Jason took in the woman who sat before the diner counter. Two stools separated them. After setting a backpack on the floor, she’d pulled off a knit cap to let loose a spill of long black hair. Unzipping her coat halfway revealed a blue-and-white wool sweater that featured snowflakes and reindeer. Looked like one of Marjorie’s knitted projects. Jason had one of those ugly sweaters—it featured a moose and possibly moose tracks (because he could never be sure it wasn’t moose scat)—but he wore it proudly because someone had made it especially for him.
The woman at the counter was not a resident of Frost Falls. And today, of all days, he was particularly alert to strangers. This morning had brought a dead stranger onto his radar. Lunch had found him standing over an autopsy of the same woman. When driving back to Main Street, he’d sighted a shiny SUV that did not belong to a local. He’d run a plate check. Belonged to a Duluth resident. No police record or accidents reported. Worked for Perkins. Probably in town visiting friends.
And now Miss America was sitting ever so close.
She ordered mint tea and the club sandwich with extra bacon. The waitress winked and commented that she was glad to finally use up the tea she’d had stashed under the counter for years.
Jason noted the woman’s cringe when she heard the date of the tea, and he chuckled.
“Not many tea drinkers in these parts,” he said. “I haven’t seen you in The Moose. You passing through Frost Falls?”
“In a means, yes,” she said with an accent that sounded familiar to Jason.
She was an exotic beauty. Her skin tone was olive, and her features were narrow. Bright blue eyes twinkled beneath delicate curved black brows. She didn’t fit the standard profile of the Scandinavians who populated a good portion of Minnesota’s frozen tundra. Gorgeous, too, far prettier than most. And she didn’t appear to be wearing a lick of makeup. Something about natural red lips...
Jason shook off a bittersweet memory of red lips and sly winks. Weird that he hadn’t heard about this beautiful woman from the town’s gossip mill. He turned on the stool to face her. “Name’s Jason Cash,” he offered. “I’m the town’s chief of police.”
For another few months, at least. If and when he lost this job, what would he have to show for his years of service to both his country and this small town?
Not a hell of a lot.
“Nice to meet you, Chief Cash. I’m Yvette LaSalle. I’m not exactly passing through this cozy town. I’ve been here a few weeks. For a, um, vacation. Decided to stop in the diner today because I was across the street making a grocery run.”
“LaSalle.” Must be French Canadian. Nix the Miss America idea, and replace it with...hmm... Her tone didn’t seem to possess the rugged edge the Canadian accent offered. Interesting. And come to think of it, he had heard Marjorie mention something about a newcomer sitting in The Moose last week. Why had Marjorie failed to point out how drop-dead beautiful the woman was? Her gossip was usually much more on point. “I’m glad our paths crossed today.”
The waitress set Yvette’s plate and tea before her.
“Mind if I slide over?” Jason asked. “Then we don’t have to yell across the room at one another.”
“Go ahead.” She pulled a strip of bacon out of the sandwich and munched the crispy slice. “Mmm, meat, how I have missed you.”
“You go off meat for some crazy reason?”
“I am a vegetarian,” she said, prodding another bacon strip, then eyeing it disdainfully. “Or rather, was.” She took a big bite of the sandwich. “Mon Dieu, that is so good!”
Miss France, he decided. He’d only been assigned a single two-day Parisian job while serving in the CIA. He knew a handful of French words, but beyond that, his capacity for learning foreign languages was nil.
“You must not order the tea very often, eh?”
She rolled her eyes. “I had a misguided craving. I think this’ll be the last time I get tea here.”
“Stick with the root beer,” Jason said. “Root beer never lets a man down.”
“Sounds like a personal issue to me, but to each his own. I like your snowmobile,” she said. “The one parked out front, yes? It looks like a racing machine.”
“Oh, it is.” Jason’s back straightened, and he hitched a proud smile in the direction of the powerful machine parked outside. “Could have been a professional racer. I love burning up the track. But I don’t have the time. This job keeps me on call 24/7.”
“I suppose there is a lot of crime in this sleepy little town.” She tried to hide a smirk, but Jason caught it. A fall of dark hair hid half her eye. Oh, so sexy. And every part of him that should react warmed in appreciation.
