pushed aside the woman’s hair with the tip of her penlight to reveal a tiny red tattoo of a maple leaf at the base of the victim’s ear.
“Right.” Jason frowned. “Are those ligature marks on her neck?”
“Yes.” Elaine snapped a few close-up shots of the bruising now revealed on the woman’s neck. “There’s your signs of struggle right there. Poor thing.” She replaced the victim’s hair in the exact manner it had been lying and stood. “Looks like you just might have a murder case on your hands.”
He’d suspected as much. Even though the weather could be treacherous and oftentimes deadly in the winter, the evidence screamed foul play.
“We’ll get the BCA up to speed here, then I’m heading in to talk to Susan Olson,” Jason said.
Jason had seen a lot, and he wasn’t going to allow some psychopath to think he could get away with murder. As well, this was his first big case since his humiliating demotion from the CIA. The timing was either laughable or fortuitous, depending on how he looked at it. Because he’d just received notice that the police station had been marked for budget cuts. In all likelihood, it would close in March and Frost Falls would send all their dispatch calls through the county. The tiny town couldn’t afford to pay Jason’s meager salary anymore. But the notice had also mentioned it wasn’t necessary to employ someone who was merely a town babysitter and not involved in real criminal procedures.
That one had cut deep. He was not a babysitter. Sure, he’d taken this job out of desperation. Getting ousted from the CIA was not a man’s finest moment. Yet he had made this job his own. And he did have a lot on his plate, what with the domestic abuse calls, the poaching and—the public nudity.
Time to prove he wasn’t incompetent to all those who were watching and taking notes. And with any luck? He might earn back his pride and a second chance.
Nine a.m. on a lazy Sunday. Most of the Frost Falls inhabitants were at church in the neighboring town or sat at The Moose noshing on waffles and bacon. Most, but not all.
Susan Olson yawned and scrubbed a hand over her long, tangled red hair. Her eyes were smeared with dark eye makeup, and one streak veered up toward her temple. She wore a Black Veil Brides T-shirt and bright pink sweatpants. They might have graduated the same year, but Jason had been born and raised in Crooked Creek, a town sixty miles west from here. Susan had lived in Frost Falls all her life.
Another yawn preceded “Really? Do you know what time it is, Chief Cash?”
“I do,” Jason reported. He turned his head to block the wind that whipped at the front of the house. “Heard you found something interesting this morning.”
“I knew you’d be stopping by. Just thought it would be at a decent hour. Come in.”
Jason stepped inside the tiny rambler that might have been built in the ’40s. It boasted green shag carpeting in the front living area; the walls were painted pink and—did they have glitter on them? He stayed on the rug before the door. His boot soles were packed with snow.
“Just have a few questions, then you can head back to bed,” he said. “I know Saturdays are your busy night. Hate to bother you, but a woman has been murdered.”
“She was murdered?” Susan’s eyes opened wider. She clutched her gut and searched the floor. “I thought maybe she just died from, like, frostbite or something. Oh my God. I remember her. I mean, I didn’t touch the body, but I did see her face this morning. I always run to check on my aunt Sunday mornings, even though I’m so raging tired after my shift.”
“You...” Jason leaned forward, making sure he’d heard correctly. He tugged out the little notebook he always carried from inside his coat. Pen at the ready, he asked, “Remember her? The woman in the ditch?”
“Her and three others. It was Lisa Powell’s clique. Must have been someone’s birthday. They were loaded and loose last night. But the woman in the ditch didn’t look familiar to me. I mean, I don’t think she was from around here. It’s not difficult to know all the locals.”
Jason nodded and wrote down the information.
“She tipped me a ten,” Susan said with a curl of a smile. “Doesn’t happen often, let me tell you. The people in this town are so stingy.”
“She was with Lisa Powell, and—do you know the names of the other two?”
“Hannah Lindsey and, oh, some older woman. Might have been one of their mothers. They are all older than me, don’t ya know.” She tilted out a hip and fluffed back her hair with a sweep of hand. “Must be in their late thirties, for heaven’s sake.”
Jason placed Susan at around thirty, same as him.
“Not an issue right now,” Jason said. “How long were the women in The Moose? Did they all leave together? Who else was watching your performance?”
Susan yawned. “That’s a lot of questions, Cash.”
“I know. You got coffee?”
“I do, but I really don’t want to wake up that much. I usually sleep until four on Sundays. Do we have to do this now?”
“We do. You’ll remember much more detail now as opposed to later. And I have an appointment in Duluth in a few hours I can’t miss.”
Susan sighed and dropped her shoulders. “Fine. I got one of those fancy coffee machines for Christmas from my boyfriend. I’ll make you a cup. Kick off your wet boots before you walk on my carpet, will you, Cash?”
“Will do.”
Jason toed off his boots, then followed Susan into the kitchen, where a strange menagerie of pigs wearing sunglasses decorated every surface—all the dishware and even the light fixtures.
* * *
YVETTE LASALLE WANDERED down the tight aisles in the small grocery store set smack-dab in the center of Main Street in Frost Falls. The ice on her black hair that had sneaked out from under her knit cap melted and trickled down her neck. If she didn’t zip up and wrap her scarf tight when she went outside, that trickle would freeze and—Dieu.
Why Minnesota? Of all the places in the world. And to make life less pleasant, it was January. The temperature had not been out of the teens since she had arrived. Sure, they got snow and cold in France. But not so utterly brutal. This place was not meant for human survival. Seriously.
But survive she would. If this was a test, she intended to ace it, as she did with any challenge.
This little store, called Olson’s Oasis, sold basic food items, some toiletries, fishing bait and tackle (because crazy people drilled holes on the lake ice and actually fished in this weather), and plenty of cheap beer. A Laundromat was set off behind the freezer section. It boasted two washers and one semiworking dryer. The store was also the hub for deliveries, since the UPS service apparently didn’t venture beyond Main Street.
Frost Falls was a virtual no-man’s land. The last vestige of civilization before the massive Superior National Forest
