Snow (4 page)

“Are you hurt?” Todd repeated.

It seemed to take a few seconds for Todd’s words to sink in. Then the man shook his head, almost imperceptibly. “No.”

“You…you came out of nowhere…”

“I’m lost.”

“How’d you get out here?”

The man lifted his head and scanned his surroundings, including the trees high above the road and the blanket of stars above. As if he were searching for something. Todd caught a glimpse of the man’s enormous Adam’s apple, protruding like the knot in the bole of an oak tree.

“Todd,” Kate called. She hadn’t moved from her spot beside the Cherokee. “Is everything okay?”

“Yes.” He turned back to the man. “What’s your name?”

“Eddie Clement.” Then some semblance of coherence seemed to flicker behind his iron-colored eyes. The man reached out and clamped both hands on Todd’s forearms, startling him. “You have to help me.”

“Sure. We’ve got—”

“My daughter.” The man’s breath rushed into Todd’s face, reeking like soured milk. “She’s lost, too.”

“Your daughter is out here?”

“Our car broke down just up the road. Maybe…maybe a mile up the road. I don’t know. I stopped to have a look under the hood. I was looking for no more than two or three minutes, tops. But when I got back inside the car, she was gone.” The man’s hands tightened on Todd’s forearms. “You have to fucking
help
me!”

“Okay, okay. Calm down.” He turned and waved Kate over.

“I’ve been looking for her, calling out to her,” the man went on, his fingers digging into Todd’s arms. “At first I thought she was playing a game. Sometimes we play those kinds of games. But it’s too cold to play games out here. And she never came out of hiding after I called her name over and over, and after I told her that it was not a game. I started cursing and yelling and telling her to come out. But she never came out.”

“What’s going on?” Kate said, rubbing her gloved hands together.

“His name’s Eddie Clement. He’s got a daughter out here somewhere, too.”

“Jesus.”

“What’s her name?” Todd asked.

“Emily.”

“How old is she?”

“Eight.”

“Jesus Christ,” Kate said, her voice seemingly dropped an
octave. “How could she…I mean, how long has she been out here?”

The man—Eddie—narrowed his eyes in concentration. He was a heavy guy, short and stocky, with hands that felt like bear traps on Todd’s arms. “Half hour, I guess. Or maybe an hour.” Frustrated, Eddie shook his woolly, white-powdered head. Chunks of ice dropped off his beard. “I don’t know. I can’t…I can’t really be sure. I can’t remember.”

“What’s going on, Todd?” It was Fred Wilkinson now, standing outside the Cherokee. He blew into his hands. “Everything all right?”

Todd gave Fred a thumbs-up, then turned to Kate. “Get Mr. Clement into the car before he freezes to death.”

“What about my daughter?”

“We’ll find her,” he promised the man. “But you need to get yourself warm right now. This is Kate Jansen. Follow her to the car.”

Finally—blessedly—Eddie Clement dropped his big meaty hands from Todd’s forearms, leaving behind dull aches in their wake. The son of a bitch had probably bruised him down to the muscle by the feel of things, and Todd was almost certain there were red finger-shaped splotches impressed on his flesh.

Kate put a hand on Eddie’s broad flannel back and led him to the Cherokee. Todd noticed two rips in the fabric of Eddie Clement’s flannel coat, one at each shoulder blade, each one perhaps five inches long. The fabric around each slit looked frayed. As they reached the Cherokee, Kate peered back at Todd from over her shoulder, as if to shoot him her thoughts through invisible magic rays. Vaguely, Todd wondered if Eddie Clement made her feel as uneasy as he had felt when Eddie had had his wide, stumpy fingers digging into his arms.

Still blowing into his hands, Fred Wilkinson came up alongside him. “What’s the story?”

“Guy’s been wandering out here for God knows how long. Says his car broke down a mile or so down the highway.” He rubbed his hands down his face, suddenly aware that his nose was growing numb. “He says his eight-year-old daughter is out here somewhere. Lost.”

“Are you serious?” Fred Wilkinson looked instantly ill.

“Well, that’s what he
says…
”

“But you don’t believe him?”

In truth, it hadn’t occurred to him that maybe Eddie Clement wasn’t being completely truthful until just now. “I don’t think so, no.”

“Why would he lie?”

Todd shrugged and stuffed his hands back beneath his armpits for warmth. “I have no clue. But he said he’s been out here walking around for maybe an hour.”

The skepticism on Fred’s face only reinforced Todd’s own. “In these temperatures? He’d be a popsicle in under thirty minutes.”

“That’s what I’m thinking, too.”

“Then of course, if there
is
a little girl out here somewhere…” Fred’s voice trailed off. He turned and looked out over the vast terrain—the mounds of snow rising up on either side of the highway and the looming forest of pine trees all around them, so tall they looked capable of poking holes in the sky. “So what’s the game plan?”

Todd considered. “Well, hoping the goddamn car’s not fucked from running into that snowbank, I say we keep driving until we find Mr. Clement’s car. If a little girl disappeared from it, there may be some sign, some clue.”