The last time he’d felt all the right things about a woman had been two years ago in Italy.
And that had ended disastrously.
“Someone has to keep the Peanut Gang in line,” he offered.
“The Peanut Gang?”
“Bunch of old farts who think poaching wolves isn’t harming the ecosystem. Idiots.”
“I’m not afraid of wolves. I think they are beautiful animals.”
Jason nodded. “They are. But I’ll leave it to my brother, the wolf whisperer, to kneel on the ground and pet them. It’s always best to be cautious around wild animals.”
Yvette nodded, but then said, “I got a great shot of a moose last week. On film, that is.”
“Is that so?”
“I’ve learned to snowshoe out in the forest behind the cabin. Always take my camera along.”
“You should be careful. Those beasts look gawky, but a moose can run fast.”
“Tell me about it. I was photographing the snow-laced birch trees and out of nowhere a moose charged through the deep snow. It was beautiful. But I’m cautious to check for big critters now when I venture out.”
“You should stick to the trails. Safer.”
“Safe is good, hmm?”
Jason almost responded with an immediate yes, but he sensed by her tone that she was angling for bigger fish. Were those thick lashes as soft as they looked? And did she prefer not so safe? Now that was his kind of woman.
“Depends,” he said. “There’s safe and then there’s, hmm...wild?”
“Wild is not a word I’d ever place to anything in this town.”
If that wasn’t some wanting, repressed sexual desire in her sigh, Jason couldn’t guess otherwise. She had been in Frost Falls a few weeks. Why had he never noticed her before? And could he hope Alex hadn’t already hooked up with her?
“You, uh, like wild?” he asked.
“I do.” She finished off one triangle of the sandwich, but from his side view Jason noticed her smile did not fade.
Oh, he liked the wild, too. In so many ways.
The waitress set his bill down before him. He did not put it on the station’s expense account. He couldn’t see asking the town to pay for his meals. And now with the closure notice hanging over his head, he wanted to be as frugal as possible with the city budget. Much as he didn’t like sharing the investigation with the BCA—yes, Ryan Bay, the looker, had arrived in town—it was a good thing, considering they had the resources and the finances to serve the investigation properly. As soon as the final autopsy report arrived, Jason intended to meet with Bay at the station house and go over the evidence.
Reaching for her backpack, Yvette shuffled it on over her arms. Ready to head out so quickly? She still had half a sandwich on the plate. He couldn’t let her leave. Not until he’d learned more, like where she was staying, and did she have a significant other? And did her hair actually gleam when it spilled across her shoulders?
Briefly, Jason frowned as memories of his early morning stop resurfaced. The deceased had long black hair and a beautiful face.
At that moment, his cell phone buzzed with a text. Elaine had ID’d the victim as Yvette Pearson.
“Yvette,” he muttered and wrinkled a brow. That was a weird coincidence.
“Yes?”
He looked up and was met with a wondering blue gaze. He’d once fallen for a pair of blue eyes and a foreign accent—and life had changed drastically for him because of that distraction.
“You said my name?” she prompted.
“Huh? Oh. No. I mean, yes. Not you. It’s a text.” He quickly typed, Thanks for the info. Forward the final report to me and Ryan Bay. He tucked away the phone and said to the very much alive Yvette, “It’s a case. Not you. Sorry. Police business.”
She nodded. “Yvette is a common French name.”
“You betcha. Lot of French Canadians living up in these parts.”
“These parts.” With a sigh, she glanced out the front window.
Jason noticed she eyed the black SUV parked across the street. The one that hailed from Duluth.
“Friend of yours?” he asked, with a nod out the window.
“You mean the owner of that SUV?” She shook her head. “Despite my sparkling personality, and a desperate desire for good conversation, I don’t have any friends in this town. Other than Colette at the market. She’s the only French-speaking person I’ve run into.”
“You speak French? I was wondering about your accent.”
“I’m from Lyon.”
Lyon, eh? That was a major city in France.
“So, what is there to do in this town that is more interesting than Friday night at the Laundromat slash grocery store?” Yvette asked.
