* * *
Laurel scrutinized the messy kitchen in the condominium. “She left in a hurry.” Cupboards had been left open and their contents spread over the countertop.
Huck kept his gloves in place as he snapped pictures with his phone. “The crime scene techs did a good job cleaning up after themselves. They caught some prints but nothing very interesting, from the sounds of it.”
“Agreed.” Laurel moved to a partially open drawer and pulled it out. Just wine corks. A lot of them. Her gloves in place, she opened the cupboard door beneath the sink to find a garbage can smelling like wine, gin, and vodka. The scent of red wine wafted up. “It looks like Dr. Rox enjoyed her alcohol.” Or perhaps she was self-medicating because she was terrified of her stalker.
“Maybe.” Huck looked at the open-concept area, standing in the kitchen and studying the living room. “She liked calm, soothing colors.”
Laurel nodded. The entire place was decorated in muted tan, white, and light purple. She looked from the front door to the balcony, then walked that way and opened the door. About a foot of snow covered the area, and ice crusted the black railing. “According to one police report, Dr. Rox found black dahlias up here. The stalker must’ve reached the balcony through the condo, right?” The rear of the building looked over an open field that bordered forested land, and deer browsed for food through the snow. She craned her neck to look over the railing and below but couldn’t see without stepping onto the balcony. “There are no footprints. I’m going to walk through the snow.”
“All right.” He was suddenly at her back, snapping pictures of the pristine area. It was vacant, save for the snow. “Go ahead. I photographed the scene.”
“Thanks.” She kicked a small trail straight to the railing, pausing and looking down. “I don’t see how he could’ve come up this way.”
Huck appeared at her side, leaning over. His sheer size took her aback for a moment. The man had such a calm demeanor, she forgot he was at least a foot taller, much broader, and more muscled than she. He probably outweighed her by a hundred pounds. “The balconies are positioned on top of each other. I could jump from one railing to the other and pull myself up each time.” He cocked his head. “But that’d be a risk because anybody inside the affected condominium would probably hear me.” He made a note on his phone.
“If the stalker lifted himself up to each balcony, he’s athletic,” Laurel murmured, the cold wind slapping against her face. She shivered. “I’ll search the master bedroom and you take the office next to it.”
“Okay.” He waited for her to step back inside before following her and shutting the door. “I called in a team to start canvassing the other condo owners, and I’ll make sure they ask about the railings and the possibility of someone climbing up. We have a new investigative team within the Fish and Wildlife office here, and they’re ready to get to work.”
She paused. “I’m surprised you wanted to expand the local office.”
“I didn’t. Monty did. He used the juice from our solving the Snowblood Peak murders to make it happen.” Huck shrugged. “It’s fine with me since Monty will be back in charge come late spring, once he’s healed up.” They were of the same rank, but Huck was a loner who only interacted with the team for search and rescue operations or for the bear program.
She moved past the office to the master bedroom to see the bed unmade and clothing strewn about. “You know, it’s possible she didn’t do this. That somebody searched her place afterward.” Yet an unmade bed wasn’t proof. Laurel methodically went through each drawer, finding nothing of interest.
After about ten minutes, Huck appeared in the doorway. “Her office is surprisingly sparse, and there’s no laptop. I didn’t find anything to help with the case.”
“Neither have I.” She glanced up at him. In the early morning, with dark stubble on his chin, he looked both dangerous and competent, and she felt safer with him as her partner. The different golds and browns in his eyes created an intriguing pattern as well, and it was odd she’d noticed that fact.
“What?” he asked, one dark eyebrow lifting.
“Nothing.” She looked under the bed to just find dust. Straightening, she fought a sneeze. “We’re going to need some luck to find this killer.” Statistics told Laurel the murderer was almost certainly male.
Plus, to fracture a skull like that took a lot of strength.
And rage. Incredible rage. Was it focused only on this victim? Was it personal? Were they about to find more bodies?
Huck gestured toward the door. “How about we grab lunch?”
She stood and stretched her back, pausing as she considered the work she needed to complete. Then she moved toward the doorway. While it was early for lunch, she was hungry. So this was what friendship was like for Huck. He pressed his hand to her lower back, walking behind her. At his touch, her skin warmed and her breath caught. She knew just how good he could be with those hands.
Clearing her throat, she stepped around a pile of shoes in the foyer. “Lunch would be good.” Did she sound casual?
Yes. She sounded casual.
Probably.
Chapter Eight
After a long day of work, Laurel stood outside the old, weathered barn on the family farm, up to her knees in snow. The wind ripped right through her coat, freezing her to her bones. Shaking her head, she kicked a trail from her SUV to the human-size door next to the large tractor door. Grunting, she shoved it open just as a farm truck slid to a stop next to her vehicle.
She stepped inside the darkened interior and turned to watch her uncle Blake jump out and stomp her way, using her trail. Blake was her mom’s older brother who managed the farm. He had green eyes like her mom, rapidly graying hair, and a lumberjack frame. He reminded her of the dad on that old showThe Walton’s, but she’d never told him so.
“Hi.” He took off his gloves and slapped them on his jeans, stepping inside and turning on the industrial-sized flashlight he’d brought. “We’re going to make a barndominium, huh?”
She grinned. “It’s Mom’s way of tempting me to stay.” It figured her uncle had heard of barns being turned into homes. “Some of my best memories are of spending time in here with you, figuring out how tractors work.” How many hours had she spent learning all about engines? About tires, wheels, and belts? She looked around the wide space, smelling motor oil and leather. Good smells that grounded her with the sense of home. Of family and of love. The middle of the structure was wide and two stories high, while one-story wings extended on either side. “What do you think?”
