Cold Hunter's Moon Page 3

  It was after five by the time Lark completed his notes. He called Ann and told her they would be out to begin their search at 8 A.M. He leaned back in his chair and massaged the tight muscles in his neck. Sighing, he got up to go deal with the dispatcher’s problems before she started a one-woman campaign to have him impeached.

  MONDAY EVENING

  NOVEMBER 20—THE RANSONS

  Ann spent the afternoon unpacking the antiques they had purchased for their friends. John came home just before six, and they ate dinner and watched the news, thankful that there wasn’t a story about the boot. There were, however, several deer hunting stories, including two shots of the medical helicopter landing at the hospital. They groaned when they saw the story about Pete Williams being transferred to Rhinelander. Everyone knew that the only reason someone went from Mason County Memorial to Rhinelander was for drug or alcohol rehab or a psychiatric evaluation. They were just clearing the table when the phone rang.

  Ann got off the phone just as John put the last of the dishes in the dishwasher. “That was Myra. She’s running over to pick up their books. She says Joe can’t wait to dig into the Big Little Book. It’s one he’s never seen before.”

  Ann hurried into the family room. John followed her and picked up the tiny book, leafing through the pages. “Tarzan and the Jewels of Opar. I can’t figure out what people see in these books.”

  Ann snatched it from him and slipped it into a small plastic bag. “You’re messing with forty dollars’ worth of book and that’s a good buy Joe should be tickled to death.”

  “Those two are as bad as you with their books,” John chided as he picked up the Nancy Drew books Ann had found for Myra. Ann had just finished the invoices when the doorbell rang.

  Myra breezed in, all four foot nine inches encased in an ankle-length mink coat and diminutive, black leather, high-heeled boots. Her short black pageboy peeked out from under a mink hat.

  “How about something to drink?” Ann asked as Myra slipped out of her coat and boots.

  “Thanks, but I can’t stay. David’s driving up from Madison with a friend and I want to get back as soon as possible.” Myra and Joe were in their late fifties with three of their four children married and out of the house. David was the baby. Myra was collecting sets of Nancy Drew and Hardy Boys books for her future grandchildren, the first of which was due any time. Joe swore he was collecting Big Little Books for the same reason, but Myra was sure that the grandchildren were just an excuse for his collection.

  “Well, at least come in and take a look at your books,” Ann said as she and Myra sat down in the living room.

  The Banskis were big city escapees just like John and Ann, only they were rich, early retirement escapees. They just couldn’t seem to stay retired. Joe had inherited the family neighborhood bar and steak house right after he and Myra got married. Over the next thirty years, they turned it into a Chicago tradition, adding several branches throughout the city and suburbs. Their oldest son, Joe Jr., now ran the Chicago business. Ten years ago, Myra and Joe built their summer home on twenty acres of waterfront property adjacent to the Ransons’ and moved up four years ago. Joe made it through one year of retirement before he gave in to the temptation to go back to work when one of the local supper clubs came up for sale. To keep Myra from killing him, he bought the restaurant with his daughter and son-in-law. Banskis’ had become one of the most popular restaurants in the northwoods.

  “Joe’s gonna love this,” Myra gushed as she leafed through the Tarzan book. “You’ve also found two Nancy Drews I don’t have. I can’t thank you enough,” she said as she wrote out a check. “Hey, I heard the sheriff was over here today. What did you think of him?”

  “How’d you know he was here?” Ann asked.

  “Come on, Ann. A town this size with a single guy that gorgeous? Someone mentioned it when they made dinner reservations just a little while ago.”

  “I hear he’s from Chicago. Do you know anything about him?”

  “He’s been in the restaurant a couple of times when I’ve been tending bar. He’s always alone, and eats at the bar. He seems like a real nice guy. I asked Joe Junior about him. He said he was a detective on the Chicago police force and took early retirement after his wife died a few years ago. I don’t think they had any children. I’ve tried to fix him up but he always has an excuse not to go. He’s quite nice about it, he just doesn’t seem interested. Well, gotta run, I want to be home when David gets in.” Myra walked into the hall and sat down on the bench to pull on her boots. “Hey, you forgot to tell me why the sheriff was over here.”