“Let’s see...” Jason rubbed his jaw. “A guy could nosh on some of the amazing desserts they have here at The Moose. I have to admit, I’m a big fan of their pie. You want a slice before you rush off?”
“Much as I would love to, I’ll have to pass. Wasn’t as hungry as I thought I was.” She pushed the plate forward to indicate she was finished. “But I won’t rule out pie in my future,” she said with a teasing tone. “What else you got?”
“Well, there is Netflix and chill,” Jason suggested slyly.
“I don’t understand.”
“It means...uh...” A blush heated Jason’s cheeks. Since when had his flirtation skills become so damned rusty? And awkward. Mercy, he was out of practice.
“More coffee, Jason?” the waitress asked.
Saved by the steamy brew. “No, thanks, I should get going. Marjorie is waiting for me back at the office to sign off on some...paperwork.”
The last thing he wanted to do was let the cat out of the bag that a body had been found so close to town. On the other hand, he expected when Susan Olson next went on shift at the back of the diner, it wouldn’t take long for word to spread.
He pulled out a twenty and laid it on the counter. “That should cover both our bills.”
Yvette zipped up her jacket. “Thank you, Chief Cash. I’m going to look up Netflix and chill when I get home.”
“You do that,” he said. And when she learned it meant watching Netflix together, then making out? “I’m down the street at the redbrick building if you ever need me. Used to be a bustling station house, but now it’s just me and dispatch.”
“Keeping an eye on the Peanut Gang.”
“You betcha.”
He walked her to the restaurant door, and she pointed across the street where a snowmobile was parked before Olson’s Oasis. It was an older model, similar to the one he’d once torn through ditches on when he was a teenager.
“That’s me,” she said.
“How far out do you live?” he asked.
“I’m renting. Here for a short stay. It’s a cabin about five miles east. Lots of birch trees. Very secluded.”
“Everything around here is secluded. You step out of town, you’re in no-man’s land. That’s what I love about this place. And lots of powder.”
“Powder?”
“Snow. When I’m not working, I spend my time on the cat, zooming through the powder. Er, cat is what some locals call the snowmobile. At least, those of us with an inclination to Arctic Cat sleds and racing.”
“Ah, a thrill seeker?”
“You nailed it. You must be staying at the Birch Bower cabin?”
“Yes, that’s the one.”
Jason nodded. The owners rented the place out in the winter months while they vacationed in their Athens home. Nice place, Greece. Beautiful blue waters. Fascinating local culture. Ouzo in abundance. He’d nearly taken a bullet to the stomach there a few years ago. Good times.
“Thanks again,” Yvette called as she walked away.
Feeling as though he wanted to give Yvette his phone number, Jason also suspected that would not be cool. Not yet. They’d only chatted ten minutes. So instead he watched her turn on her snowmobile and head off with a smile and a wave.
Besides, he knew where to find her now if he wanted to.
A glance to the SUV found it was still parked. Exhaust fumes indicated the engine was running. Hmm...
Jason strode across Main Street toward the SUV, boots crunching the snowpack. The vehicle shifted into gear and drove past him. It slowed at the stop sign at the east edge of town. And sat there. Yvette had crossed to the town’s edge and taken a packed trail hugged by tall birch trees.
The thunder of Jason’s heartbeats would not allow him to dismiss the SUV. It was almost as if the driver had been parked there, watching... Yvette?
He looked at his cell phone. Elaine’s message read, Yvette Pearson.
As the very much alive Yvette LaSalle had said, it was a common French name. But two Yvettes in one small town? Both, apparently, visiting. And one of them dead?
Unable to shake the itchy feeling riding his spine, Jason returned to his snowmobile and pulled on his helmet. By the time he’d fired up the engine and headed down Main Street, the SUV had slowly moved toward the birch-lined road heading east. Yvette’s direction.
Jason pulled up alongside the SUV, switched on the police flasher lights and signaled the driver to pull over. He did so and rolled down his window. The thirtysomething male wearing a tight gray skullcap and sunglasses tugged up a black turtleneck as the brisk air swept into the truck cab.
