Free Cold Justice: A Judge Willa Carson Mystery (The Hunt for Justice) by Diane Capri Page B

Nothing. The storm must have done something more permanent to the cell network than I’d hoped. I hadn’t received a call in the past several hours and I knew both George and Augustus would have tried to reach me.
    I dialed George’s cell phone, but nothing happened. “Great,” I said under my breath to no one. “Just great.”
    Kemp backed up slightly away from the snow mound, shut down the wipers and the lights, and turned off the ignition. “Just think about it, Willa. You’re a fair judge, they tell me. Find out all the facts before you decide what’s fair here. Can’t you do that much?”
    I made no promises. Partly because the identity of the murder weapon wasn’t the only thing we knew. At this point, David satisfied the three classic criteria every killer possessed: means, motive, and opportunity. Richards had gambled away David’s livelihood and left David saddled with at least half the responsibility for Richards’ family, if Kemp’s appeal was true. He’d been out on his snowmobile this morning when the crime occurred, which meant he had opportunity to commit the crime.
    David might not be the killer, but Kemp should be looking at him pretty damn hard.
    After bundling up again, gloves and hood in place, we exited the cruiser and trekked toward the wide porch overhang in front of Eagle Creek Cafe’s door. About half-way across the parking lot, Kemp turned toward the road we’d just left and said, “Look. Look out there and tell me this place isn’t beautiful.”
    I cast my gaze on Eagle Creek Cafe’s surroundings. Evergreen trees, blue spruce, and hemlock pines were laden with heavy snow coating their branches like thick frosting. The never-ending snow, now that I’d accepted it as my constant cloying companion, did seem soft and lacy. Indeed, it was a gorgeous setting.
    But I preferred open roads and sidewalks, Hillsborough Bay and palm trees. I wanted to go back to Tampa. I was beginning to feel like Dorothy Gale and I wished I possessed a pair of magic ruby slippers.
    We started another trek through the heavy snow. As he had before, Kemp walked in front of me to clear a path. I followed a few feet behind, paying attention to the uneven terrain and struggling to keep my balance on the rough stones beneath the snowpack.
    After we’d traveled a few yards, I raised my head and turned my body to look around. Across the gray darkness, floodlights dotted the landscape and perversely contributed to my night blindness. Still, I saw something strangely menacing. What was that? A snowmobile? I hadn’t heard its engine, but it was less snow covered than George’s Jeep or the silver Caddy. What was it doing way over there? Where was its rider? The snowmobile could belong to David Mason. In fact, the more I thought about it, the more likely it seemed.
    The flat parking lot was better lit than the surrounding lawns. Outside the light halos, shadows swayed buffeted by the harsh gale. I squinted through the heavy snowfall, which didn’t improve my weak distance vision any.
    But I definitely saw something.
    Two white tail deer? A couple of black bears? Or Mason with someone else?
    They were too far from me and moving away and there was too much blinding snow. But they didn’t look right. Call it instinct or whatever. I don’t know. But it was damned odd.
    Kemp had tromped ahead toward the entrance, breaking a trail.
    “Justin!” I shouted, but the wind carried my voice in the opposite direction. He plowed onward, head down, focused on reaching his goal.
    I looked again at the receding shadows across the distance. The two had separated slightly. Now they looked more like humans wearing parkas with huge hoods, similar to mine. But what the hell were they doing out there in the no-man’s land between renovated grounds and hardwoods in this blizzard? Where could they possibly be going?
    “Willa!” Kemp’s voice came at me weakly as if from a wide distance, pulling my gaze from the shadows. “Willa!