up.
She checked both ways and pulled onto Winding Way.
All that money and what had it gotten him? Nothing that mattered much in the end.
This time, there was no dog to greet her. The property was silent and deserted. Kala stepped away from her truck and looked around. Hunter hadn’t cleared the woods from his property or cut back the brush. His house nestled into the pines and snow as if it was posing for a Christmas card photo. Even the low cloud cover and first flakes of snow added to the effect. It left her homesick for her own woods and her own cabin.
Hunter didn’t answer the door although his truck was in the driveway. She knocked a third time, jumping from foot to foot to keep the circulation moving. When he still didn’t answer, she started walking toward the side of the house. She reached the corner and heard music coming from the back of the property. A narrow path led her around the side of the house to a barnyard-grey workshop. Through the window, she spotted Hunter standing in front of an easel, dotting at his work with a paintbrush, totally absorbed while classical music filled the shop and spilled into the winter air. He wore a white denim shirt rolled up at the sleeves and tucked into black jeans, and he’d tied his hair back from his face with a red bandana. Kala watched him for a full minute before she knocked, thinking about how she would tell him that his father was dead.
Hunter opened the door and his eyes searched her face before he stepped aside to let her in. “Just give me a minute.” He crossed the floor to turn down the stereo and then returned to his easel to close up the paints and soak his paintbrush in turpentine.
She took the time to look at the bronze statues. Two sat next to each other on a work table. The first was of a pig-tailed girl in a leotard on a balance beam. The second was an older girl spinning on ice skates. Her hands were spread wide and her face turned upwards. The detail was exquisite. She turned to face him. “Your work is brilliant. I can feel the joy in each of these children. Are the pieces for sale? They are just so perfect.… I’m not much of an art connoisseur, but these are magnificent.”
Hunter tucked his head. When he looked up, he was smiling. “No, these were all done on commission. They’re Christmas presents. The dad is coming to pick them up later today. He had them done for his wife.”
“They’re simply beautiful,” she said.
“Thanks. I’m told I have my mother’s eye.”
“You’re both very talented.” Kala moved closer to the door. “I’m actually here on police business.”
“I thought that might be the case.” He waited, his grey eyes on hers.
“I’m afraid it’s bad news. We found a man’s body early this morning and we believe it is your father.”
Hunter’s brow furrowed. “You found his body? Where?”
“In his car. At the Central Experimental Farm.”
“Are you sure it is my father? Was it … suicide?”
“I need you to come with me to make the official identification, but we believe it is him. The car is registered to your father. We couldn’t find Laurel to tell her so you are the first of the family to know.”
He rubbed his hand across his jaw. “I can’t believe it.” He looked up. “Geraldine doesn’t know?”
She shook her head. “No. You’re the first we’ve been able to reach.”
“Shit.”
She thought he was upset that she hadn’t told Geraldine, but then she realized that his eyes were looking past her to the door. She heard a clumping noise outside. The door opened at the same time as she turned. A cold blast of air filled the room, bringing with it a hugely pregnant woman. Her smile disappeared when she looked from Kala to her brother.
“Hunter! I’m early. They got my hair appointment mixed up and I just kept driving. I’m sorry.” She held a bag with a baguette sticking out the top and a cake box under her other arm. “I can just go up to the house and wait for you until your customer leaves.” She turned to go but Hunter stopped her.
“No. It’s fine, Geraldine. I was expecting you. Come in out of the cold. Here, let me help you.” He reached for her packages and guided her gently by the arm.
Kala studied the two of them together. Geraldine had a long, narrow face with a wide nose that made her eyes look too close together. Her eyes were grey like her brother’s, but a paler, washed-out shade. Hunter leaned into her as if protecting her from what was to come.
“I have to drive into town for an hour or so. Will you be able to get the soup on the stove and kick back until I return? I prepared it last night so it just needs heating up.”
Geraldine looked up at him and smiled. “Of course. I’ll read that book you keep meaning to lend me.”
“In the bookcase on the right,” said Hunter. “Fabio will keep you company. He’s sleeping by the hot air vent in the kitchen.”
“Don’t worry about me then.” Geraldine held out a hand. “I don’t believe we’ve met. I’m Hunter’s sister, Geraldine.”
“Pleased to meet you. Kala Stonechild.” She shook Geraldine’s. She’d decided to play along with Hunter. His eyes had flashed a silent pleading for her to go easy. If Geraldine hadn’t been so obviously pregnant, she would have asked some questions about her father. There’d be time enough after he identified the body.
Hunter took his coat from the hook by the door and followed them outside into the frigid morning. Kala took a moment to inhale the frosty air while she surveyed the dark line of woods that stretched to the east of Hunter’s house. The sky was heavy with clouds and the snow was starting to pick up. She led the way on the narrow packed path back toward the house and continued to the driveway while Hunter helped Geraldine and her packages safely inside. He joined Kala in the driveway where she stood next to his Jeep.
“Thanks for that. Dad and Geraldine are close and I don’t know how this is going to affect her. I want to make sure it really is Dad before we have to put her through a load of grief.”
“Understood, but we’ll need to speak with her afterward.”
Hunter unlocked the Jeep and reached for the scraper. He started the engine to warm it up and began cleaning snow off the windshield as he talked. “I’ll follow you.” His hand stopped mid-motion like he’d just thought of something. He turned to face her. “You never said how he died.”
Kala hesitated. “I think it best you identify him. Then we can talk about how he died.”
He started to protest but stopped himself. Instead, he shrugged and raised the scrapper to the windshield. “Fair enough. I guess waiting another hour won’t make much difference, that is, if it really is my father.”
10
Friday, December 23, 11:30 a.m.
Rouleau walked with Kala and Hunter toward the room where Tom Underwood’s body was waiting for identification. He’d tried to prepare Hunter for what he was about to see, but he knew it would still be a shock to see his father’s body laid out on the table. Kala stood behind Hunter while he gave his
