Snow Blind - Lori G. Armstrong [52]
found on your daddy’s place and all,” Dale said.
“Yeah, ’specially not after him ‘n’ Doug got to arguin’ at Chaska’s Feed Store.”
“Then again, some folks ’round here ain’t gonna be sobbin’ Melvin’s dead.”
“True enough.” Don spit a wad of tobacco in the snow and reached for his can of Copenhagen for a fresh dip. “How long you figure he’s been missin’? I sure ain’t heard nuthin’ about it.”
“Me neither. Cain’t recall the last time I seen him.”
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“With the way that blade hit him, and his head danglin’ off his body like a worm on a hook, it’s gonna be damn hard to tell how he died, doncha think?”
“Mebbe. Ain’t all them people CSI specialists now? Looks to me like his head was nearly sliced clean off his body.”
That made me think of how quickly my dad
separated that calf ’s head from the spinal cord and I shivered. “What the hell are you guys talking about?
Who is it? I’m lost.”
Don and Dale exchanged a look.
“I forgot you an’ Doug ain’t on the best terms. You probably doan know. Guy’s name is Melvin Canter.”
Why did that name sound familiar?
Don angled his head at the body still visible in the snow. “That man was your daddy’s hired hand.”
Great.
Sheriff Richards returned for my statement. Darkness approached. Don and Dale and two other neighbors were able to get me unstuck without resorting to chains and winches. They waved off my thanks with good ol’ boy smiles and encouraging pats on the driver’s side door. As I passed the house I called Trish’s cell phone. 179
They were waiting on tests, but it appeared Brittney was fine, despite a mild concussion, whiplash, bruises on her collarbone, and a cracked rib. She’d spend a night in the hospital. I breathed a huge sigh of relief. Lucky little snot.
When Trish began to cry, thanking me profusely, I quickly ended the call. My emotions were too raw to deal with hers.
Not a single light burned inside my house. My haven looked dark and unwelcoming. If I had a choice, I’d go someplace else. But I didn’t have a choice. I fixed a can of Campbell’s tomato soup. Couldn’t muster up the energy to make a grilled cheese sandwich. At loose ends, I did something I rarely do: I indulged in a long, hot bubble bath. Cocooned in liquid heat, surrounded by the scent of a vanilla candle, the acoustic tunes of Godsmack, and the relaxing properties of tequila, I was able to put everything from the past couple of days out of my mind. It was sheer bliss.
Naturally, it didn’t last.
Right after I’d climbed out of the tub, Jimmer called.
“Jules. Lemme talk to Martinez.”
“Hello, Jimmer. Why, I’m just peachy keen,
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thanks for asking.”
“Shit. Sorry.” Pause. “Well? Is he there?”
“No. Why?”
“Do you know where he is?”
I wouldn’t share Tony’s private number with anyone, not even Jimmer, not to mention maybe Tony wanted his sudden trip to Colorado to stay hush-hush.
“He’s not answering his cell?”
“Nope. I can’t track him down anywhere. Look. Next time he checks up on you, tell him to call me, pronto. It’s important.”
“Checks up on me? You mean when he checks in with me?”
“I meant what I said, little missy. You oughta know you ain’t ever as alone as you think when it comes to someone like him. He takes care of what belongs to him, especially if he ain’t around to do it in person.”
Huh? “But—”
“Have him call me. Oh, and let’s you and me go out drinkin’ next week. Been a while since I’ve gotten into a knock-down, drag-out bar fight.”
“I don’t always fight when I’m in a bar.”
Jimmer laughed. “Right. Pick a day and I’ll clear it with Tony.”
“I don’t have to get his permission to spend time with my friends.”
“Maybe not, but I have to ask him for permission to hang out with you.”
“You’re joking, right?”
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“Wish I was. Later.” He hung up.
Surely Jimmer was mistaken. Martinez wouldn’t do that to me . . . would he?
I selected TM on my cell phone contact list. Immediately kicked me over to his voice mail. “Call Jimmer. He says it’s urgent.”
No reason to leave a personal message. What would I say? “Guess how many dead bodies I found today? Could