Snowed Under, page 2
The room went dark as if Tess’s warning of an outage had made it so. We sat in the eerie glow of the fire, listening to the gusts outside. In the absence of refrigerator, furnace, and other modern noises, the wind noise grew more threatening.
The night ahead loomed long, cold, and dark.
Chapter 2
Life is really simple, but we insist on making it complicated.
—Confucius, Chinese philosopher. 551-479 BCE
Thursday, February 18, Morning
I awoke to the sounds of the microwave beeping, the refrigerator motor firing up, and the feel of warm dog breath on my face.
“G’morning to you, too,” I told Belle, pushing her head away and struggling to extricate myself from the deep cushions. I cursed my recent absence from my Pilates class at the Mountain View YMCA. Stronger core muscles would have helped.
I tossed a log on the fire and noted that Tess, at some point, had escaped the sofa, presumably to find a real bed. I let her sleep and then began the multi-stage process of outfitting myself, layer by layer, for the weather outside.
I leashed up the dogs, left the front door off the latch, and stepped gingerly off the front stoop, gripping the railing until I could determine the slip factor of the ground underfoot. My first steps, in the shade of the house, were promising. There were two conditions I feared more than any others—a thin layer of melted water over ice, and a dusting of powder disguising slick terrain. So far, so good. I squinted into the sun reflecting off the fresh snow and patted my pockets for the sunglasses I’d left behind. Next time I ventured outdoors, I’d remember to bring them.
The air was still cold, but much warmer than it had been the night before, and the wind had died overnight. I unhooked the dogs’ leashes and followed them as they bounded over the drifts like puppies with a new toy. We retraced our steps downhill to the car, where I brushed nearly a foot of snow from the roof and windshield. I stopped and leaned against the hood, watching the dogs and resting, out of breath after what amounted to light exercise. My body struggled to adapt to the altitude and the fact that it took me five or six breaths to take in the same amount of oxygen I could capture in four inhalations at home, closer to sea level.
The dogs’ antics had already furrowed the terrain in the turnaround area of the cul-de-sac. In the center of the road, we pushed through knee-high snow with a few areas nearly blown clear by the overnight gale. Everywhere else, nearly four feet of snow softened every surface, making it appear that the bear boxes, mail station, and vegetation had been covered with a thick puffy duvet. I grabbed a bag of groceries from the car and whistled to the dogs. The rest of our luggage could wait until Tess helped me drive the car back to the cabin. I needed her knowledge of the landscape to help keep my wheels on the snow-covered road, away from concealed rocks, and out of hidden gullies. I wondered what other creatures lay just out of sight. Hibernating bears? Tiny voles and mice? Snowshoe rabbits? Mountain lions? I shuddered and glanced over my shoulder. I had that tense feeling between my shoulder blades that meant someone or something was watching me or I’d spent too long yesterday at the wheel.
The last time I’d been to Tess’s cabin had been during a summer heat wave, back before the recent death of her husband, Patrick. It had been the height of the tourist season. Every house was full of guests. Any self-respecting bear would have stayed far away from the noise. But now, I saw only one house other than Tess’s with a plume of smoke escaping its chimney. The nearest house to the left looked long abandoned and in need of care. Icicle spears stretched from the roofline to the ground.
How many neighbors did Tess have in the winter months? Were the rest of the houses owner-occupied, vacant, or rented?
I trudged back up the hill toward coffee. I’d drag Tess out of bed if I had to. We had a long list of chores we needed to finish this week so that we could spend the weekend skiing. My husband Max, our children David and Brian, and Tess’s son Teddy were joining us Friday night. After that, with the contents of the ski cabin discarded, donated, or stored, Tess would bring in painters and repair people to get the house spruced up to sell.
