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“Who the hell cares?”
“Mmm. See, you were playing possum. And not very convincingly.” He dropped a fresh liter of water onto the bedside table, along with some kind of protein bars. “I thought you’d like to know that the world has just been rid of some scum.”
What the devil was he rambling about?
“You’ve heard of Brady Long?”
Hell, yes. Who hadn’t? Brady Long was the only child of one of the richest men, if not the richest man—copper baron Hubert E. Long—in the county. No . . . wait, that wasn’t quite right. There was an-
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other child, wasn’t there? A girl? Had she died? Regan couldn’t remember.
“I see he’s familiar to you. Well, he’s one less citizen the sheriff will have to worry about.” He turned away then, and with his gloved hands, picked up several chunks of cut wood that had been stacked against the wall, shoving them into the front of the stove where the dying embers reacted, crackling and shooting out hungry flames.
“What happened to Brady?” Regan asked, her curiosity getting the better of her.
“He met an unfortunate end, I’m afraid.”
“You killed him?”
He slammed the door of the wood stove shut, then turned to loom over her again. His teeth flashed in a satisfied leer beneath the fake beard.
“The story goes that a Yeti took care of him.”
She stared. For the love of God, this guy was really bats. Certifiably insane.
“That’s what the news is reporting.”
“Really?” Don’t engage him. He’s getting off on it.
“Isn’t it interesting?”
“Not really.”
He clucked his tongue at her naïveté, mocking her that she would try and fool him. “And the more interesting part is the Yeti, he kills with a rifle, a .30 to be exact.”
“How do you know this?”
His horrid grin widened. “Because I was there, Red. Witnessed it all.”
“You did kill him, you son of a bitch.”
“I’ve done the world a favor, but that’s the problem with doing good deeds, you know. They’re always misunderstood.” His smile faded a bit, and in 226
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the orange shadows of the fire, his face, with its disguising dark beard and the scratches running down one cheek, looked the very embodiment of malevolence. “But that will change . . . soon.”
He gazed down at her with purpose and Pescoli felt as if snakes had slithered up her spine. He was planning to kill her, of course, but now she knew it would be soon.
Chapter Seventeen
Grace Perchant’s home was something right out of a fairy tale. A cottage in the woods that looked like the Brothers Grimm had designed it, nestled in a cute little spot in the wintry landscape where, despite its charming and picturesque appeal, dark and deadly creatures lay within.
“Must be the cold medication,” Alvarez said as she parked in the rutted lane outside the cabin and followed a broken path in the snow to the front door. It was just a house. Quaint, yes. But a house in the woods. In her three years with the department, she’d been to many a backwoods cabin in the forest. Grace Perchant’s was no different. Not at all. She’d left Grayson at Brady Long’s estate as he’d elected to stay longer and planned to catch a ride back to the office with the undersheriff. Brewster had shown up just about the time Alvarez was leaving. She’d gotten all the information she could and had stuck around to interview Clementine De-228 Lisa Jackson
