3 Requiem at Christmas Read Free Page B

around the Jaguar with her own car, and trying to make it up the
hill going the other way wasn’t an option either.
    But clearly, whether blocked in or not, she couldn’t stay
where she was. Her gas tank was more than half full, but the chances of anyone
coming along to rescue her before she ran out of fuel and froze solid were
slim. And the storm was worsening. And it was nearing full dark. There were no
other cars and no houses. If she was going for help, she had to leave at once.
    The ranger station—at least the sign for it—had only been a
few miles back. They would have a radio if not a landline. They could get help.
She wasn’t a material witness who was fleeing a crime scene and callously
abandoning a dead man. She was doing her best to report a murder to the
authorities. Even though she wanted to be involved in another homicide investigation
like she wanted a root canal.
    “W-well, I p-p-planned to g-go skiing.”
    Fortunately, her suitcase was in the backseat. This time she
dressed with care. Her brief foray into the premature dusk had taught her
respect for a high Sierra storm. Leather boots were exchanged for ski boots and
wool socks. She struggled into a ski jacket and added heavy gloves and a ski mask.
She slung her purse across her body and tucked her phone and gun inside and
added a flashlight from the glove compartment, praying she could get back to
the ranger station before it was completely dark.
    Since there was a killer out there somewhere, she would have
preferred to have kept the gun ready, but it wouldn’t be possible to ski, use
poles, and also hold a handgun. Not without shooting her foot off.
    “C-crap. I w-wish I were home with
M- marley and s-some eggnog.”

 
 

Chapter 2

 
    “Oh
God! You made me do this. You idiot!” The voice sobbed and the hands shook, but it
didn’t stop the man from finishing what needed to be done.
    The matter had to be
put right or he was a dead man. His boss would not forgive.
    But where was the damn
thing? He had been sure that it would be in the car, but it wasn’t. He’d looked
everywhere—even searched the body which was covered in blood. Who knew a man
could bleed so much?
    But it just wasn’t
there. So it was back in Tahoe. It had to be—and he needed to find it and get
it back before his boss discovered it was missing.

 
    *   *   *

 
    The ranger’s station was not far away, and it had on its
porch light which Juliet could just see through the snow. Though Juliet loved
skiing, she would never willingly try it again under blizzard conditions. She
knew she was lucky to be alive. Without the porch light, she would have
traveled right past the tiny side road and never have seen the small cabin. She
could have even ended up in a ravine with broken bones or even a broken neck.
    The ranger heard her fumbling with her skis and pulled open
the door. Heat rolled out over her and made her moan with pleasure.
    “Good God,” the ranger said, expression and voice equally
shocked.
    “N-n-no, J- juliet H-henry,” she answered
through numbed lips, managing to free herself from the bindings and push past
the older man and into the cabin. The station was small, modest and rustic enough
for Abraham Lincoln. The walls were wood, but covered in so many corkboards pinned
with notices that the logs were all but invisible.
    “Jack Nyland ,” the man answered,
closing the door. His tone was bemused.
    The small cabin was warm enough to demand that she take off
her outerwear before trying to tell her story. The furnishings were an old scarred
desk, an older scarred chair, and a broken-down sofa that seemed a match for
the broken-down ranger who was best described as hirsute and leathery. And dry.
He hadn’t been out in the storm.
    While she was trying to decide where to put her coat and
gloves, Ranger Nyland poured out a mug of coffee and
thrust it into her hands. She tossed her coat onto the back of the sofa and
then folded herself onto the sagging seat.