  “It was nothing, just some trouble with hunters,” Ann said. She hated lying, especially to friends, but if she told Myra the truth, all of Big Oak would know about it by tomorrow morning. Myra was a world champion gossip who couldn’t keep a secret if her life depended on it.

  “Well, honey, this is sure the week for that,” she said, hugging Ann on her way out the door. “The helicopter has flown over so many times this week I feel like I’m back in Chicago, and that damn O’Hare’s stuck in the mother of all holding patterns.”

  TUESDAY MORNING

  NOVEMBER 21–THE RANSONS

  Tuesday morning came in a hurry. John kissed Ann good-bye at six, reminding her that he would be back to help with the search as soon as he got his construction crew started. Ann burrowed back down under the covers and the dogs cuddled around her. She was sleeping soundly when the doorbell rang.

  “Shit, shit, shit,” Ann yelled as she rolled over and looked at the clock. It was 8:15. She couldn’t believe she’d overslept. She scrambled out of bed and lurched into the bathroom. She dragged a pick through her hair, grabbed her long blue robe, and ran downstairs. She realized the minute she hit the hallway floor that the tiles were freezing. She felt like she was walking on ice cubes. The dogs barked and crowded around her as she went to the door. She looked out the sidelight and saw the sheriff.

  Pain shot through her left foot as Buck stepped on it. Meanwhile Sheba jumped up and down like her back legs were spring-loaded. Wobbling on one foot, Ann waved the dogs back and yelled, “Everybody sit!” They backed up, rumps hitting the floor. Glaring at them, she added, “Stay.” Buck slid down to lie on the floor. Nobody else moved. She took a deep breath and opened the door.

  Lark smiled down at her. “I’m sorry if we woke you up. I have a couple of questions before we start the search.”

  “Please come in. I was just getting up when you rang the doorbell. Have you figured out where we’ll start?” Ann asked, discreetly trying to stand on one foot and then the other to ward off the cold of the floor tiles.

  The sheriff stepped into the hallway and introduced his two deputies, Paul Dolphson and Jim Kryjack. Ann smiled and shook hands with both of them, thinking that she must look old enough to be their mother.

  Ann headed into the kitchen to find that there wasn’t any coffee left, so she quickly made some. Fortunately, she had some leftover blueberry muffins. The officers and dogs followed her.

  “Officer Kryjack. I wonder if you would do me a favor?” Ann asked, once everyone was seated in the kitchen with their coffee and muffins.

  He looked at her nervously. “I’ll try, ma’am.”

  “First of all,” Ann said, brushing her hand across the table to get rid of a nonexistent crumb. “Please don’t call me ma’am, my name is Ann. I’d also appreciate it if you wouldn’t say anything to my husband about the ticket you gave me last week.”

  Lark was sipping his coffee and must have sucked some of it up his nose, because he was suddenly coughing, laughing, and choking at the same time. Ann gave him the evil eye.

  His coughing subsided just as Ann was contemplating whether she should let him choke to death or offer to perform the Heimlich maneuver, He waved his hands and choked out, “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to laugh.”

  Officer Kryjack smiled. “Of course, ma’am—I mean Ann. I won’t say a word, but you do know they put the
names of all the people who get tickets in the paper.”

  “I’ve got that covered,” Ann said as the sheriff started to laugh again. “Just what is so damn funny?” she snapped.

  “Nothing, nothing,” he said, trying to stop laughing. “Let’s change the subject. I’d like to see if your dogs can help us track down the rest of the body.”

  Paul, who had been silent to this point, stood up. “If you have leashes we can take them out on, I’ll be happy to get them ready. I grew up with golden retrievers.”

  “No need for that,” Ann said. “I’ll get the dogs ready as soon as I’m dressed.”

