P. Parrish - Heart of Ice

“Where is your room?” she asked.

“Right across the hall.” He glanced over her shoulder. “You have a kitchenette.”

“You don’t?”

“I have a Mr. Coffee, but it doesn’t work.”

She smiled. “You can come over to my place for breakfast.”

He returned the smile. She had forgotten how much she liked seeing him smile. His smiles had come easily when she first met him two years ago, when they were both still in Florida. But then she took the sheriff’s job in Michigan, and things started to change. It wasn’t just the strain of their long-distance relationship. Something inside of him began to change, like a strange moroseness had taken hold of him. He wouldn’t talk about it when she asked. When he called her from Palm Beach last Christmas there was a bitterness in his voice. She knew it was because he hated working as a PI, but it was more than that. He was adrift. And worse, he didn’t seem to care. She told him they needed a break from each other.

Six weeks ago he called. He said he was coming to Michigan to visit Lily and wanted to know if he could come up to Echo Bay. No pressure, he said. I just want to see you again.

The awkward silence was there again, filling the small space between them in the narrow hallway.

“It’s going on five. You want to get something to eat?” Louis asked.

She nodded. “And a glass of wine.”

“Okay, let me just change my shirt.”

She tossed her bag on the bed, set the flowers down, and took off her leather jacket. At the mirror she blew out a breath. Her lipstick was gone, and her hair was a wild mess. She thought about fishing her brush out of her bag but with a dismissive wave at her reflection she turned away.

Louis’s door was open. She went across the hall and stood in his doorway, arms crossed, watching him. It had been four months since she had been with a man. Stephen was a doctor in Petoskey, and the sex had been good and the companionship just what she needed. The affair with Stephen had lasted three months, and there had been no one since.

Louis was standing at the sink, his back to her. His shirt was off, and his back rippled as he reached for the towel.

“You’ve been working out,” she said.

He turned. Again, there was that smile.

“For me?” she asked.

“For Lance Mobley.”

She stared at him.

“I’ve put in for a job with Lee County.”

She came further into the room. “You’re going back in uniform?”

Louis nodded. “Mobley’s in trouble with the EEOC. I just have to go through certification, and I’m in.”

“Detective?” she asked.

“Probably not.”

“You’re okay starting at the bottom again?”

He nodded. “You’re the one who told me I had to want something for myself. I want my badge back.”

From the moment she saw him on the dock she had sensed that something had come alive in him again. Part of it was probably Lily. Some of it was undoubtedly this case here on the island. But she felt certain most of it was because he was going to be a cop again.

She went to him and wrapped her arms around his waist. He pulled her closer. All the awkwardness vanished, and the silence filled with sweet expectancy. She reached back and closed the door.

Flowers’s call woke them up early. He wanted Louis to meet him at the lodge.

“What’s up?” Louis asked.

“We found out how he was getting inside,” Flowers said.

“I’m on my way.”

When Joe, curled by his side, asked to go along he didn’t hesitate. They had worked two cases together, and though he sometimes felt a tug of competitiveness he wanted her with him. He had planned to go to the Chapman home this morning to interview the housekeeper, Maisey, but that could wait for now.

It was cool, but the sun was climbing in a blue sky as they headed to the lodge in the police golf cart Flowers had sent for them. The officer positioned on the back road to keep out the curious waved as Louis drove past.

Louis could see a CSI tech with a metal detector working the brush at the edge of the property. The side yard was roped off in a grid pattern and stabbed with small red flags.

Joe took his hand as they trudged through the weeds, her eyes taking in the lodge. Flowers was standing on the side porch, and as they approached, his eyes locked for a moment on their intertwined hands and lingered on Joe’s face.

“Hey, Chief,” Louis said. He looked to Joe. “This is my friend Joe Frye from Echo Bay. She’s-”

“Good to meet you, Chief,” Joe interrupted, sticking out her hand.

She had stopped him from introducing her as a sheriff, which surprised Louis. Last night, Joe had pumped him about the case, but he realized now that she was going to keep a low profile for his sake. With her hair loose and dressed in a gray sweater coat, white blouse, and jeans, she looked like anything but a sheriff.

Louis nodded toward the tech in the yard. “Looks like you’re being pretty thorough,” he said.

“You bet I am,” Flowers said. “I’m tired of that prick Rafsky chewing on my ass.”

At the mention of Rafsky’s name, Joe gave Louis a look and slipped her camera off her shoulder, wandering away to take some photos.

“Hey, Pike,” Flowers said.

A second tech had emerged from the front door carrying a brown bag sealed with evidence tape. His face was smeared with dirt.

“Louis, this is Pike, my lead tech guy,” Flowers said.

Louis gave him a nod.

Pike looked up to the second floor. “This is one big place to process, Chief.”

“You find anything?”

“Zip-o so far. No clothes, jewelry, or skull anywhere in this place. Nothing but a couple of Faygo cans and hundreds of prints and hairs.”

“You finish with the luminol?”

“Almost. But other than the blood in the basement, we haven’t found a trace anywhere else.”

“So how did he get in here?” Louis asked.

“He’s got a little rat hole. Follow me,” Pike said.

Joe held up a hand, indicating she would stay on the veranda. Pike led Louis and Flowers around to the far side of the lodge. An orange flag hung from the porch railing, and a section of the latticework had been removed to allow a clear view of the crawl space.

Pike pointed. “There’s a hole in the foundation. Take a look.”

“I’ve already seen it,” Flowers said, handing Louis his flashlight.

Louis dropped to his knees and crawled under the veranda. The flashlight beam picked up the gray stone of the foundation. Then he saw it-a ragged three-foot hole. It looked as if the concrete had deteriorated and instead of repairing it, someone had framed out the hole with studs and nailed boards over it. The intruder had simply removed the boards to get inside.

Louis shined the flashlight on the nail holes in the studs and ran his fingers over them. They were worn smooth. He picked up one of the boards, and its nails easily went into the holes. It was obvious the boards had been removed and put back repeatedly. The hole opened into the basement. It was maybe a four-foot drop to the floor.

He backed out from under the veranda and gave the flashlight to Flowers. “The boards and nail holes are worn,” Louis said. “I think he came and went many times.”

“That supports your theory that he returned to watch the body decompose,” Flowers said.

As they started back toward the front of the house, Louis spotted Joe on the front veranda. Below her, down on the perimeter road behind the iron gates, two women were straddling their bikes, taking pictures of the lodge.

“Have you had any trouble with reporters trying to get up here?” Louis asked Flowers.

“Yeah, we caught some photographer from the Lansing State Journal scaling the fence yesterday. We threw him off the island.”