In the Bleak Midwinter

“Watch it,” he said, pointing his light to the left. The land sloped steeply down to the half-frozen edge of the river, visible between tangled bushes and slim stands of trees. “You don’t want to fall in in this weather.” She nodded and walked more slowly, staying between the tire tracks, emulating Russ’s steady tread. “I remember last year, some idiot came out here to jack deer, fell in the kill instead, and nearly died from the hypothermia. ’Course, it didn’t help that he’d been keeping himself entertained with blackberry brandy.”

“Jack deer?” She caught a flash of something dark and gleaming near the water. A deer? She aimed her flashlight toward the thicket it might be hiding in.

“Poaching. At night. If you shine a light into a deer’s eyes you can freeze it long enough to shoot.”

The gleam looked funny, familiar but out of place. She moved the beam of light to the right. And saw a hand, barely distinguishable from the snow it rested on. The dark gleam, that was hair. That was someone’s long, dark—

“Russ,” she said.

“What?”

“Russ,” she repeated. She pointed, part of her amazed at how steadily she was holding the flashlight. “Down there.”

“Oh my God!” he said. He scrambled down the slope, falling and sliding and catching at trees. “Oh Jesus, oh God, oh Jesus, no.” He yanked a bush almost out of the ground, stopping his headlong descent before he plunged into the water. Clare held her light tightly. She wasn’t sure if she could move it at this point. Russ squatted in the snow and bent over the . . . her mind tried to slide over the word “body.”

“Oh no. Oh, Jesus, oh no.” He hunkered down for a moment. She could see him backlit by the glow of his flashlight, shaking his head over and over. Then he straightened, wiped his face. Turned toward her. “It’s a girl. She’s dead.”

CHAPTER 4

Clare pressed her gloved fist against her mouth. Her flashlight never wavered. Russ pointed his light up at her, making her eyes sting and blink. “Clare? Are you okay?”

She nodded. She couldn’t see him, but she could feel him looking at her, realized he might not see the small movement.

“Yes. I’m okay,” she said. “What do you want me to do?”

“Can you make it back up the trail to the car and call for help? I’m going to have to secure the area now, see if I can find anything before—before they get here to take her out.”

“Turn on the radio and ask for Harlene?”

“Yeah. Tell her we’ve found a body off the trail, about a quarter mile upstream from Payson’s Park. Can you do that?” She nodded again. “Good girl,” he said.

Clare couldn’t stop herself from looking at that hand once more, so pale and still it might have been carved out of snow. Snow on snow, the old hymn went. Snow on snow. She could make out some kind of sleeve, disappearing into the tangled brush. Whoever it was must be half in the water. Did she jump? Had she changed her mind and tried to crawl out? Clare blinked the blurriness out of her eyes and filled her lungs with sharp, dry air. She headed up the trail, jogging as quickly as she could in the snow. The trees crowded in against the path. She slipped and slid, trying to keep her footing and not break her pace. There was an explosion of snow from her left. She yelped and almost dropped her flashlight. A doe leaped into the beam of light and vanished again in another shower of snow. Clare staggered, her heart about to hammer its way out of her chest.

She made it to the cruiser finally, her knees aching from several falls, sweaty and hot under her borrowed parka. She slid into the car and flicked on the radio, and when she heard the dispatcher’s hail she keyed the mike and said exactly what Russ had told her. Harlene put her on hold for what seemed like an eternity.

“Okay, Reverend, I’ve got an ambulance on the way and I’ve notified Doctor Dvorak. He’ll be waiting at the county morgue. Officer Flynn is headed out to lend a hand, and the state troopers are sending a technician along with a crime scene van. Can you sit tight and lead them to the chief when they get there?”

Clare keyed the mike again. “Yes, I’ll be here.”

“Are you okay, Reverend?”

“Yeah, Harlene. Thanks for asking. I’ll be fine.”

“Good girl. Dispatch out.”

Clare stripped off her gloves and blew on her fingers. She could remember the time when she would have torn into anyone who called her a girl. At thirty-five she was finally mellowing. Had Russ seen a woman down there in the snow and ice? Or was it really a girl? She yanked her coat around her, her exercise-induced heat seeping away in the chill of the car. As cold and as still as the grave.