  “You don’t have to go out in this cold, ma’am. We can handle it,” Paul replied.

  “Hold on a minute. You’re not taking them without me,” Ann said, looking back and forth between Paul and Lark.

  Lark leaned forward in his chair and carefully put his coffee mug down on the table. “Ann, it’s ten below and very windy. I don’t think you should be out in this weather. I promise we’ll take very good care of the dogs.” Ann thought that women probably fell all over him. He seemed so sincere, looking right into her eyes as he talked.

  “Look, Lark,” Ann said, staring right back at him. “This is my property and those are my dogs. I’m going if they’re going. I’ve spent a lot of time walking over this land and I know it better than the three of you. Besides, the dogs will work better with me there.”

  “I think this is a bad idea. I can’t let you do it,” Lark said, frowning. “I think your husband would agree with me.”

  Ann stood, slammed her palms down on the table, and looked directly into the sheriff’s eyes. “Can’t let me do it,” she repeated, pointing a finger in his face. “I make my own decisions. You want to search this property without a warrant, dogs or no dogs, I’ll be going with you.”

  “What the hell’s going on here?” Ann turned around to see John standing in the kitchen doorway.

  Lark stood up. “John, I was just explaining to Ann that it’s very cold outside and I think it would be best if she didn’t come with us to search. It’s way too cold and windy for anyone to be out there let alone a—” He realized what he’d been about to say and had the good sense to shut up.

  John looked from Lark to Ann. “Oh boy, you overslept, didn’t you?’

  Ann pulled herself up to her full five feet, two inches and crossed her arms over her chest. “The damn alarm clock didn’t go off, the doorbell woke me up, the dogs have been nuts, you didn’t leave any coffee, and they want to search our property without us.”

  “Ann, you always shut the alarm off and go back to sleep unless you’re going to work. You know I never leave any coffee because you don’t drink it, it just goes to waste,” John said, patiently. “The dogs are always crazy when someone comes to the door.”

  Ann stared at him, her brown eyes snapping.

  He came into the kitchen to get himself a cup of coffee. “I was planning on going with Sheriff Swenson. You can stay here and deal with those antiques you’ve got to get delivered,” he said, not looking at her. He had developed an almost all-consuming interest in his coffee cup.

  “No, dammit, that’s not the way it’s going to work,” Ann said, settling her hands on her hips and staring daggers at him as he sat down at the table. “I’ll be ready to go in ten minutes.”

  Ann took a couple of steps towards the stairs, turned around, and fired off her final salvo. “By the way, I got another speeding ticket last week. I’m up to nine points. This one’s all your fault since you gave me that damn Motown CD,” she snapped, and stormed out of the kitchen.

  As Ann left she heard Paul say “Jeez, I’m sorry, boss, what did I do wrong?”

  “Don’t worry about it,” Lark said. “You could have handled it better, but I have a feeling it wouldn’t have made any difference this early in the morning.”

  “You’re absolutely right,” John said.

  TUESDAY MORNING

  NOVEMBER 21–THE SEARCH

  Ann felt like a female relative of the Pillsbury Doughboy. She had on long thermal underwear underneath two pairs of sweats and two pairs of socks, one of them electric. John found her standing in front of their full-length mirror.

  “I’ll probably be yelling, ‘I’ve fallen and I can’t get up,’ if I fall,” Ann said.

  He gave her a brief smile and sat down on the edge of the bed.

  “Was I that bad?”

  “You would have scared the shit out of me if I didn’t know you,” John said, pulling off his jeans. He went over to rummage in his dresser. “The sheriff’s OK. The other guy, Paul, was just trying to be helpful. He thinks he insulted you. By the way, his sister’s a nurse at the hospital.”

  “Do you think I should apologize?”

  “That’s your call,” John said, pulling on his longjohns. “They don’t want to search in this weather and neither do I, so they can’t understand why you want to.”

  “Now I really feel like shit,” she replied, sitting down awkwardly beside him.