It was her late husband who’d loved the mountains. Tess and Teddy were beach people. Without Patrick, the ski cabin had lost its luster—
Panic derailed my thoughts as my foot found a slick spot in the road. I gasped, fought for balance, and windmilled my arms. Without my noticing, the sun had warmed the neighborhood to just above freezing. Icicles dripped from the eaves of all the houses. Rivulets of water carved their way through the drifts. After I’d regained my balance I shuffled my feet to keep from catching a heel on a patch of ice. I hoped some of the snow would survive the thaw. I’d been so focused on yesterday’s driving conditions that it hadn’t occurred to me to check the forecast regarding weekend ski conditions.
* * * *
Back inside the cabin I stomped snow off my boots and left them near the door. The dogs dashed up the stairs, leaving a trail of melting clumps behind them. I dodged the damp spots in my stocking feet and inhaled the aroma of hot coffee and cinnamon. Either Tess was up or she had the friendliest most hospitable ghost in the world.
“Morning, sleepyhead,” I said to Tess as she poured coffee and pulled fragrant cinnamon buns from the oven.
“Thanks for taking the dogs. Is your car okay?”
“Yup. I don’t think we’ll need to shovel it out at all. Snow’s melting fast.”
Tess wrinkled her nose and peered out the window. “I was afraid of that.”
“Most of the lifts will still be in operation this weekend, right? Even if we don’t get more snow?”
Tess plucked a bun directly from the pan and transferred it to a plate, leaving a trail of icing drops that she cleaned up with her finger. “I think so. I’m not worried about that so much as the possibility of flooding.”
“At this time of year?” I associated flooding with the spring snowmelt rather than a brief winter thaw.
“Maybe.” She took her coffee mug to the window and stared out. “Could you hear the creek when you were out with the dogs?”
“I didn’t think to notice.”
“It’s probably not a problem. When we have a quick thaw and the ground is still too frozen to absorb water, run-off creates flash flooding. The ice on ponds and lakes will be soft but concealed by the new layer of snow. We’ll stick to the trails if we do any hiking. Falling through ice is a nasty but avoidable tragedy.”
“We won’t have time or energy for outdoorsy exercise. Not until after we make a dent in the clutter.”
Tess returned to the table. I’d already demolished my cinnamon roll and was cleaning the icing off my plate. I was tempted to scarf hers if she didn’t eat it soon.
“Do you have a strategy?” Tess asked. “I want to go through the closets and drawers and donate any clothes that Teddy’s outgrown or that are so old-fashioned no one would be caught dead in them. I’m certain some of Patrick’s grandmother’s ski gear is still in the attic. I don’t want to even think about the basement and garage.”
“But didn’t you and Patrick remodel just a few years ago? You didn’t clear out stuff then?”
Tess shook her head. “We were focused on speed, so we just boxed up everything and labeled it. Pretty haphazardly.” She scrunched up her face. “We’re going to have to go through everything all over again.”
“Are you selling the place furnished? Do we need to hang onto linens and housewares?”
“Yup. I can take the kitchen. There’s a lot of whittling down I need to do. One set of pots, dishes, and bedding should be fine.”
“The beds all look made. Can the rest of the sheets be donated?”
“I’ll need to check first. Some of the patchwork quilts have sentimental value.”
“Show me a bedroom we won’t use this weekend. I’ll make one pile of stuff I’m pretty sure you won’t want, and another of things you’ll need to approve more carefully. After you’ve given them a once over, I’ll pack them up and we can take a load to your local charity after the snow plow comes through.”
Tess tilted her head and saluted. “So orders the professional organizer.”
“Trust me. It will go faster that way.”
“I’ll start in the basement. Some of the old skis may be museum quality, but most of them are just junk.”
“Four piles,” I told her. “Garbage, recycling, donate, keep.” Tess plugged in her phone, cranked up the sound on a Motown playlist, and we set to work.
We labored steadily for two hours until Tess brought me a second cup of coffee. Cobwebs draped her hair and dark circles ringed her bloodshot eyes. Streaks in the dust on her cheeks told me she’d been crying.
“It’s a tough job,” I said. “All those memories.”
