Murder in the Winter Read Free Page B

sounds like erosion of the
gums. When I shared that with Lou, he thought a moment, smiled, and told me
that some gums are deciduous.
    The trees continued to follow us on our journey. At
times, there was a break between trees, but mainly they towered over the road
and stood between ten and twenty feet back from where Lightning meandered down
the well-worn blacktop path.
    Being somewhat familiar with the road helped me to
drive and think at the same time, and when the road started its dramatic
descent I knew we were getting close to our destination. The road leads down to
the bridge then up again to the inn.
    Soon, I stopped the car and looked at the bridge that
loomed ahead. The bridge. The only way between where I was and Overlook Inn. A
long time ago someone built a bridge over an expanse, allowing people to arrive
at Precipice Point without leaping.  The snowplow that had made our journey
easier stopped just before the bridge and turned around to go back to town? The
bridge was made of wood and iron and so old there was no weight limit listed. I
hoped the extra helpings we had at breakfast would have no bearing as to
whether on not I could work this case until its conclusion and once again enjoy
semi-retirement.
    I gripped the steering wheel with both hands, looked
over at a sweating sergeant, and hit the gas. Lightning plowed through the
snow. I hoped I didn’t have to brake before arriving at my destination. I
didn’t. The snow stopped us after only a few feet. Two policemen sat in a car
on a bridge, hoping that the bridge that had lasted for many years lasted a
little longer. We sat there wondering if there was enough room to open the
doors and walk to the inn. There was. I looked at the heavy snow in front of
us. Not a track anywhere. Not even a bird or squirrel had disturbed its beauty.
The thought of the uphill flight to the inn suddenly made the bridge seem
safer. Besides, not only would we have to extract ourselves, but our luggage,
too. If only we could have slid down a hill on our suitcases. As we
contemplated our demise, I looked up as the door of the inn opened. A man
stepped out onto the porch and waved to us. Was this our murderer welcoming us?
After a quick wave, he walked down the steps and jumped up onto a snowplow that
I hadn’t noticed, a snowplow somewhat smaller than the one the city owns. He
made a roundabout path in our direction, jumped off, and trekked over to us. I
rolled down the window, told him we were guests. He asked if we felt
comfortable remaining where we were until he finished plowing the driveway. I
lied, then rolled up the window, and the two of us remained in my little yellow
bug until just after the sun had gone down.
    Maybe it wasn’t that long, but it was long enough that
my stomach let me know it had been an hour since we’d eaten. Although I was
never a Boy Scout, I never went anywhere unprepared. I reached into my pocket
and extracted a Hershey Almond candy bar, slightly colder than it was when I
removed it from the refrigerator. I always forget that there’s no reason to
refrigerate  candy  bars  in  the  winter,  but  summer  habits are hard to
break.  I  meticulously  removed  the  candy  from  its wrapper, smiled that I
didn’t have to remove my pocketknife to perform surgery to separate two almonds
that had bonded, and carefully ate the chocolate that surrounded my first
almond of the day. I have to be greatly excited or enormously disturbed to eat
more than one almond at a time. Of course, time passes quickly, so I predicted
that a second almond would be crunched to death before we were rescued from our
temporary home. I shuddered as I remembered where we were and tried not to
think of anything or anyone being crunched to death.
    While a Hershey Almond candy bar is my staple, Lou is
an M&M’s kind of guy, so he followed suit, and mangled the brown package
with his teeth. He gulped several colorful bits of candy at one time, and
smiled as if being