“Footprints in the snow,” Fred suggested.

“Right. Or maybe she’ll be there when we find the car.” But this last thought had caused something hideous to surface in his mind: the little girl’s body stripped naked and disemboweled, blood soaking into the seats and pooling on the
floor, constellations of blood spattered in frozen gems across the windshield, a sodden pair of panties partially buried in the snow.

Perhaps Fred Wilkinson was thinking this, too; his eyes shifted haltingly in Todd’s direction, then retreated back to the canopy of stars high above the treetops.

Both men began trudging back to the Cherokee.

“Fred,” Todd said. “Just help me keep an eye on this guy, all right?”

Fred clapped him on the back, his eyes streaming tears from the cold; they froze before they reached the swells of his cheeks.

“You bet,” he told Todd. “You bet.”

It took Todd, Fred, and Kate leaning against the front grille of the Cherokee while Nan Wilkinson gunned the accelerator in reverse to excavate the vehicle from the snowbank. It withdrew with a desperate crunching sound, broken bits of glass and metal showering the icy roadway. The tires squealed and Fred held up one hand to instruct his wife to let up off the accelerator.

Todd dropped to his knees and swiped two fingers through a spill of green liquid glistening on the surface of the ice.

“Radiator fluid,” Fred said from over his shoulder.

Kate, who was already shivering from the cold, said, “That’s bad, isn’t it?”

“Ain’t good,” Fred replied, noncommittal.

“There’s a town about three miles up the road,” Todd said, standing up and wiping his fingers down the length of his jeans. “If it’s not leaking too badly we can make it there and assess the damage.”

“And what if it
is
leaking too badly?” said Kate.

Todd was at a loss for words. Thankfully, Fred Wilkinson intervened, putting a fatherly arm around each of them. “We’ll deal with that when we come to it. I think we’ll be all right.”

“Let’s go,” Todd said, and they all climbed back into the Jeep.

Nan volunteered to sit in the roomy hatchback compartment with their bags. She rested her head on the oversized stuffed bear Todd had bought back at the airport and hugged herself for warmth. Todd eased the Cherokee along the roadway, his line of sight cockeyed now, owing to the missing headlight. In the passenger seat beside him, Kate sat facing the backseat, where Fred Wilkinson was attempting to examine Eddie Clement’s vital signs. Fred pressed a thumb beneath each of Eddie’s eyes and pulled the reddened lids down.

“Look up,” Fred instructed him.

Eddie Clement looked up. “You a doctor?”

“A veterinarian.”

“I look like a cocker spaniel to you?”

“He’s trying to help you,” Kate interjected. Todd thought she’d been offended by the stranger’s inconsideration.

Fred ignored the comment completely. “Let me see your hands. Palms up.”

Eddie Clement obliged. Todd glanced up in the rearview and caught Eddie staring just past Fred Wilkinson’s head as Fred examined his hands. He was looking, Todd thought, at Nan.

“Where you from, Eddie?” Todd asked him.

“Originally? Baton Rogue.”

“I meant where were you coming from when your car broke down?”

“Oh. Westover Hills.”

“That in Iowa?”

“Oh, sure.”

Something about him is wrong,
Todd thought.
I can’t put my finger on it, but something is slightly out of whack.

Kate, who must have felt the discomfort as well, turned back around and faced forward. She fished her cell phone from her purse and tried without success to locate a signal.

“It was just you and your daughter in the car, Eddie?”

“Yes.”

“Why do you think she would have run off like that?”

“Sometimes she plays games. Just like I said.”

“It’s twenty below out there,” Todd said. “A bit cold for games.”

“Her name’s Emily.”

The rest of them were silent. For one horrible second, Todd was overcome by the feeling that this man was playing with them, toying with them. Like a cat batting around a mouse, just before the final blow.

“There,” said Kate, pointing.

Todd nodded. “I see it.”

Kate’s voice dropped to a whisper. “What the
hell?”

It was a car, all right—stranded on the shoulder of the road, just as Eddie had promised. However, had it not been for the driver’s side door sticking straight out into the roadway, Todd would have driven right past it. The whole thing was literally
blanketed
in snow, causing it to blend almost seamlessly with the packed mounds of snow running along the embankment. Except for the car’s radio antenna, it looked like an igloo.

Todd guided the Cherokee to a stop, then shut down the engine. He winced inwardly at the clunky mechanical whine it made before dying. He could feel Fred’s breath heavy on his neck as the older man leaned forward to stare at the carshaped hillock of snow.

“That your car, Eddie?” Todd asked, leaning over Kate’s lap to grab the flashlight he’d tossed in the glove compartment.

“Oh, sure,” Eddie said coolly from the backseat.

Todd climbed out of the Jeep, his boots crunching on the ice, and slowly approached the open car door. The interior light was dead, so as he crossed around the side of the car he could see nothing inside that narrow, black maw. Again, his mind summoned the image of the dead little girl strewn like a
broken doll in the backseat, blood speckling the upholstery. He chased the thought away as quickly as possible, but not before it caused a cool sweat to overtake his entire body. Steeling himself for what he might find, he took a deep breath, then crouched beside the open car door. He clicked on the flashlight and emptied the soft yellow beam into the front seat. He remained like that for some time before rising and turning the flashlight off.

