Old Dead Cold

Old Dead Cold

By Cole St James

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2013 Cole St. James

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

In the Past: Part One

Chapter 1

How’s the wife, Jake? Doc asked.

Galleon settled his Stetson on his head. She’ll be fine.

A jay scolded in the forest as the coroner trudged up a trail behind Sheriff Jake Galleon and Deputy Curtis Mansdorf.

I guess you know Caitlin is back in town, Doc said. "Judas you were hot for each other—before Abbie, of course.

The body is off in the brush, Doc.

In murky light Shipley battled after Galleon and Mansdorf through undergrowth to a juniper that splayed in all directions. Galleon skirted the spongy earth. He signaled Mansdorf who hedged around and jockeyed his back to the bush. As he swept branches away the stench of carrion fanned up. Tendrils of brunette hair had snarled in roots and bound the skull to a shallow grave. Animals had shredded a pink sweater and black miniskirt to reach soft flesh. An arm was missing.

After wrestling on surgical gloves, hunkering down and adjusting round eyeglasses, Shipley scrutinized the head from side to side.

Tough to estimate how long she was in the ground, Jake. Week tops. He flicked ants off a dissolving cheekbone and examined the crushed temple. Can’t say what she was whacked with yet.

As Doc’s gangly assistant, Jeff Low, bulldozed through the undergrowth with a stretcher, Galleon said, Where’s Lou?

Here, Harper grumbled as he sidled into view like a turn-of-the-century bank vault. He was lugging two shovels. Unit is combing the trail and picnic area below, he said as he stuffed an unlit King Edward cigar into his mouth.

When photographs were flashed and Doc and Low had exhumed the body, Galleon pistoled a finger at a white spot in the earth and crouched for a better view.

Low turned a shovelful of soil. A grub clung to a cowboy boot as millipedes scurried back into the earth. He turned another shovelful to expose a sandal.

Maybe a second body, Jake.

Dig, Galleon said.

Harper chewed his King Edward and wagged his head.

Freakin boondocks.

Chapter 2

Abe Goldstein is his name, Jake, Mansdorf said indicating a twenty-something backpacker who was roosting on a picnic table below the crime scene. He caught his fiancée and best man having sex over in the Ten Mile range and split. He was on his way to his uncle’s in Breckenridge and hiked up here to cook. Stumbled on the skull hunting firewood. Great Neck, New York, address.

Galleon was greyhound lean at six feet and as weather flogged as ironwood.

Take Mr. Goldstein to his uncle’s, then get in touch with Abbie and tell her I’ll be late. He slicked a hand over a jaw sandpapered with five o’clock shadow. Afterward get back here. First thing in the a.m. I want Lou’s report and as much info on the victims as possible.

Jake, Samuel looks like crap. One look at those bodies and he threw up. And while we’re talking, Caitlin—

As you leave, Galleon said cutting him off, yank Samuel.

Bejesus, Jake, Mansdorf said as he signaled for Goldstein to follow him, if you don’t want to talk about Caitlin, say so.

Galleon maneuvered Caitlin O’Connor into the cell where he locked her memory, then considered the department’s response to the case and decided that nothing further could be accomplished at that point. Mansdorf had cordoned off the vicinity to include the crime scene and the picnic grounds. More officers had been summoned, and although the team had unearthed the remains of fourteen more bodies, the excavation was still in progress and would continue through the night. In dying light Harper’s crime scene unit was scouring the area. Promising a preliminary report by morning, Doc Shipley had trundled the bodies off to the morgue.

After a word with Harper who was complaining nonstop, Galleon headed toward his Explorer at the trailhead. Halfway down he encountered Sean O’Connor. Sunglasses and a tailored suit made the businessman look more youthful than his forty years.

The news about the bodies is all over town, Jake. O’Connor stared downhill as if targeting enemies. Your job may be at stake if you don’t clear this case and get out of the area quick—the why isn’t important.

Galleon brushed by O’Connor and struck off downhill with a wave.

Goddammit, O’Connor yelled, don’t say I didn’t warn you! And if you haven’t heard my sister is back.

