Page 29 of Hold Your Breath
“No, sorry, that was just a joke. Not one of my best, but then I just woke up about eight minutes ago, so I’m not really on my game yet.”
“You woke up eight minutes ago?” And critical Callum was back.
She sighed. “I had a rough night. I woke up really early because I thought I heard…” Her eyes went wide. “I’m an idiot!” She yanked the door open and hurried outside, ignoring her coatless state. From her perch on the top of her tiny porch, she examined the three steps leading down to the snowy ground.
The wind had blown off most of the light snow from the previous evening, so all that remained on the steps was a dusting of white powder caught in the corners and cracks. She popped back into her cabin to yank on her boots, and then she jumped off the porch into the foot of old snow heaped around the foundation of her home.
“What did you hear last night?” Callum asked, his proximity startling her. She hadn’t realized he was walking next to her as she circled the perimeter of the cabin.
“Nothing. I mean”—she made an impatient gesture—“something woke me, but I don’t remember what it was. I did a tour of the cabin, decided I was paranoid, and went back to bed.” She shivered. “I hope whoever it was wasn’t watching me.”
“I wouldn’t count on that,” Callum said grimly, pointing toward some impressions in the snow. Her stomach twisted as she took another step closer and saw distinct boot prints in the drift right outside her bedroom window.
* * *
Chris was at her house within a half hour after she called him. His serious expression sat oddly on his normally cheery face.
“Your stalker is changing things up on us,” he said as he climbed out of his squad car. “I’m not liking this new development.”
“Me neither,” Callum said, his words clipped.
“Me third.” Lou gestured at the door. “What do you think the deal is with the honey?”
Chris shrugged. “Not sure. Maybe he thinks you’re sweet?”
“Why stick knives in my tires if he likes me so much he’s giving me compliments with condiments?”
“Lou thinks he might’ve been trying to attract a bear,” Callum said, and Chris looked at her with interest.
“Not really. I actually said Winnie the… Never mind.” She waved her hands, flustered. “I mean, that would be stupid, right? It’s like a plan thought up by a five-year-old.”
“It fits better with the slashed tires MO.” Chris leaned in close to the door to examine the frozen rivulets. “It does look like honey.”
“It is honey,” Lou affirmed. “I tasted it.”
The deputy’s head whipped around. “Are you a toddler? Don’t be putting random shit in your mouth. Especially shit left by your stalker.”
With a sheepish shrug, Lou carefully didn’t look at Callum. “Fine. No more taste-testing the evidence. It just seemed like the easiest way to identify it.”
“Nope. Bad idea. You can use all your senses in an investigation except taste.” After Chris took some pictures of the door, he stepped back and turned to Lou. “Show me these boot prints.”
She led the way, followed closely by Callum, with the deputy taking up the rear. As she pointed toward the tracks beneath her bedroom window, Lou was unable to hold back a shiver that had nothing to do with the cold. When Callum gave her shoulder a quick squeeze, she jumped and looked at him in surprise. Reassuring gestures felt strange coming from Callum. She was more used to getting withering looks and barked commands from him. His focus was on Chris, however, so he missed her startled glance.
“Will these prints help?” Callum asked.
Chris took some photos, then laid his small ruler in one of the prints and took some more before answering. “If we have a suspect, then yes. Definitely. Every shoe or boot wears differently, so they’re almost as unique as fingerprints. If we have probable cause to think someone’s responsible, we can get a warrant to check out the guy’s footwear. Most people know better than to leave their fingerprints around a crime scene, but not as many think about shoe prints. We had a burglary about four months ago where all three suspects were tied to the scene by their tread.”
He opened a shoebox-sized case and pulled out what looked like an old-fashioned shaving brush and a small jar of black powder. After dipping the brush into the powder, he held it over the print and tapped the brush handle.
“What are you doing?” Leaning closer, Lou watched, fascinated, as the black powder drifted over the print in the snow.
Chris repeated the process of photographing without and then with his ruler. “The fingerprint powder gives the boot impression more definition in the pictures. We could also do a mold of the print, but I usually don’t have much luck with that. The casting material heats up as it sets, which melts the snow. The conditions have to be perfect to get a good cast. I like pictures better.” Tucking away his equipment, he stood. “Did you follow the prints?”
Giving him a “duh” look, Lou said, “Yes.”
Chris laughed for the first time since arriving at her house. “Right. Of course you did.”
“He came from the trees over there, to her window, around to the front of the cabin and back to the trees,” Callum said, gesturing toward a stand of evergreens that separated her property from her neighbors’. “I think he parked at the Moonies’ place, watched from the cover of the woods until he knew Lou was sleeping, and then did the honey thing.”
