah replied. “But I think it means Mr. Cochran doesn’t get his wood delivered from Mr. Richmond.” She raised her head and studied the stormy sky. “It's getting darker. We better get back to town,” she said and quickly buckled up. “Ready?”

  “Ready,” Amanda said, holding the wooden box in her lap. “Let's make tracks...uh, careful tracks, love.”

  Sarah backed her jeep away from the cabin and aimed for town. “I'll turn up the heat.”

  “That would be wonderful,” Amanda smiled. “My ears are about to fall off.”

  Sarah turned up the heat and focused on the snowy road. “Mr. Cochran drove a run-down truck,” she told Amanda. “I had Jacob Bates come and haul the truck to the towing yard for safekeeping since it would be in the way of the plows anyway. I wonder if he'll do me a favor?”

  “What kind of favor?” Amanda asked, watching the windshield wipers on the jeep fight snow off the windshield.

  “All I found in the cabin of the truck was the truck’s registration card, an insurance card, and a tire gauge of the bed of the truck. What I didn't look for was wood.”

  “You mean firewood?” Amanda asked.

  Sarah nodded. “O'Mally sells gray tarps, June Bug,” she explained. “I'm wondering if Mr. Cochran did get his wood on his own after all...perhaps from someone that might not be a stranger?”

  Amanda looked at Sarah. “Not a stranger?” she asked and then caught on. “Oh, my,” she gasped, “you're thinking Mitchel has a relative in Snow Falls, someone other than his two daughters?”

  Sarah nodded and didn't say another word until they arrived safely back in town.

  Sarah slipped behind Conrad's desk and picked up the telephone. “I need to call the O'Healey sisters,” she told Amanda.

  Amanda set the wooden box down on the desk and removed her coat. “The way the storm is growing no one is going anywhere tonight,” she replied, grateful to be back in town. “This station isn't a five-star resort, but it's safe and warm.”

  Sarah called the O'Healey sisters’ home and waited. Abigail picked up on the fourth ring. “Hi, this is Detective Garland...Spencer,” Sarah told Abigail. “I was afraid you weren't home for a second.”

  “When the body gets old, dear,” Abigail explained, and when she shifted her stance, Sarah heard the click of fancy high heels against tile floors in the background, “it takes time to walk to the telephone.” Since when did these hardy old sisters wear high heels at home?

  “I suppose you’re right,” Sarah agreed. “Anyway, I was calling to check on you and make sure you were safely at home.”

  “My sisters and I are dressed in our evening gowns, dear,” Abigail chided Sarah. “Once we don our evening
gowns, we do not leave home. It's not proper.”

  “Evening gowns?” Sarah asked and then stuffed her question into the back of her mind. “Oh, well that sounds nice. I'm glad you're all home, safe and sound. The storm eased up for a bit but now it's drawing back with some dangerous power. I want everyone to stay inside.”

  Abigail made a genteel sound of agreement. “Dear, when one has lived through as many winters as we have, one understands that the night cold is far different from the day cold. The night changes the cold into a deadly creature that grown men fear. You can rest assured that my sisters and I have no intention of leaving our home. Besides, the Perry Mason show will be on the television in less than an hour. Martha is making the popcorn and Betty is preparing the hot cider.” Her voice trilled merrily.

  Sarah felt a smile touch her lips. In her mind she saw the three sisters huddled around an old television set, sitting on a couch together in dresses that reminded them of their former youthful selves, sharing popcorn and oohing and ahhing as Perry Mason tangled with a criminal. But then her smile faded. A man lay dead—poisoned. She had to solve the murder, even if it meant trampling on the fantasies of three old ladies. “I'll be in touch tomorrow morning, okay?”

  “Of course, dear,” Abigail smiled. “You're such a nice woman. It's a shame that you can't be trusted.”

  Sarah sighed. “Abigail, I was only trying to imply that not every cop can be trusted—”

  “Now, now, dear, I understand,” Abigail interrupted Sarah with a soft voice. “There is no need to explain yourself.”

  Sarah felt like banging the phone against her head. “Abigail, please listen to me,” she pleaded. “I'm not a bad cop. I can be trusted. All I need is for you and your sisters to talk to me—”

  “Oh no,” Abigail said in a quick voice, “my sisters and I wish to remain silent. You said we have that choice, dear. Remember?”

