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“What’s Stanislaus?”
“Stanislaus School of Music, a university with about four hundred music students in attendance, nearly year around. It’s known as the Juilliard of the South. If you drive anywhere near the campus, you can hear singing and musical instruments blending together, so beautiful you think you’ve died and gone to heaven. The director of Stanislaus is Twister—real name, Dr. Gordon Holcombe, Chappy’s younger brother.”
“Hmm. Two Holcombes and they appear to run lots of things around here. Stanislaus—something makes me think I recognize the name.”
“It’s pretty famous. Maybe you read about it before you came here.”
She shrugged, reached her hand out to Brewster, who was lying on Dix’s legs on his back with his paws in the air, and scratched his belly. “You’ve got what? Twenty deputies?”
He looked at her closely as he nodded.
“How many women?”
“Nine.”
“Not bad, Sheriff.”
“You’re on the pale side again. Your head hurting?”
“Not enough for another pill.”
“Fair enough. I know it’s hard, but try not to worry. Dr. Crocker said your memory should right itself soon enough, and in the meantime, our deputies are showing your photo around everywhere. It makes sense you were staying somewhere around here, and chances are you had to buy gas. We’ll know pretty soon who you are. Or maybe I’ll know by tomorrow morning, if your fingerprints are in IAFIS.”
She sighed. “I can’t stop wondering what I was doing here. Maybe it was to hike, camp out, and I ran into the wrong people at some campsite.”
“We’re checking all the campsites out as well. But again, there’s the weather, not at all conducive to anything outdoors, except for snowmobiling or cross-country skiing. Do you ski?”
She paused for a moment, frowned down at her hands. “I don’t know. Maybe. But you know, I doubt that’s it.”
“Why?”
“I’m not sure, really, but I feel like there are lots of people in my life, that the last thing I’d ever do is go off somewhere alone.” She shrugged, smiled at him. “I guess I could be wrong though.”
“Probably not. Why don’t you rest, nap a bit. Dream about dinner—I’ve got really good stew left over from last night.”
“Lots of catsup?”
“You and my boys,” he said, and laughed.
MADONNA FELL ASLEEP at nine o’clock Saturday night in Rob’s bedroom, wearing a pair of his pajamas. They looked brand-new, which Rob told her was true because neither he nor his brother wore pajamas, for the simple reason that their father didn’t, even in the dead of winter.
The pain pills put her into a deep sleep where dreams came in hard and fast. She was standing in a dark place, so dark she couldn’t see her own hand in front of her face. Wherever she was, she couldn’t get out, though oddly, it didn’t seem to bother her. She stood cocooned in blackness, waiting for a man who was going to give her a million dollars. Why in the dark? she wondered, but again, it didn’t seem to matter. She waited patiently, wondering idly if the sheriff wore boxers or jockeys, an interesting question, but then the image was gone, and she was still standing in the middle of nowhere, wondering where the man was. She couldn’t see her watch so she didn’t know what time it was.
She heard something and felt her heart speed up because he was finally here, the man with her money, a million bucks in gold bars, and it was all hers, she’d earned it, worked her tail off. She wondered how she was going to carry the gold bars, but she knew she’d manage it. She had a plan, didn’t she? Otherwise why was she so happy and excited in the middle of a black pit?
She heard something again. Was it footsteps? The man carrying all those gold bars? But she realized in that instant that it wasn’t a man’s footsteps, it sounded indistinct, too hollow for that. She jerked awake, shot straight up in bed, and looked toward the window. All she saw was a veil of white snow falling thick and straight down. She looked closely at it.
The house was cool, but not uncomfortably so. She was wearing a pair of Rafer’s socks, his donation to her, nice thick wool socks, so she didn’t feel the cold of the oak planks beneath her feet as she walked to the window and looked out, thinking about the dream. She heard a scratching sound coming from below the window. She tried to look down but couldn’t get a good angle. Curious, she opened the window and leaned out. Straight below her window she saw two men hunkering down over something, both of them swathed in heavy coats over jeans tucked into big army boots. Ski caps covered their heads, heavy gloves on their hands. They were nearly white with snow. She must have made a noise because one of them suddenly looked up to see her leaning out.