“Chief Jason Cash,” Jason said as he approached the vehicle. A nine-millimeter Glock hugged his hip, but he didn’t sense a need for it. Nor did he ever draw for a routine traffic stop. Not that this was a traffic stop.
“Hello, Officer,” the man said with an obvious accent. Texan? A Southern drawl twanged his voice. “Is there a problem?”
“No problem. I’ve not seen you in Frost Falls before, and it is a small town. Like to introduce myself.” He tugged off a glove and offered his hand to the man. The driver twisted and leaned out the window to shake his hand. A calm movement. Warm hand. But Jason couldn’t see his eyes behind the mirrored lenses. “Your name?”
“Smith,” he said easily. Which was the name Jason had gotten from the plate check. “I’m visiting the Boundary Waters tourist area. Just out for a drive. Beautiful day with the sunshine, yes?”
“You betcha.”
Definitely a Texan accent. Fresh out of high school, Jason had served three years in the marines alongside a trio of Texans who had extolled their love for hot sauce whenever they were bored.
“You got some ID and vehicle registration, Smith?”
The man reached down beside him. Jason’s hackles tightened. He placed a hand over his gun handle. Smith produced a driver’s license and, opening the glove compartment, shuffled around for a paper. He handed both over.
Hiding his relief that he hadn’t had to draw against a dangerous suspect, Jason took the items and looked them over. It was a Minnesota license, not Texas, but people moved all the time. The name and address matched the vehicle registration. It also matched the info he’d gotten earlier. Thirty-seven years old. Brown hair. Brown eyes. Donor. A Duluth address. Hair was longer in the photo, but the man looked like he’d recently had a clipper cut.
“You a recent move to Minnesota?”
“Why do you ask?”
“There’s not a lot of uff da in your accent.”
The man chuckled. “Born and raised in Dallas. But I do enjoy the winters here.”
“I gotta agree with you there. You must enjoy outdoor sports.”
“Mostly taking in the sights.”
“Uh-huh. You got the day off from work?” Jason asked.
“You bet.”
“Duluth, eh?” Jason handed back the license. “Where do you work?”
“Perkins. Just off Highway 35 west.”
Jason had eaten at that location before. So that checked out, too. In town to take in the scenery?
“Thank you, Mr. Smith. You should turn around here before the road gets too narrow,” he said. “It’s not for tourism. And it’s also not a through road.”
“I had no idea, Officer.”
“That’s part of my job. Making sure everyone stays on the straight and narrow.”
The man furrowed his brows. And the fact he’d misnamed the Boundary Waters Canoe Area Wilderness gave Jason another prickle down his spine. A strange mistake for someone who should be familiar with the area.
“The Moose serves up some tasty meat loaf with buttered carrots,” Jason offered. “Stop in before you head out of town.”
“Thank you, Officer. I will. Is there anything else?”
“No. You can go ahead and turn around here. Road’s still wide enough. But watch the ditch. The snowpack is loose. You’ll catch a tire and have a hell of a time getting out. Tow service is kind of sketchy in these parts.”
“Sure thing.”
The window rolled up, and Jason walked back over to his snowmobile. The SUV sat for a bit, not making any motion to turn around. Clouds of exhaust formed at the muffler.
Jason sat on his cat and swung the driver a friendly wave. If he had been following Yvette, there was no way Jason was going to leave his post. And if the driver had known her, he would have mentioned he was following a friend. Maybe?
When the vehicle finally began to pull ahead, turn, back up, turn some more, then make the arc around to head back the way it had come, Jason again waved.
“Something up with Smith,” he muttered.
He could generally spot a fake ID at a glance. The license had been legit. Everything checked out in the police database. But still, his Spidey senses tingled. Sure, Frost Falls got sightseers. The town’s namesake, the falls, froze solid in the winter months. It attracted thrill seekers. And idiots.
But the man hadn’t mentioned the falls specifically. And if that had been his destination, he should have headed out of town in the opposite direction.
Jason had met three strangers today. And one of them had been lying dead in a ditch. He wasn’t going to let this one sit.
Firing up the cat, he headed back into town to keep an eye on Smith.