Then he turned and called back to the Cherokee, “Send him out here.”

Fred’s door cracked open and the older man got out. Eddie Clement followed him, wrapped in one of the scarves Todd had also purchased back at the airport. He seemed to be walking somewhat steadier now. Perhaps his muscles had had time to warm up in the Jeep.

Todd crooked a finger at Eddie. “Come here.”

Without a word, Eddie shuffled over to where Todd stood before the open car door, Fred Wilkinson right on his heels. The stranger kept his head down as he closed the distance and only looked up when he’d stopped walking, just two feet from Todd. His eyes simmered like cooling embers.

“Is this really your car?” Todd said.

“I told you that it was.” None of that deliberate elusiveness he’d displayed only a moment ago back in the Jeep. His voice had come out in an approximation of a growl, his head lowered just enough that he peered straight at Todd from beneath the Neanderthal crenellation of his brow.

“This car’s been here for more than an hour, Eddie. More than two hours, if I had to guess by the amount of snow it’s buried under.”

“It snowed hard,” Eddie said, his tone unchanged.

“Not that hard.” Todd clicked the flashlight back on and directed the beam to the steering column. “Where’s the keys?”

Eddie blinked.

“Where’s the keys, Eddie?”

“Ain’t they in the ignition?”

“No.”

Eddie went through the motions of patting down his pockets. Never once did he remove his eyes from Todd. When he slipped his hands back into the pockets of his flannel coat, he rolled his shoulders almost imperceptibly and said, “Guess I lost ’em.”

“How come I don’t see any footprints around the car? Not a single set, Eddie. Not yours, not your daughter’s.”

“Because of the
snow,
” Eddie said. “I told you about how hard it was coming down, didn’t I?”

“Yeah,” Todd said, his voice nearly sticking to his throat. Back by the Jeep, Kate and Nan were standing in the glow of the remaining headlamp, huddling together to keep warm.

“What are you getting on about, anyway, buddy?” Eddie said. “I got a missing daughter out here somewhere and you’re quizzing me about where I last saw my goddamn car keys.”

He doesn’t mean it,
Todd thought then.
He’s only saying that because that’s what he thinks he should say. I’m looking in his eyes right now and I can tell he doesn’t give a shit about any missing daughter, if there even is one to begin with.

“I don’t think this is your car,” Todd said flatly. “And I don’t believe your story, Eddie. Something’s wrong here.”

“I feel it, too,” Fred piped up from over Eddie’s shoulder.

“Now I don’t know what game you’re trying to play, but you better find someone else to play it.”

Eddie blinked his eyes and took a hesitant step backward. He looked over at Fred and then at Kate and Nan before swinging his eyes back around to Todd. There was something different in them now, Todd noticed. Something muddy. Hidden.

“What’s wrong with you people?” And now Eddie’s voice
did
come out in a growl. “I need help out here and my
daughter
needs help, and you’re going to gang up on me, accuse me of…of…well, fuck, I don’t know
what
you’re accusing me of…”

“What’s the license plate number?” Fred said.

Both Eddie and Todd looked at him at the same time. Eddie managed a weak, “What?”

“The license plate,” Fred said. “If it’s your car, tell us the license plate number.”

Atta boy, Fred,
Todd thought.
That’s thinking, my man.

Eddie sucked his lower lip between his teeth and made a
mssk-mssk
sound. Again, his steel-colored eyes narrowed. Todd could almost hear the gears working in his head.

“PLO-744,” Eddie said after several empty seconds. “Louisiana plates.”

Fred trudged around to the front of the snow-covered vehicle, taking his time stepping up and over the jagged mounds of freezing snow, then paused at the front of the car. With his boot he swiped a trench through the snow down below the front grille, in the approximate place where the license plate should be. Todd only watched him for a moment, uncomfortable keeping his eyes off Eddie for too long. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, he heard Fred Wilkinson sigh.

“What’s the score, Fred?” Todd called to him.

“PLO-744,” Fred answered. “Louisiana plates.”

Eddie Clement remained expressionless. If he felt any vindication, he was smart enough to know now was not the time to show it.

“All right,” Nan called to them. “Enough of this nonsense. We’re wasting time out here. We should get to that town and let the police know there’s a little girl lost out here somewhere.”

“That radiator won’t hold up too much longer, either,” Fred added, climbing back over the ridge of snow on the shoulder of the road. “We should get a move on.”

Eddie remained silent. His eyes were no longer boring into Todd’s; he’d turned them away and was gazing down the road in the direction they had come. There was moisture in their corners.

“Get back in the Jeep,” Todd told him.

Wordlessly, Eddie turned around and marched back to the Cherokee. Again, Todd saw the twin tears at the shoulders of the man’s coat. When Eddie climbed into the Cherokee’s open door, one of the tears parted like a mouth and Todd caught a glimpse of white flesh beneath.