  Amanda gave Sarah a curious look. Sarah rolled her eyes. “I remember, Abigail...I remember,” she sighed. “I'll be in touch tomorrow morning to check on you.” Sarah quickly decided to take the moment to see if she could get Abigail to talk about her son. If Abigail wasn't willing to talk about the murder then maybe, Sarah thought, she could get the old woman to reveal a few clues without realizing she was doing so. “Abigail, before I go, I need to inform you that I have to contact your children.”

  Abigail beamed. “Dear, I already have,” she said. “I've contacted my three sons and my daughter. They are very pleased to hear that the feud is now ended, and that Mitchel Cochran is dead.”

  Sarah removed her winter hat and tossed it down on the desk in frustration rather than voice her true thoughts to the woman. She forced a calm smile to her face as she replied, “Abigail, you never told me what your children do for a living. Whatever they do I'm sure you're very proud,” she said, hoping to lure Abigail into complacency by complimenting her children. Sarah hated herself for trying to trick an old woman but knew that unless she forced Abigail and her sisters to talk, she wasn't going to get anywhere. At least this was better than arresting them and subjecting them to a real police interrogation.

  “Oh yes,” Abigail smiled from ear to ear with pride. “My three sons and my daughter are highly educated and respected citizens. I made it my life goal to provide my children with the absolute best. My efforts have been rewarded.”

  “What do your children do?” Sarah repeated, faking polite interest.

  “My Jessica is a pediatric nurse,” Abigail told Sarah in a happy voice. “She takes care of babies. My Andy is a stock broker. He does very well for himself.”

  “I bet.”

  Abigail smiled and continued. “My Timothy is a college professor. He teaches math. And my sweet, sweet Caleb has made medicine his life and chose to become a medical researcher. Oh, I'm so proud of all of them. And my, they have rewarded me with such beautiful grandchildren in return for all of my hard work and love.”

  Sarah listened intently. Unless Abigail was a brilliant criminal mastermind capable of deceiving the most hardened detectives, the woman appeared to be speaking from the heart without any hidden motives. And even more, Sarah thought, Abigail spoke of the son who was a medical researcher without the slightest hesitation. The woman voiced pride in all of her children and clearly delighted in placing them on a pedestal. “I'm sure you have some very beautiful grandchildren, Abigail.”

  “Oh yes, I do,” Abigail confirmed. “My youngest grandchild is seven years old and my oldest is thirty-one. They are all so beautiful and smart. Why, my oldest grandchild took after his papa, my Caleb, and became a medical researcher. Oh, he's so smart.”

  Sarah threw her eyes at Amanda. “I need to check on Abigail's grandson,” she whispered. “Don't let me forget.”

  Amanda quickly found a pencil and notepad and scribbled down Sarah's words. “Got it.”

  “Caleb must be so proud,” Sarah said in an easy voice. “Do they work together?”

  “Oh no,” Abigail told Sarah in a pleased tone, “my grandson works for a company that develops those disease shots that help people get better...what do you call them...”

  “Vaccines?” Sarah asked.

  “Oh yes, that's it,” Abigail replied. “Now, my sisters and I have never taken a shot in our adult lives—except for our baby vaccines—we surely believe the human body is capable of taking care of itself without fussing with all that flu vaccine nonsense every year, but he works hard and I am still proud of my grandson.”

  “I bet you are,” Sarah assured Abigail. “Well, it's getting time to go eat dinner. Don’t want you to miss Perry Mason! I'll call you in the morning, okay?”

  “Okay, dear,” Abigail smiled. “My sisters and I will be here...under...what did you call it…oh yes, house arrest. Oh, this is so much fun.”

  Sarah sighed. She wanted to tell Abigail that murder was no fun at all but knew she would only be wasting her breath. Besides, she had a new investigative lead to explore. “Have a good night.”

  “Indeed, dear,” Abigail promised and hung up.

  Sarah slowly put down the phone. “Abigail is either viciously brilliant or just old and innocent,” she told Amanda.

  “Senile is more like it.,” Amanda told Sarah and gestured out the office window. “The diner was still open when we drove past. I better hurry down there and get our dinner before it closes.”

