Michele Hauf - Storm Warning

“You got some ID and vehicle registration, Smith?”

The man reached down beside him. Jason’s hackles tightened. He placed a hand over his gun handle. Smith produced a driver’s license and, opening the glove compartment, shuffled around for a paper. He handed both over.

Hiding his relief that he hadn’t had to draw against a dangerous suspect, Jason took the items and looked them over. It was a Minnesota license, not Texas, but people moved all the time. The name and address matched the vehicle registration. It also matched the info he’d gotten earlier. Thirty-seven years old. Brown hair. Brown eyes. Donor. A Duluth address. Hair was longer in the photo, but the man looked like he’d recently had a clipper cut.

“You a recent move to Minnesota?”

“Why do you ask?”

“There’s not a lot of uff da in your accent.”

The man chuckled. “Born and raised in Dallas. But I do enjoy the winters here.”

“I gotta agree with you there. You must enjoy outdoor sports.”

“Mostly taking in the sights.”

“Uh-huh. You got the day off from work?” Jason asked.

“You bet.”

“Duluth, eh?” Jason handed back the license. “Where do you work?”

“Perkins. Just off Highway 35 west.”

Jason had eaten at that location before. So that checked out, too. In town to take in the scenery?

“Thank you, Mr. Smith. You should turn around here before the road gets too narrow,” he said. “It’s not for tourism. And it’s also not a through road.”

“I had no idea, Officer.”

“That’s part of my job. Making sure everyone stays on the straight and narrow.”

The man furrowed his brows. And the fact he’d misnamed the Boundary Waters Canoe Area Wilderness gave Jason another prickle down his spine. A strange mistake for someone who should be familiar with the area.

“The Moose serves up some tasty meat loaf with buttered carrots,” Jason offered. “Stop in before you head out of town.”

“Thank you, Officer. I will. Is there anything else?”

“No. You can go ahead and turn around here. Road’s still wide enough. But watch the ditch. The snowpack is loose. You’ll catch a tire and have a hell of a time getting out. Tow service is kind of sketchy in these parts.”

“Sure thing.”

The window rolled up, and Jason walked back over to his snowmobile. The SUV sat for a bit, not making any motion to turn around. Clouds of exhaust formed at the muffler.

Jason sat on his cat and swung the driver a friendly wave. If he had been following Yvette, there was no way Jason was going to leave his post. And if the driver had known her, he would have mentioned he was following a friend. Maybe?

When the vehicle finally began to pull ahead, turn, back up, turn some more, then make the arc around to head back the way it had come, Jason again waved.

“Something up with Smith,” he muttered.

He could generally spot a fake ID at a glance. The license had been legit. Everything checked out in the police database. But still, his Spidey senses tingled. Sure, Frost Falls got sightseers. The town’s namesake, the falls, froze solid in the winter months. It attracted thrill seekers. And idiots.

But the man hadn’t mentioned the falls specifically. And if that had been his destination, he should have headed out of town in the opposite direction.

Jason had met three strangers today. And one of them had been lying dead in a ditch. He wasn’t going to let this one sit.

Firing up the cat, he headed back into town to keep an eye on Smith.

Jason breezed into the station but didn’t unzip his coat or stomp his boots. Marjorie had gotten used to his tromping in ice and snow and had laid down a rubber runner mat a year ago. She still complained about the mess, but when he’d given her a budget for a monthly rug cleaning, she’d settled.

That would all change soon enough. He wasn’t sure how to tell her the station might be closed in March. He had to tell her. Maybe if he waited, it would never happen?

“There’s a message,” Marjorie started as he walked by.

“From the BCA?” Jason asked.

“No, Bay’s in your office—”

He strode into his office and closed the door behind him. “Bay.”

The agent was seated in the extra chair against the wall beneath a sixteen-point deer rack with a laptop open and his focus pinned to the screen. “Cash. Give me a minute.”

“Minute’s all you get. I’m investigating a murder. Have to get out there. Talk to people. Gather information.”

Walking across the room, Jason pushed aside the shades to give him a view of Main Street. He’d seen Smith’s SUV heading east toward Highway 35. The man had taken the hint.

On the other hand... He glanced down the street toward the gas station that sat at town’s edge.

“They still renting snowcats from the gas station?” Jason called out to Marjorie.

“You betcha. Jason, do you want some krumkake?”

That invite turned his head. He strode back into the next room and eyed the plate of sweet treats Marjorie pointed to on the corner of her desk. Half a dozen delicate rolled sweets sat on a Corelle plate decorated around the circumference with green leaves (just like his mother’s set). Krumkake were like crunchy crepes, but so light and delicious.

“You make those?” he asked.

“Of course. I use my grandmother’s krumkake iron. They don’t make those things anymore, don’t ya know.”

He grabbed one of the treats and bit into it, catching the inevitable crumbs with his other hand. Two more bites and it was gone. He grabbed another, then tugged out his notebook and tore out a few pages to hand to Marjorie. “Can you type up these notes I took while talking to Susan Olson?”

“Of course. I’ve already got a case file started. Elaine Hester forwarded the autopsy report for the woman in the ditch. I left a copy on your desk, and Bay’s got a copy as well.”

“Yeah, she texted me the name Yvette Pearson.” Jason wandered back into his office and closed the door behind him.

Ryan Bay stood and set the laptop on Jason’s desk. “I’ve got family info on the victim.”

“Lives in a Minneapolis suburb,” Jason said. Susan had been sure the women at the club the other night were from the Twin Cities, because one had worn a jacket with a high school logo embroidered on the sleeve. “Blaine?”

“Yes, Blaine. I’ve already contacted their police department so they can get in touch with the family.”

“I’ve got a list of the deceased’s friends I intend to question as soon as I step out of the station. But first, I’m going to head east and check on—”

“That pretty young woman you talked to in The Moose?” Marjorie asked as she entered with the plate of treats in hand.

Marjorie took his silence as the hint she needed it to be and, after handing him the plate, she left the office with a promise to get right to his notes.

Jason closed the office door again and nodded to Bay, who turned his laptop toward him. “Classic homicide. Ligature marks. Struggle bruises on forearms and DNA under fingernails.”

“Yep, I was there for the autopsy. It was all very clean. Generally there’s much more bruising on the body as the killer struggles to complete the unfamiliar—or unintended—task. Anger and aggression.”

Bay shook his head and exhaled heavily. “You said you talked to the woman who found the body?”

“Yes, she gave me the names of the women the victim was last seen with. That’s where I’m going next—”

“I thought there was a pretty young woman?” Bay said with a smirk.

“A...” Jason closed his eyes and shook his head. Marjorie really needed to stay out of his personal life. But the worst part of it was that she knew about his personal life before it tended to get personal. “Never mind,” he said. “You don’t want to question the victim’s friends, do you?”