“Stanislaus School of Music, a university with about four hundred music students in attendance, nearly year around. It’s known as the Juilliard of the South. If you drive anywhere near the campus, you can hear singing and musical instruments blending together, so beautiful you think you’ve died and gone to heaven. The director of Stanislaus is Twister—real name, Dr. Gordon Holcombe, Chappy’s younger brother.”
“Hmm. Two Holcombes and they appear to run lots of things around here. Stanislaus—something makes me think I recognize the name.”
“It’s pretty famous. Maybe you read about it before you came here.”
She shrugged, reached her hand out to Brewster, who was lying on Dix’s legs on his back with his paws in the air, and scratched his belly. “You’ve got what? Twenty deputies?”
He looked at her closely as he nodded.
“How many women?”
“Nine.”
“Not bad, Sheriff.”
“You’re on the pale side again. Your head hurting?”
“Not enough for another pill.”
“Fair enough. I know it’s hard, but try not to worry. Dr. Crocker said your memory should right itself soon enough, and in the meantime, our deputies are showing your photo around everywhere. It makes sense you were staying somewhere around here, and chances are you had to buy gas. We’ll know pretty soon who you are. Or maybe I’ll know by tomorrow morning, if your fingerprints are in IAFIS.”
She sighed. “I can’t stop wondering what I was doing here. Maybe it was to hike, camp out, and I ran into the wrong people at some campsite.”
“We’re checking all the campsites out as well. But again, there’s the weather, not at all conducive to anything outdoors, except for snowmobiling or cross-country skiing. Do you ski?”
She paused for a moment, frowned down at her hands. “I don’t know. Maybe. But you know, I doubt that’s it.”
“Why?”
“I’m not sure, really, but I feel like there are lots of people in my life, that the last thing I’d ever do is go off somewhere alone.” She shrugged, smiled at him. “I guess I could be wrong though.”
“Probably not. Why don’t you rest, nap a bit. Dream about dinner—I’ve got really good stew left over from last night.”
“Lots of catsup?”
“You and my boys,” he said, and laughed.
MADONNA FELL ASLEEP at nine o’clock Saturday night in Rob’s bedroom, wearing a pair of his pajamas. They looked brand-new, which Rob told her was true because neither he nor his brother wore pajamas, for the simple reason that their father didn’t, even in the dead of winter.
The pain pills put her into a deep sleep where dreams came in hard and fast. She was standing in a dark place, so dark she couldn’t see her own hand in front of her face. Wherever she was, she couldn’t get out, though oddly, it didn’t seem to bother her. She stood cocooned in blackness, waiting for a man who was going to give her a million dollars. Why in the dark? she wondered, but again, it didn’t seem to matter. She waited patiently, wondering idly if the sheriff wore boxers or jockeys, an interesting question, but then the image was gone, and she was still standing in the middle of nowhere, wondering where the man was. She couldn’t see her watch so she didn’t know what time it was.
She heard something and felt her heart speed up because he was finally here, the man with her money, a million bucks in gold bars, and it was all hers, she’d earned it, worked her tail off. She wondered how she was going to carry the gold bars, but she knew she’d manage it. She had a plan, didn’t she? Otherwise why was she so happy and excited in the middle of a black pit?
She heard something again. Was it footsteps? The man carrying all those gold bars? But she realized in that instant that it wasn’t a man’s footsteps, it sounded indistinct, too hollow for that. She jerked awake, shot straight up in bed, and looked toward the window. All she saw was a veil of white snow falling thick and straight down. She looked closely at it.
The house was cool, but not uncomfortably so. She was wearing a pair of Rafer’s socks, his donation to her, nice thick wool socks, so she didn’t feel the cold of the oak planks beneath her feet as she walked to the window and looked out, thinking about the dream. She heard a scratching sound coming from below the window. She tried to look down but couldn’t get a good angle. Curious, she opened the window and leaned out. Straight below her window she saw two men hunkering down over something, both of them swathed in heavy coats over jeans tucked into big army boots. Ski caps covered their heads, heavy gloves on their hands. They were nearly white with snow. She must have made a noise because one of them suddenly looked up to see her leaning out.
