Murder On The Mind

Murder On The Mind - Chapter 12

CHAPTER 12

“You want to what?”

To say that Richard wasn’t enthusiastic about my plan was definitely an understatement.

“I’m pretty sure I know where to find the rest of Sumner’s remains, but I need your help.”

His eyebrows drew close in consternation.

“Think of it as archeology, Rich.”

“Do you realize how much it’s snowed in the past week?”

“It’s in the country. Snow blows away in an open field. I’ll bet we can find it easy.”

Skeptical doesn’t begin to describe the expression plastered across his features.

I awoke early the next morning. Too psyched to eat breakfast, I wandered around the house, waiting for Richard and Brenda to get up. I dressed in my oldest jeans and sneakers. The only pair of boots I owned were more suited for line dancing than foraging through deep snow. With no heavy jacket, I dressed in layers—cotton, flannel, and wool—and hoped I wouldn’t freeze to death. That was unacceptable to Richard, who, when he finally got up, loaned me one of his jackets—easily two sizes too big. I talked him out of cashmere and into flannel, but when he reappeared in his grungies, he still looked like a walking advertisement for Neiman Marcus.

By raiding Richard’s bar and the broom closet, I’d collected a plastic grocery bag filled with tools that might come in useful, and plunked them in the back of Brenda’s Altima. I figured Richard wouldn’t want the back seat of his beautiful Lincoln cluttered with broom, shovel, and the like, and Brenda was accommodating, as usual. She informed us she intended to read up on frostbite remedies while we were gone. She had no desire to spend the better part of the day in sub-freezing temperatures.

It was after eleven when we finally started out. The day was bright and sunny. As Maggie predicted, the snow was melting and the roads were clear and dry as we headed south. For the first time in what seemed like ages, I felt good. Useful. Richard drove the twenty-some miles in silence, making me glad to have the radio for company.

We passed naked trees, closed ice-cream stands, and mile after mile of snow-covered fields. One thing was apparent: the road was not well-traveled.

The perfect place for murder.

The Holland town line sped past. “Slow down, will you? I’m not exactly sure where we’re going.”

“Does anything look familiar?” Richard asked.

I shook my head. “I’ve got no mental picture of our destination, just a funny feeling in my gut, which, I’ll admit seems pretty insubstantial.”

Richard slowed the car. Instead of looking at the countryside, I concentrated on the thrumming inside me.

“Stop!”

“Here? It’s the middle of nowhere.”

“We’re getting close.”

Plow-piled mounds of dirty snow flanked the road. The shoulder was virtually nonexistent. Richard parked as close to the snow as possible before activating the hazard flashers.

“If this car gets hit, you’re going to explain it to Brenda. Not me.”

I closed my eyes and concentrated. That shaky feeling inside grew more pronounced.

“What is it you feel, anyway?”

“I don’t know how to describe it.” I frowned, thought about it for a moment. “It’s like being a Geiger counter. But instead of a noise, I have this tense feeling inside me. Like a guitar string tightened too much.” That didn’t come out exactly right, but he seemed to accept the explanation.