Page 25 of Hold Your Breath
It was her turn to sigh before she began untangling herself from the blanket. “Right. Okay, give me a half hour.”
She ended the call, took a step toward the door, and then froze.
“Frick. I’m going to Callum’s house.” Her stomach started rolling with nerves and something she tried very hard to pretend wasn’t excitement. “Stop it,” she told herself. “It’s not a date.”
Despite repeating those words to herself, she couldn’t stop herself from hurrying to the bathroom to check the state of her hair.
* * *
Thanks to her uncontrollable need to primp, it was closer to forty-five minutes when she pulled up to Callum’s house on the edge of Simpson and parked in the driveway. His home was a tidy two-story with cedar siding that blended well with the scattering of pine trees backing his property. Since she didn’t see his truck, she assumed he’d parked in the garage. Either that, or he had bailed and was at the Simpson Bar, hiding out until she gave up and went home.
Although the snow was light—just flurries, really—the wind had a snap to it that made her hurry up the steps to his wraparound porch. Callum opened the door before she had a chance to knock.
“Oh, good,” she sighed as she slipped by him into the warmth, unzipping her coat. “It’s freezing out there.”
His gaze ran from her booted feet up to her stocking hat. He didn’t mention the yellow flannel pj’s with their pattern of white ducks, but his expression said plenty.
“I took your advice and kept on my pajamas,” she stated the obvious, before toeing off her boots and placing them on a mat next to the door. Lou didn’t tell him that she’d been tempted to change into nonpajamas, but she didn’t want him to think she’d made an effort, since an effort would mean that she thought of this visit as a date, which she most assuredly did not. Pulling off her gloves and jamming them into her coat pockets, she then wiggled out of her thick coat. Her hat joined the gloves in one of her coat pockets. When she didn’t see a hook or coatrack, she offered the coat to him with a quizzical tilt to her head.
“Let me take that,” he said with heavy sarcasm, but he accepted the coat and turned to hang it in a nearby closet. While he was arranging it to fall just so on the hanger, Lou took the opportunity to look around his house.
They were in the living room that, thanks to the open floor plan, was also the kitchen and dining room. Everything was perfectly neat, and she was once again relieved that they hadn’t met at her place after all, cold drive or no. Her messy house would have given Callum a stroke. Plus, the promised whiteboard was arranged in the middle of the living area, at just the right distance from the couch.
“It’s perfect,” she breathed, admiring the professional-looking board, complete with wheels and a box of markers in a full spectrum of colors. “I couldn’t have special-ordered a better murder board.”
“I aim to please.” His sarcasm was still firmly in place as he ushered her closer to the couch, with a hand on her back. It felt warm and uncomfortably good.
“Your house is nice,” she said, sitting down on the sofa and tilting her head back to admire the lofted ceiling. “I’ve never been in here before.”
“I don’t invite many people here,” he admitted. “Want something to drink?”
“No, thank you.” She felt a sudden awkwardness, as if the research session really was morphing into something closer to a…well, a date. Fumbling for the small notebook she’d tucked into her pajama pants’ pocket, she asked, “Um…did you want to see my notes?”
Sitting next to her on the couch—although not close enough to make her brain shut down—he held out his hand in a silent request. She passed him the notebook. While he flipped through the pages, she nibbled on the inside of her cheek, suddenly embarrassed by her amateur sleuthing. More than anything, she wanted him to be impressed by her, for him to think she was intelligent.
Shutting down those thoughts firmly, she reminded herself that turning herself inside out to gain people’s respect was a slippery downward slope. Twenty-six years with her parents had taught her that.
“What’s this?” he asked, jerking her out of her darkening thoughts.
Scooting closer so she could see her writing, she read out loud, “‘Tyler Coughlin arrow Braden Saltzman, militia, lesson.’ That’s not perfectly clear?” She laughed when he gave her a look. “I ran into Rob and his son at the grocery store this afternoon. Braden’s a kid at Tyler’s school who had a theory that our guy’s headlessness was a lesson for the other militia members. Apparently, Braden’s uncle is one of the top militia dogs, so Tyler considers him a local authority on the subject. He also mentioned the possibility of the victim’s head being mounted on the wall in the compound as a reminder not to speak out of turn. Although I’m paraphrasing here.”
“Hmm.” Callum turned back to her notes.
“I wish Tyler would’ve shared more high school rumors, but Rob shut him down pretty quickly. I know it’s a crazy theory, but there might be a hint of truth in gossip.”
Closing the notebook, Callum tapped it against his thigh, looking at the blank whiteboard thoughtfully. “I think we should focus first on what we know about the victim. If we start considering possible scenarios too early, we might try to make them fit, rather than looking at where the facts lead us.”
“Good idea.” Excited, Lou bounced to her feet and grabbed the whiteboard markers. “Can we start listing known facts?”
Callum grinned, softening the harsh lines of his face and making him so beautiful that it temporarily erased every thought in Lou’s brain. The iceman actually had dimples! “You’re just dying to dirty up that clean surface, aren’t you?”
It took Lou a moment to recover from the force of his full-wattage smile. Clearing her throat, she forced herself to grin back at him. “You know it. Now let’s get started before I just start drawing random rainbows and stick people.” Pulling out a green marker, she tapped it against her mouth, thinking, before yanking off the cap and drawing a straight line across the top of the board.
Even before she added any notes, he guessed her intention. “Timeline. Good idea.”
She couldn’t stop the pleased smile that crept over her face. Turning more fully toward the board to hide her happy expression, she made a vertical mark close to the right side of the timeline and scribbled “HDG Found in Reservoir” with the date the body was recovered.
“When did the coroner think he was dumped?” Callum asked, flipping through her notes again.
