It wasn’t even February yet. “So she’d need to traverse the forest again in that UTV, and the conditions will probably be even worse next month,” Laurel noted. “From what I can tell, she was more prepared than that.”
“Maybe she didn’t know how much gas she’d need,” Huck mused. “Beyond the gas containers is a very old and rough outhouse. Yards away is an area of rock where she left the empty food cans, after washing them thoroughly with either water from the river or melted snow, from what I can tell.”
So no animals would come sniffing around.
Laurel spotted a cabinet barely visible next to the low bed. She removed her flashlight from her pocket and inched closer, shining it inside. “There’s something . . .” Tugging open the cabinet, she took inventory.
Huck whistled behind her.
This close, his body heat flushed along her back, even through her jacket.
“SIG Sauer,” Huck mused, leaning over her shoulder for a better look. “And what looks like plenty of ammo.”
Laurel turned and looked at the door. “She didn’t get a chance to use her gun. So he surprised her outside with his attack?”
“The footprints in the snow come from the outhouse area,” Huck said.
Laurel tried to imagine the night and how terrified the woman would’ve been. “So she took her PLB with her to the outhouse but not a weapon? I don’t think so. She must’ve had another weapon.” She leaned in to study the bullets.
Huck pursed his lips. “You’re right. We’ll search the area, and I’ll scout the way she ran again. Chances are he surprised her and got the gun but didn’t see the PLB before she pressed the button.”
“If she was in hiding, she would’ve used that device to call for help as a last resort,” Laurel agreed. “We have to identify her.” She held the tablet in her hand. “This should help.”
Her phone buzzed again.
Huck’s left eyebrow rose. “Somebody is being persistent.”
Laurel drew an evidence bag out of her other pocket and slid the tablet into it, before handing the bag to him. “Yes.” Giving in, she tugged her phone free, seeing Dr. Abigail Caine’s name on the screen. “What is it, Dr. Caine?” she asked by way of answer.
“Now, Laurel, is that any way to talk to your sister?” Abigail bit out, her slight British accent emerging to make her sound more than a little peeved. “You returned to town a full two days ago, and you haven’t answered my calls.”
Laurel shut her eyes and centered herself. She would not ask about Abigail’s familiarity with her schedule. “I’m in the middle of a case right now. We’ll have to chat another time.”
“No,” Abigail snapped. “We will speak now. I am in danger, and as my sister, you are going to help me.”
“Half sister,” Laurel returned, unwilling to deal with this right now. “I will call you later, Abigail.”
“No. Somebody is harassing me, and it has to stop. I returned late last night from a retreat to find flowers scattered all across my front lawn this morning, some already frozen and some still breezing along. It’s weird.”
Laurel stilled. She cut Huck a look; he was watching her carefully. “Flowers? What variety of flowers?”
Abigail sighed. “They’re black dahlias. A substantial number of them.”
Chapter Two
The high-end subdivision where Abigail Caine resided was quiet in the overcast afternoon. Angled rooftops and tall windows predominated in the wood, brick, and stone homes as Laurel drove past several mansions to the far cul-de-sac where Abigail lived, with forest on one side and another vacant-looking house on the other, a good distance away. Trees and landscaped yards made each home private, so it was quite possible the inhabitants hadn’t seen anything unusual happening at Abigail’s.
Laurel drove down Abigail’s icy drive, noting the many blackish-red petals covering the portion of the yard closest to the house. Snow and ice had crusted over them, showing they’d been there for at least a couple of nights.
She cut off the engine of her new, rented Nissan Rogue, which she’d picked up just yesterday. Since she wasn’t certain she’d be staying in town, purchasing a vehicle didn’t make sense. Then she sat as silence descended, heavier than an anxiety blanket. Unlike many of the other homes, Abigail’s had light shining through the flimsy curtains on the massive floor-to-ceiling windows.
Snow fell lazily from a darkened sky, covering Laurel’s windshield. Cold almost instantly seeped into her SUV, and she shivered.
The front door opened.
She exited the car and shut the door, studying the iced-over petals. There was no discernible pattern, and the snow had obliterated any possible footprints. These flowers had been scatteredbeforethe ones around the body found near the river. Odd.
“Laurel? Come in. There’s no pattern to the flowers or petals,” Abigail called, her breath puffing in the cold air.
