Snow Blind - Lori G. Armstrong [44]
Here? Everything was neat and tidy. Here, I saw nothing.
Except that.
My stomach lurched at the snow-covered lump
between the evergreen shrubs and the brick wall. It looked out of place. I stared at it for the longest time. I scanned the area. No windows overlooked this section where two buildings intersected. The shrubs were an attempt to spruce up the hidden corner. But even those shrubs were straggly, neglected, and forgotten. A shiver trickled down my spine as I took that first step. My boot broke through the unspoiled crust and buried my leg midcalf. To make progress through the thick layers, I had to raise my knees high, making me look like a demented majorette as I threw my arms out for balance. My blood pounded in time to the rat-atat-tat of a snare drum in the phantom marching band in my head.
Maybe I was mistaken. Maybe I’d reach that
lump and find a sack of yard waste. Or some lazy person’s discarded garbage. Or a bag of old, unwanted clothing.
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Or an old, unwanted man.
My warm breath cut through the air. I crouched and gently brushed the snow away.
Please be wrong, please be wrong.
When my gloved fingers uncovered the frozen
skin and hair, I shrieked and fell on my ass. He appeared to be lying on his side, curled up in a fetal position. No hat. I couldn’t tell if he wore gloves or a coat beneath the shell of snow covering him. I didn’t want to see anything else. This was not my job. I’d done my job in finding him. Period. Done done done.
Against my will, my fingertips reconnected to his face. I brushed away a little more snow just to be sure it was him. When his whole head was visible, I stopped. Vernon Sloane didn’t look peaceful in death. He looked . . . pained. Cold. Terrified. Just like those frozen corpses at the end of the movie Titanic. But this wasn’t a movie set where he’d get up, scrub off the makeup, and walk away. He was dead.
My vision became blurry. I stumbled back to the sidewalk and dialed Kevin’s cell. He didn’t answer until the third time I tried him.
“I found Vernon Sloane. Yes, I’m serious. No. I’m outside. Take the sidewalk heading east. In the corner.”
I glanced down at the old man. “No, I’ll wait. Just don’t bring a ton of people with you, okay? It’s bad enough he died this way. He doesn’t deserve to be gawked at like some kind of freaky human ice sculpture.”
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After I shut my phone, I peeled off my gloves, not caring about frostbite. I wouldn’t wear them again. Ever. I rolled them into a ball and shoved them in the closest trash can.
God. I craved a cigarette, but I’d already fucked up the scene. I hunched deeper into myself, into my coat, and didn’t budge until I heard Kevin shouting my name. Even then I didn’t move very fast. I was too numb—in body and soul. I let him wrap me inside his big wool coat, soaking up his warmth and strength. I eased away from him when I could think again. Kevin tipped my chin up to look in my eyes. “I’m sorry you found him.”
“I know.”
“You want to head back inside and I’ll catch up with you when I’m done out here?”
“Hell, no.”
He cocked an eyebrow at me. Since my near-death bout with hypothermia I tended to get cold faster than most people, hence my reluctance to stay in the cold, hence Kevin’s concern over my willingness to do just that. I’d survived calving in subzero temps with my father. I’d survive this, too. “Look, I don’t want to be by myself, especially not in there. I’ll wait for you.”
“Then I’ll make it fast.”
Before I witnessed the Search and Rescue guys chipping away ice so they could load the body, Officer Smith escorted me back inside and took my statement. I don’t know if my investigative skills impressed him or 151
scared him. But his solicitous act caused a headache. I was damn glad when Kevin and I were formally excused from further questioning. Kevin drove back to the office.
I gazed out the window. I’d had a lot of practice in staring aimlessly into space, contemplating death in recent months. “Did you call Amery?”
“Yeah. She’s on her way home.”
“I’m sorry, Kev. This’ll be rough on