*

After discharging himself from duty, Galleon directed the Explorer south to Breckenridge’s outskirts. He roamed over the Blue and by the Justice Center, then past Ski Hill and Four O’clock Road. His home, the single residence for a quarter mile, was carved into aspens that huddled around the house. Ladies’ tresses bloomed along the facade. A stone fireplace separated yards of glass and sprawling beams. Slopping off to the left was a two-car garage.

As Galleon angled into the drive next to Mrs. O’s Subaru wagon and bowed out, Slash barked and limped off the porch, his tail cutting the air like a broadsword. Galleon dug under the Husky’s collar until a hind leg kicked, then the two trotted up steps to the front door where Faith Oppenheimer welcomed them in.

A childless widow who mothered Galleon and Abbie like her own, Faith collected Galleon’s Stetson, duty belt and down-filled vest. She hung them on a coat tree in a hallway that led upstairs or into the living room.

I want a word with you, Mr. High and Mighty Sheriff, she said. Your uniforms are rags. Order replacements or there’ll be hot hell to pay—I mean it! Now then, she said easing her tone to an iron grumble, go love Abbie up, the girl needs it.

Galleon pecked her forehead. I hear, Mom.

And shave, Faith said as she strung on a parka over hospital scrubs, I swear you’re a Brillo Pad with feet.

After Faith had flung herself into the darkness with a goodnight yell at Abbie, Galleon ambled into the living room where Abbie was propped up in a hospital bed so that she could see through the windows. Within reach were a cordless phone, the bed’s controller, and various remotes. The sofa bed where Galleon slept was nearby.

Overlooking the living room was a loft parceled into two bedrooms and a nursery. Under the loft was a kitchen backed by a utility room on one side and a dining room and half bath on the other.

I heard Mrs. O giving you capital H, Abbie said greeting him with her cheery smile. She’s right, Jake, you need uniforms. I don’t need the electronic gizmos you’re always bringing home.

Galleon threw a hip on the bed and pressed a shushing finger to her lips. Her fine mahogany hair was ponytailed out of eyes that still flashed moments of the wide-eyed innocence that had first mesmerized Galleon.

She smiled as Galleon bent to peck her lips. Mrs. O left you pot roast. When Curtis called, she added, he mentioned Devil’s Heights. Bad?

Galleon nodded. Samuel was so shook up I had to yank him. He went on to reveal the circumstances of the case as he retrieved his plate from the oven and roamed to the sofa. What did you do today? he asked changing the conversation’s direction.

Nothing special. Mitsy called though to warn me. She’d seen Caitlin O’Connor.

Galleon mopped at his potatoes and carrots with a biscuit.

Well? Abbie demanded when he didn’t say anything.

Well what?

Are you going to see her?

Who?

Caitlin, you goober.

Why? Galleon asked as if the question surprised him. That was a century ago. I told you everything about Caitlin way back when.

Mitsy raved about how beautiful and sexy she looks.

Galleon put the plate aside and ventured to the bed.

I married you, Mrs. Galleon, because I love you.

I know but—

No buts. Shall I build a fire?

Jake, Abbie said, her voice becoming tender, I’m holding you down. You need—

I need you, bag. He grinned at her with affection and pecked her mouth. You’re perfect for me.

Abbie drew him down by his sideburns and kissed him with a passion she hadn’t shown since before her illness.

And me, myself, and I, she whispered afterward, "will do exactly what we think is perfect for you."

Galleon watched a rerun of The Nanny with Abbie until she was nodding, then switched off the TV and made up the sofa bed. After he’d smooched her and snuggled the blankets around her, he snapped off the lights and stretched out on the sofa bed with Slash beside him on the floor. In the fire’s glow Abbie was still as beautiful as the moment he’d first laid eyes on her.

He’d dated women infrequently and indifferently in the months after Caitlin’s departure. The date with Abbie, who was Christmasing from Miami, had been blind, sparked more as a favor to a poker buddy than a desire for companionship. He’d arranged to meet her in a French restaurant in Vail. Abbie England, stunning in a modest black frock, was already tabled when Galleon joined her. In an instant he was besieged with the suspicion that they were perfect pieces in a perfect puzzle.