She sneezed, then sipped her coffee as she stared out the window. “I met Patrick in high school,” she said. “Spent weekends up here with his family, and then college weekends skiing with our friends. We were married here. Honeymooned. Vacationed with Teddy as a baby. Every dust bunny is whining sentimentally at me, begging me to save it.”
I thought for a moment before replying. Tess was my friend, but she was also my client. I’m a professional organizer. Clearing out, down-sizing, and reorganizing are my superpowers. I help clients blast through these crisis moments to get the job done.
But Tess and Teddy had lost Patrick eighteen months earlier. They were still fragile. Maybe it was too soon. “Are you sure you’re ready to sell?”
Tess sighed. “I was so sure up until this morning. Teddy and I need the money to make our dreams come true. College and possibly graduate school for Teddy, and a career change for me.”
Since Patrick’s murder, Tess had lost interest in her lucrative job as one of Silicon Valley’s top Realtors. After we uncovered the clues that led us to the creep who’d killed her husband, Tess had declared her intention to enroll in the local community college and pursue a career in law or law enforcement. Her initial plan was to become a criminalist, analyzing forensic evidence from crime scenes, but she was keeping an open mind. She’d approach the future one or two classes at a time and revise her plans as needed and as her interests developed.
I put down my coffee mug and wrapped my arm around her shoulder. “Everyone says to wait a year or two, or even more, before making big decisions. It’s only been eighteen months—you’re still well within that time window.”
She shook her head vehemently, tickling my face with her long velvety black hair. “No, I need to do this.”
“How ’bout this, then. We’ll do what we can for now. Hit the high spots. Get rid of the baby stuff along with everything broken and worn beyond repair. We’ll reevaluate the long-term scheme on Sunday. You’ll know more by then about how you feel and how Teddy’s handling it all, okay?”
She wiped her eyes and sniffed. “I guess.”
“Whether you decide to go ahead with the sale or not, this place could do with a good clear away and cleaning. Nothing we do this week will be wasted, no matter what you ultimately decide.”
“It’s a plan,” Tess said, squaring her shoulders and trying to smile. “But I still would like to finish up this weekend.”
“Did you bring your magic wand?”
Tess gave me a friendly shove. I stood up, brushing my grimy hands on my dusty jeans.
“Are you up for a break?” I asked. “I want to move my car. I could use your knowledge of any hazards that the snow is hiding. You know, attack-trained boulders, car-swallowing sinkholes, that kind of thing.”
Tess stood, leaned forward, and finger-brushed her hair. She gathered its weight into a ponytail and snapped a hair tie around it. “And after that, lunch. I’m always starving in the mountains.”
* * * *
We took the dogs and shovels just in case. Snow melting and settling, combined with drifts sliding off cabin roofs and down the hill, had increased the density of the mounds surrounding the car. Mozart and Belle had a quick sniff around, focusing on the bear boxes with their odors of garbage and visiting critters, both wild and domestic.
I took one side of the car and Tess took the other, digging out the tires. The weight of the snow and the altitude made me breathless in a hurry. I stood, set down the shovel, and stretched my back.
“How you doin’—” I started to ask Tess, when my feet slipped out from under me. My head slammed against a rock or still-icy snowdrift, and I scrambled to regain my balance. But the more I struggled the faster I slid. Hidden under the drifts was a thin stream of snow melt over a slab of ice. I yelped and screamed as I careened down the steep slope of the turnout area, fighting to keep my head uphill. My jeans were quickly soaked. I was freezing.
Grabbing for something, anything I could use to slow my fall, I lost my mittens and scraped my knuckles until I took hold of a jeans-clad leg just behind my head on the right. Tess had apparently fallen victim to the same combination of physics laws that had sent me flying, and we’d both ended up in a jumble at the foot of the hill. “Neither one of us gets any points for grace and coordination,” I said.
“What’s that?” Tess stood up behind me on the left. “I was laughing too hard to hear what you said. If I weren’t such a klutz with my phone’s camera it would already be on YouTube.”
I stared at Tess’s legs covered in stylish black corduroy pants and bright red snow boots that were significantly grippier than my footwear. I followed the legs up her body to her face, and shuddered.
