style="font-size:15px;"> Jason nodded. The owners rented the place out in the winter months while they vacationed in their Athens home. Nice place, Greece. Beautiful blue waters. Fascinating local culture. Ouzo in abundance. He’d nearly taken a bullet to the stomach there a few years ago. Good times.
“Thanks again,” Yvette called as she walked away.
Feeling as though he wanted to give Yvette his phone number, Jason also suspected that would not be cool. Not yet. They’d only chatted ten minutes. So instead he watched her turn on her snowmobile and head off with a smile and a wave.
Besides, he knew where to find her now if he wanted to.
A glance to the SUV found it was still parked. Exhaust fumes indicated the engine was running. Hmm...
Jason strode across Main Street toward the SUV, boots crunching the snowpack. The vehicle shifted into gear and drove past him. It slowed at the stop sign at the east edge of town. And sat there. Yvette had crossed to the town’s edge and taken a packed trail hugged by tall birch trees.
The thunder of Jason’s heartbeats would not allow him to dismiss the SUV. It was almost as if the driver had been parked there, watching... Yvette?
He looked at his cell phone. Elaine’s message read, Yvette Pearson.
As the very much alive Yvette LaSalle had said, it was a common French name. But two Yvettes in one small town? Both, apparently, visiting. And one of them dead?
Unable to shake the itchy feeling riding his spine, Jason returned to his snowmobile and pulled on his helmet. By the time he’d fired up the engine and headed down Main Street, the SUV had slowly moved toward the birch-lined road heading east. Yvette’s direction.
Jason pulled up alongside the SUV, switched on the police flasher lights and signaled the driver to pull over. He did so and rolled down his window. The thirtysomething male wearing a tight gray skullcap and sunglasses tugged up a black turtleneck as the brisk air swept into the truck cab.
“Chief Jason Cash,” Jason said as he approached the vehicle. A nine-millimeter Glock hugged his hip, but he didn’t sense a need for it. Nor did he ever draw for a routine traffic stop. Not that this was a traffic stop.
“Hello, Officer,” the man said with an obvious accent. Texan? A Southern drawl twanged his voice. “Is there a problem?”
“No problem. I’ve not seen you in Frost Falls before, and it is a small town. Like to introduce myself.” He tugged off a glove and offered his hand to the man. The driver twisted and leaned out the window to shake his hand. A calm movement. Warm hand. But Jason couldn’t see his eyes behind the mirrored lenses. “Your name?”
“Smith,” he said easily. Which was the name Jason had gotten from the plate check. “I’m visiting the Boundary Waters tourist area. Just out for a drive. Beautiful day with the sunshine, yes?”
“You betcha.”
Definitely a Texan accent. Fresh out of high school, Jason had served three years in the marines alongside a trio of Texans who had extolled their love for hot sauce whenever they were bored.
“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
