She touched her finger to her lips, then brushed it over her smiling grandparents’ faces and wondered what they knew about the women who looked like her. Jocelyn Wallis and Shelly Bonaventure, “dead ringers” for her who had lived in the area.
She continued to climb the stairs. The third step from the top creaked as it always did, and Kacey smiled, remembering how she’d avoided stepping on that particular plank as a child, first considering it “bad luck” and later so as not to wake her snoring grandfather and light-sleeping grandmother as she snuck out of the house during those blissful, hot Montana summers, when the smell of cut hay and dust filled her nostrils and she rode her horse bareback through the moonlit fields.
It seemed an eternity ago, part of a childhood disconnected from the woman she’d become, the driven medical student who had been attacked by a madman and had nearly given up her career before it had gotten started.
Who was she kidding?
She’d never been the same since the maniac had leapt out at her in the parking garage.
Gone was any vestige of the girl who had raced her horse at midnight, or swung on a rope to drop into the river that cut through these mountains in summer, or hiked fearlessly through the surrounding hills…. No, between her mother’s constant criticism and that horrific attack, Kacey’s self-confidence had eroded.
She’d gotten some of it back over the years, even handling the failure of divorce with more spine than she would have expected, but still, deep inside, in a place she rarely acknowledged, there was a frightened shell of a woman, and right now she was rearing her scared, trembling head.
Don’t let it happen. Don’t let some weirdo derail you. Grace Perchant thinks she can talk to ghosts, for crying out loud!
Giving herself a silent pep talk and a hard mental shake, Kacey walked to the room she’d always occupied, never having moved into her grandparents’ bedroom. That had seemed sacrilegious somehow. Rather than turn on the light, she walked to the window in the dark and stared across the moonlit fields.
Again she felt an unlikely, malicious wind rush through her insides, though the room was perfectly still. She thought about the driver of the pickup that had hit her car, remembered seeing his fleeting face. Did she know him? Or had she, in that heart-stopping instant, been mistaken?
All in your mind, she told herself but didn’t believe it for an instant.
CHAPTER 16
“ Okay…no. . wait. .” Pescoli, seated across from Alvarez in a booth at Wild Will’s held up both hands and cocked her head. It was the day after Thanksgiving, and they’d agreed to meet at the local restaurant and bar located in downtown Grizzly Falls. “You had your fortune read in a teacup by a woman who wears matching sweaters with her dog, and then you stole the victim’s cat?”
“Adopted. Maybe temporarily.”
Pescoli stared at her as if she’d just sprouted horns. “Who are you, and where’s my partner?” she demanded, grabbing the ketchup bottle and pouring a huge glob on her plate. “The next thing I know, you’ll be claiming to be beamed up into a spaceship to face Crytor, or whoever he was, the alien lizard general who Ivor Hicks thinks captured him years ago.”
Alvarez played around with the remains of her tuna salad and decided she had to confess. If she didn’t, Pescoli might hear it from someone else. So she admitted going to Dan Grayson’s for Thanksgiving.
“For the love of God,” Pescoli said, stunned. “You barged in on his family Thanksgiving and—”
“I was invited, okay?”
“Out of pity.”
Alvarez glared at her partner. “It was a mistake, okay? I get that now. I only told you so that if the sheriff said anything, you wouldn’t be blindsided.” She jabbed her fork into a bit of lettuce. “So, what did you do?”
To her surprise, Pescoli actually blushed as she grabbed her Reuben and dredged it through the ketchup before taking a bite.
“Thought so.” Alvarez tried not to sound envious.
“So, you find anything interesting at the neighbor’s besides the cat?” she asked as she swallowed and washed the bite down with Diet Coke.
“Could be that we’re on the lookout for a dark pickup.”
Pescoli sent her a glance. “When aren’t we on the lookout for one?”
Alvarez lifted a shoulder.
“So does this pickup have plates? Distinguishing marks? Maybe a camper or toolbox?”
“Possibly, but Lois didn’t see or remember.”
“Lois is the dachshund-walking, sweater-matching, tea-leaf-reading, charter-member-of-PETA neighbor?”
“Yes,” Alvarez answered patiently.
“Huh. Not exactly the most credible witness.” Pescoli drained her soda, and before she could decline, Sandi, the waitress and owner of the establishment, slid another drink in front of her. “Thanks. That’s enough.”
“Free refills.” Sandi, tall and a little on the gaunt side, grinned widely. She never stopped selling. She’d ended up with the establishment in a bitter divorce from her husband, William Aldridge, for whom the restaurant, had been named, and she’d poured her heart and soul into the place changing up the once-boring menu with local fare that included huckleberries, venison, and trout, then redecorating the restaurant to look like a hunting lodge. The chandeliers were wagon wheels with lanterns affixed to their rims. Mounted on the rough plank walls, high overhead, the stuffed heads of bighorn sheep, antelope, deer, and even a moose stared through glassy eyes at those who occupied the tables and booths below. It was eerie, weird, and kind of macabre to Alvarez’s way of thinking, but totally in step with the Grizzly Falls way of life.
With a wink of an overly shadowed eye, Sandi hurried off to a table where a couple were trying to deal with three loud kids who looked as if they ranged in age from two to six. Mom and Dad were obviously frazzled as they tried to sort out drinks, juggle their bags, and answer questions from the squirming trio of sons. Sandi whipped out tiny coloring books from her apron, found a glass filled with crayons on a nearby table, and, once the kiddies were into their newfound art, took the couple’s order.
“So tell me again about the poison.” Pescoli took another bite as Alvarez repeated what she’d discovered in Jocelyn Wallis’s apartment and how it all added up to murder.
They discussed the case and, after paying the bill, put on their jackets and headed through the front doors and past Grizz, the stuffed grizzly bear that greeted customers as they entered Wild Will’s. Grizz, frozen in time, his mouth a perpetual snarl that bared his long teeth, was usually dressed for the season. Today was no exception, as he wore a white bonnet and collar over his shaggy coat, as if he were a Pilgrim woman. Gourds, squash, and an overflowing cornucopia were situated at his long, clawed feet, and a stuffed turkey peeked around the dry stalks of corn that surrounded him.
“Cute,” Pescoli muttered under her breath.
Alvarez shouldered open the glass doors, and a blast of winter air hit her full in the face. The sidewalk had been shoveled and salted, concrete peeking through, and the roar of the falls was audible over the traffic rolling along the street. The pedestrians were bundled in a variety of jackets and coats, most with scarves wound around their necks, boots covering their feet and stocking caps pulled over their ears. Some juggled packages, while others held tight on to the mitten-clad hands of their children. A few idled and smoked while huddled in doorways of the shops already decorated with cedar wreaths, red bows, and glittering lights, all heralding the Christmas season. The snow had quit for the day, but the cloud cover hung low, hugging the earth, blocking the sun.