Standoff At Christmas. Margaret Daley

fixed on a broken vase. “She didn’t deserve this.” He pulled out a camera and started taking pictures of the living room.

      “I can cover the kitchen.” Jake started forward.

      “I appreciate it. We need to find Betty.” The chief turned to Rachel. “Can you make some calls to people she may know and see if she’s with them?”

      “I already called Aunt Linda, and she’s not with her. But I know a few others she’s close with at the fishery. I’ll give them a call.” Rachel pulled out her cell to use the list of phone numbers stored in it. She was relieved to be able to help and needed to stay busy to keep from fixating on what might have happened to her aunt. She picked up the phone and began dialing.

      * * *

      Jake carefully started on one side of the kitchen and made his way around it. Behind the island in the center in the midst of the emptied flour on the floor, he found footprints—one set, too big to be Betty’s, more like a man’s size eleven. He took a photo with his cell of that and anything else of interest. He refrained from touching anything in case the chief wanted to dust for latent prints.

      So far no evidence that Betty had been here when this happened—except her car parked in the shed. That would need to be searched, too. In fact, after he went through the kitchen he would go out the back arctic entry and check Betty’s old pickup.

      When he reached the pantry, he used a gloved hand to open the door. His gaze riveted to the spots of blood on the wooden floor about six inches inside. He lifted his eyes and scanned the disarray, homing in on bloody fingerprints on a shelf as if someone tried to hold on to it. Maybe trying to get up? Whatever went on in here, a fight occurred in this walk-in pantry. Did the intruder find Betty hiding?

      The question still persisted. Then where is Betty?

      He took more photos, then proceeded to the arctic entry. A pair of boots and a woman’s heavy coat hanging on a peg were the only things in the small room. He took the coat and let Mitch sniff it, then kept hold of it in case he needed it again. His dog smelled the floor and paused by the exit outside. This was probably the way Betty came into her house since this was closer than the front entrance to the shed. Jake returned to the kitchen and grabbed a flashlight on the wall by the door.

      On the stoop, Jake took in the area. The snow falling had filled in any footsteps, but that wouldn’t stop Mitch. His German shepherd sniffed the air and started down the three steps, then headed toward Betty’s pickup.

      As he approached the driver side of the vehicle, he spied a bloody print on the metal handle. Not a good sign. Mitch barked at the door.

      Jake said, “Stay,” then skirted the rear of the old truck and opened the passenger door. The seat was empty.

      Then he investigated under the tarp over the bed of the Ford F-150, using the interior light from the cab. Nothing.

      “Where is she?” Rachel asked as she approached, carrying a flashlight. “I called at least twenty women she knew from church and the fishery, and no one knows where she is. One lady said she got ill after lunch and left. That would mean she should have gotten home by one. What happened in those three hours?”

      Something not good.

      “Is the chief through in the house?”

      “He didn’t find anything in the second bedroom but was going to go through Betty’s. Did you find anything?”

      He hated to tell her. Rachel had always been close to both of her aunts. “Blood in the pantry and on the driver’s door handle.”

      “Do you think someone attacked her in the house and—” Rachel swallowed hard “—somehow she got away? Did she try to leave and that person caught up with her?” Her large brown eyes shone with unshed tears.

      “I didn’t see any blood inside on the seat. I don’t think she ever opened the door.”

      Rachel blinked once, and a tear ran down her face. She swung around in a full circle, the flashlight sending an arc of illumination across the yard. “Then where is she? Why would anyone want to hurt Aunt Betty?”

      Jake moved to his dog and let him inhale her scent on the coat again. “Find.” While Mitch smelled around, Jake said to Rachel, “Let’s see if he can pick up a trail going away from the house or shed.”

      Blond hair peeking out from under her beanie, Rachel swept her arm to indicate the yard outside the shed. “She could have decided to hide out here because she didn’t have her truck keys on her.”

      “Maybe.”

      “But then why didn’t she come forward when we arrived?” Rachel took one look at his sober expression and added, “Never mind. She would if she could...” Her gaze locked with his. “Could have.”

      Mitch picked up a scent, barked, then headed out of the shed across the field toward a stand of spruce and other evergreens. Giving his dog a long leash, Jake followed with Rachel beside him. Mitch plowed his way through four or five inches of snow.

      At a place his German shepherd had disturbed, Jake yelled, “Halt,” then stooped to examine a couple of drops of blood in the white snow with his flashlight.

      Rachel’s gasp sounded above the noise of the wind. He glanced over his shoulder at her face, white like the snow. He wished he could erase the fear in her eyes.

      “You should return to the house and let the chief know.”

      Rachel shook her head. “I started this. I want to find her. I’ve been praying she’s still alive and only hurt. Time is of the essence. She could freeze to death.”

      He rose, commanded Mitch to continue his search, then took her gloved hand in his. “We’ll do this together.” He felt better having her by his side rather than trekking back to the house alone about five hundred yards away.

      As they trailed behind Mitch, Jake prepared himself. Betty could have been out here without a coat for hours. He stopped again a couple of times when more blood became visible in the glow of his light. Mitch was following Betty’s path closely. If anyone could find her, his dog could.

      Among the trees, the snow on the ground wasn’t as thick because the top branches were heavy with it. They saw evidence of more blood, and Rachel’s expression lost all hope her aunt was still alive. Tears returned to glisten in her eyes.

      Mitch’s bark echoed through the woods. He stopped about twenty feet away. Jake spotted a shadowy lump in the snow and blocked Rachel’s path. “Go back and get Chief Quay.”

      Rachel tried to look around Jake.

      “Please, Rachel. I think Mitch found Betty.”

      “Then I need to see if I can help her.”

      “If she’s alive, I can. I trained as a paramedic when I first went to Anchorage.” He’d been debating whether to continue his career of being a police officer in the big city or wanting to try something else before making that decision.

      She looked into his face, snowflakes catching on her long eyelashes. She blinked, trying to conquer the tears welling in her eyes.

      “Please, Rachel.”

      She whirled about and hurried back, following the path already cut. When she’d cleared the trees, Jake quickened his pace toward Mitch. Betty, stiff as if totally frozen with a bloodied head wound, leaned against a tree trunk facing away from the house. Had she been trying to hide? Her lower body was covered with a white blanket of snow while she hugged her sweater-clad arms to her chest. She stared off into space.

      Betty was dead, but Jake knelt next to her and felt for a pulse to make sure. He said a silent prayer, something he hadn’t done in a long while. She was with the Lord.

      He would find whoever did this.

       THREE