“Oh my God,” Tess screamed in alarm, falling to her knees at my side. “Are you injured? I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have laughed. Where does it hurt?”
“If you’re there,” I said slowly. “Whose jeans was I holding on to?” I shuddered again, too creeped out to turn my head and see for myself.
Tess drew back. Her eyes grew wide. I hesitated, but then glanced behind me. Like Tess, I stared at the black winter boot and sodden clothing on the leg that emerged from the partially melted snowdrift.
Chapter 3
How many things I have no need of!
—Socrates, Greek philosopher. 470-399 BCE
Thursday, February 18, Near noon
I scrambled back, putting as much room as I could between myself and the offending boot. I wiped my hands on my jeans, leaving swaths of blood from my injured knuckles. I repeated the motions, but my hands felt no less tainted by their proximity to a dead body.
“Was he there last night?” Tess whispered, eyeing the boot as though she expected it to wake up and attack her. “Tell me we didn’t walk over or on him last night.”
I covered my mouth and fought my growing horror. “Did I hit the guy with the car? Did we knock him down and then leave him behind to freeze? I couldn’t hear a thing in that wind.”
“Wouldn’t the dogs have smelled him? Warned us a stranger was near? Tried to greet him?” Tess shook her head. “No. No. He couldn’t have been here last night. Not like this.”
“Then how long has he been there? His leg is frozen. Stiff. He must have been deep under the snow. I guess it thawed just enough this morning to unearth him.” I glanced around the cul-de-sac, my heart racing. Whether it was from panic or the altitude, I couldn’t say.
Belle bounded toward me and play bowed, assuming I was up for a fun new game. Mozart lifted his leg against the snowdrift encasing the frozen body.
“No!” Tess shouted, a moment too late. “It’s a crime scene!” She was a natural for a law-enforcement career, or she would be once she got her timing down. She scrambled to her feet, grabbed the end of Mozart’s leash, and reached out a hand to help me up.
“Should we call—” My words were cut short by a screech of metal on metal, followed by a weird crashing sound I couldn’t identify.
On my feet, but feeling a little wobbly, I glanced up the hill. In the nearest house, across the street from the neglected one I’d noticed earlier, a woman leaned out of an open second-story window. She knocked a broom handle against icicles as long and as thick as my arm. Attached to the roof, the frozen spikes loomed over the window like lethal monster teeth. Freed, they slammed into the snow drifts and quickly disappeared.
Tess patted my arm. “It’s okay,” she said. “It’s my neighbor, Elisabeth Roche.”
“Hey, Elisabeth,” she shouted, waving. “It’s Tess. Tess Olmos from across the street.”
The seventy-something woman with gray hair and a pinched face squinted toward us. “Whose car is that? Do they have a permit?”
“It’s my car, Mrs. Roche,” I said, smiling and stepping forward. “We were about to move it. Couldn’t get it into the garage last night. Door was frozen.” My explanation wasn’t precisely accurate, but I didn’t think it mattered. I’d identified the offending driver and promised to move the car immediately.
“Don’t delay. We can’t have it blocking the mailboxes, the dumpster, or the path of the snow plow. And leash those dogs.” She continued to fuss. “People don’t think. The rules are there for a reason.” She poked a few more icicles, breaking them off with a shattering crack.
Her face disappeared into the dark recesses of the house and she slammed the window shut, knocking down a few more deadly ice spears. But not before I heard the telltale yapping of a tiny and very annoyed dog.
“Chihuahua mix,” said Tess. “Duke. He thinks he’s a Great Dane, but he uses a litter box in the winter. He’d get lost in all this snow if he didn’t freeze first.”
I glanced at the foot of the man who had apparently been lost and frozen in the snow. My stomach lurched. I swallowed hard. “I guess I should move my car.”
“Crime scene.”
“Right. Do you have your phone?”
“Back at the house.”
“Should one of us stay here and guard the…boot? The body, I mean?”