  “I'll work on opening the box,” Sarah said.

  “Wait until I get back,” Amanda begged. “I want to see what is in there when you open it. Our day is already ruined so we might as well try to add some excitement. Who knows, maybe a wad of cash or a mysterious passport is hidden in that box. Some dark secret from Mitchel’s life!”

  Sarah glanced at the box. “Unlikely. But okay, June Bug, I'll wait until you come back with our dinner before I open the box.”

  “Great,” Amanda smiled. “Now, love, tell your dear old friend what you would like for dinner,” she said, trying to put on the tone of a silly waitress. “Amanda is at your service.”

  Sarah let out a little laugh. “Just some coffee, a dinner plate and a slice of pie would be nice.”

  “As you wish, guv’nor,” Amanda replied and bundled up to go back out into the storm. “Cheerio,” she said and curtsied toward Sarah, “I'll be back in two shakes of a lamb’s tail.”

  “Silly,” Sarah laughed. Amanda winked and hurried out of the office, leaving Sarah alone with her thoughts. The first thing Sarah did was call Jacob Bates. “Hello...Mr. Bates...yes, this is Sarah Garland...Spencer.”

  “What can I do for you?” Jacob Bates asked, standing in a greasy garage staring outside at the storm. He was a man of sixty years and knew from experience that the storm was digging in instead of passing over as the weather report had predicted.

  “Mr. Bates, I have a strange request for you,” Sarah explained.

  “I'm off duty,” Jacob informed Sarah. “I'm waiting for the plow to run its last run out front of my garage. I can’t get out even if I try.�
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  Sarah locked her eyes on the wooden box. “Good, because my request isn’t a tow this time. It involves you going to Mitchel Cochran's truck and checking if you can see any signs that he hauled wood in the bed of his truck.”

  “How in the world…what for?” Jacob barked at Sarah. He knew all about Sarah’s past as a fancy city detective and wasn't too fond of the woman. There were some folks in Snow Falls that liked the woman, but he didn’t count himself as one of them. As far as Jacob Bates concerned himself, Sarah Garland...or Spencer, or whatever her last name might be, was a troublemaker who needed to take a long hike back to Los Angeles.

  “Please,” Sarah asked Jacob. “I...know you don't care for me that much, Mr. Bates, but this isn't a personal request. This is police business. I know you can respect that.”

  Jacob scratched the back of his neck and then looked down at his gray mechanic's coverall already half unbuttoned; the uniform was grease-stained with time and hard work, work that was respectable. “Police work, huh?” he asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Well, nothing wrong with police work,” Jacob told Sarah. “My brother is a cop down in Cheyenne.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Bates.”

  “I'll go take a look in the bed of old man Cochran's truck and see what I can find and give you a call,” Jacob replied, then tossed the phone down onto a wooden desk that was barely standing. He zipped up his jacket and headed into the tow yard to investigate the truck, leaning into the howling wind with a determined look on his face.

  Sarah put down the phone in her hand and studied the brown box. “Where is your key?” she asked, regretting not searching Mitchel Cochran's cabin more thoroughly. However, she reminded herself, the race against the storm had forced her to retreat toward town. “I'll have to make another trip back out to the cabin,” she promised herself and then stood up and went to the front room and plopped down behind a computer. “Let's see what we can find out about Abigail's grandson.”

  Sarah logged into the computer, jumped onto a federal database, and began investigating Abigail's relations until she found Caleb’s family and his children. “Jenson O'Healey...age thirty-one. Not married, no children...works for VQY Pharmaceuticals located in...Anchorage?” Sarah pulled her eyes away from the computer. “Anchorage...” she whispered. “VQY Pharmaceuticals...why does that name sound familiar?” Unable to puzzle it out, Sarah focused back on the computer screen and continued to sift through the data about Jenson O'Healey. “Arrest report...let’s see. Oh my. Arrested for narcotics distribution at the age of nineteen...a young drug dealer I see. Arrested again at the age of twenty for breaking into a science lab...clear after that, though.” She felt suspicion lodged in her gut like a cold stone, yet she could not help but feel lighter to see that the young man’s arrest record had cleared up over time. “Okay…graduated from college two years ago...hired on at VQY last year.” Sarah rubbed her eyes and took some notes.