  “I didn’t mean it that way,” John sighed, tugging his jeans back on. “This isn’t a case of the dreaded male chauvinist pigs at work. They’re nice guys just like me.” He gave her a sidelong grin. “Guys with great respect for a good-looking, barefoot woman.”

  “You asshole.” He ducked as Ann threw a pillow at him. “Good-looking, my ass. I look like crap.”

  “Well, you do have a great ass, and a fabulous chest, I might add, but seriously—no, no, Ann.” John crossed his arms over his face to avoid the pillow she swung at his head.

  “I know what you’re doing,” she said, flopping back on the bed. “I’ll let you get by with it because I feel a little better than I did a half hour ago but you can’t butter me up and get me to stay home. I’ll go make thermoses and apologize.” She kissed him and heaved herself off the bed.

  “Hold it,” he yelled. “What’s with you getting another speeding ticket?”

  “I was hoping you’d forgotten that. I’ve been trying to watch it, but I just wasn’t paying attention. I’ll do better.”

  “Yeah, right,” he said, heading into the bathroom. “One of these days you’re going to end up in jail and I won’t bail you out. If you keep it up, we won’t be able to afford car insurance.”

  Ann left while the getting was good and went downstairs to apologize. Paul and Jim got the dogs on their leashes while she prepared the thermoses. The group set off down the driveway about nine. It wasn’t snowing, but the dark clouds obliterating the sun foretold of inches to come. An arctic wind whipped through the trees and the men turned up the collars of their blaze orange coats. Even with her hood up and a scarf wrapped around her face, Ann was cold. Of course, she didn’t say a word. She’d made her bed and now she was going to freeze her ass off in it.

  The sheriff had brought two snowmobiles in the hope of speeding things up. John was concerned that the dogs would be distracted by the engine noise, so Jim took one of the radios and stayed behind with the snowmobiles. Lark kept the other radio in case they needed help. John took Duke and Ann took Buck and they followed the faint trail of animal tracks from the pond into the woods. Both dogs strained against their retractable leashes, but the occasional gunshot kept Ann and John from letting them out more than ten feet.

  As they reached the edge of the woods, Lark pulled the boot out of a plastic bag. He bent down and let both dogs sniff it while John gave them the fetch command. Lark bagged the boot and put it in his backpack. Once the dogs realized they weren’t getting their toy. they plunged into the woods, tails up and wagging. They meandered along a lightly snow-covered animal trail, stopping to investigate small tracks that skittered across the snow.

  Squirrels and chickadees chattered down from the trees, periodically distracting the dogs. Buck veered off to follow a set of rabbit tracks, and further into the woods Duke sniffed fresh deer tracks and strained at his leash. John pulled him back. Duke snorted his discontent but trotted back onto the trail.r />
  After meandering along for half an hour, they’d walked through a thousand yards of woods and come to the edge of the marsh that cut across the southern section of the Ransons’ property. It was a quarter mile wide swath of sedge grass dotted with birch clumps, small thickets of sumac, and dead tree snags. In the summer it was impossible to cross without hip waders.

  “Now what?” John asked as they took a break.

  Paul took off his backpack and pulled out a thermos. “How about a cup of coffee?”

  “Good idea,” Ann said, brushing snow off a fallen tree. Unlike the manicured woods in parks, there were downed trees all over and no shortage of places to sit.

  “Can you pour me some hot chocolate?” she asked, digging two rawhide treats out of her coat pocket. As she tossed them to the dogs, a barrage of gunshots went off on the other side of the marsh. Paul handed her a steaming cup and sat down beside her. The tree creaked but held their weight.

  “I love this place,” Paul said, looking across the marsh. “I was pissed when you posted it last year. Sam always let my family hunt here.”

  Ann sipped her cocoa. “I don’t have anything against you hunting, I just can’t feed all these animals and then kill them for sport. My father hunted just about everything and I ate a lot of game when I was a kid, so I can’t be one of those ‘ban all hunting radicals.’” She made quotation marks in the air with her free hand. “I just can’t bear hunting on my property.”