As he seated himself in candle flicker, her eyes shone as luminously as the North Star. Her voice brimmed with fun.

My brother-in-law said you were Bigfoot hairy but handsome. You are handsome—but those big old eyebrows makes me nervous.

Galleon grinned, suddenly at ease with a woman for the first time in months.

Your brother-in-law said you were a giant pain but you’d grow on me in a decade or so.

What else did the big liar say?

He said you were as homely as an Idaho spud. Galleon shrugged as if he couldn’t find fault with the claim. Said if I could finish dinner without being ill, he’d give me an extra hundred.

Abbie laughed a husky laugh of merriment. She leaned over the table confidentially, eyes aglitter, and lowered her voice.

We could shorten dinner if it would help you get the bonus—fifty-fifty split?

Already swimming in her eyes, Galleon wagged his head.

No, he said, I’ll earn every cent even if I have to keep you out all night.

In that case, Mr. Lawman, will you be a gentleman or are your intentions improper?

Galleon joined her innocent smile, somehow already sure of himself.

Improper.

Uh oh.

After dancing to weariness in Beaver Run and gabbing until grayness had stolen the night sky, Galleon escorted Abbie to her sister and brother-in-law’s condo in Peak 8 Village. Snow was tumbling in an onslaught so steady that pines were burdened with its weight and sidewalks obliterated with drifts.

Galleon circled the nose of his Explorer, kicking through snow, and swept her up in his arms amid giggles that warmed his neck.

I had a lovely time, she said as he lugged her to her door and set her on her feet. Thank you.

More dancing tonight?

Yes, please. She cozied in close so that Galleon roped her in his arms.

Tomorrow night too?

And the next if you like. I have a week. She kissed him as if she were satisfying herself about him, then squeezed into the condo. Through the crack in the door, she said so seriously that her eyebrows pinched, Jake, do you feel like we’ve known each other forever or is it just me?

In answer Galleon said, Go in or I won’t let you go.

Abbie kissed her fingers, pressed them to his lips and slipped away leaving Galleon to wonder at what had happened in a few short hours.

Abbie didn’t fly out as she’d planned. Instead, within two weeks her parents had sent a moving van with her belongings, and with Galleon’s assistance she’d leased an apartment in walking distance from his. Their romance blooming like mountain flowers, she found a teaching position at Frisco Elementary in the spring. They quietly married seven months later.

In the midst of trying to conceive a child, life’s sweet smile vanished.

Abbie’s illness had flickered into existence with a mild disturbance in her right eye. Not long after, a tingling had slithered into her limbs. Most MS victims were capable of normal lives, but twenty-three-year-old Abbie Galleon represented a tiny fraction of those who fall into a steep physical decline. In spite of their Herculean efforts, her condition continued to deteriorate. Unless a miracle redeemed her, only months remained.

Now in the firelight, elbowing his reverie aside, Abbie stirred on the hospital bed.

Jake, she asked, do you remember the first time we made love?

Your apartment.

We were going biking, Abbie said.

You were on the bedroom floor sorting dirty laundry. Your hair was down and you were wearing a halter and cutoffs. He smiled with the memory of how his heart had bludgeoned his ribs with want of her. And you were so easy, he said. One little kiss and your panties were sailing through the air like a Frisbee in the park.

Abbie giggled, her hands prayerlike under her cheek.

Two times in the middle of my dirty towels. You were threatening a third when the carpet cleaner showed up—it was wonderful.

It was, wasn’t it? Galleon said.

I couldn’t get enough of you, Abbie said remembering the intensity of her passion. She fell silent for so long that Galleon imagined she’d drifted off. Our life can’t be like that ever again, can it?

Galleon’s response took as long to shape as Abbie’s question.

There’s always hope, he said.

The hospital bed whirred to a lower position as though it were falling with Abbie’s mood.

I wish so much the carpet cleaner hadn’t come, Abbie said with unexpected harshness. She began to weep in desperate hitches. "I so wish that you’d had me again—why didn’t we do it when we had the chance—why, Jake, why!"

Galleon climbed from the sofa, biting the inside of his