Chapter 40

CHAPTER 40

S immy had reminded the gang that they needed to eat in order to keep up their energy. Andi couldn’t argue.

For that reason, the gang grabbed breakfast.

They were essentially the only ones in the dining hall, other than two cooks. Apparently, the kitchen staff hadn’t quit and left like some of the other guests and employees.

Juniper had disappeared into one of the spare rooms at the lodge, saying she wanted to lie down a while but stay close. She had a lot to process, so maybe some sleep would be good for her.

Meanwhile, the Arctic Circle Murder Club found a table in the corner where they could figure out their next plan of action.

But Andi’s thoughts had been racing all morning. She forced herself to eat some eggs and toast. To drink her coffee.

As she finished eating, she stood, unable to sit still any longer. Instead, she placed her hands on her hips and began to pace. Meetings like these took her back to her days as an attorney when she and her colleagues would prep for a big case.

“Duke, did Heath say anything else when you guys were talking to him?” she started.

“Just that he’d flown in and landed this morning.”

“Where is his wife?” Simmy asked. “Why didn’t see come?”

“She’s been sick with pneumonia and couldn’t fly—even though she wanted to,” Duke said. “So Heath came alone.”

“I suppose that makes sense,” Andi said before turning to Matthew. “Matthew, while you’ve been researching, did you find anything significant that may have happened on December 6 to trigger that specific date for these murders?”

He pushed his glasses higher on his nose as he peered up at her. “I’ve been looking into it, but I haven’t made much progress. I’ll keep looking.”

“You do that,” Andi said. “We also need to look up any stories from this area about snowmen. Maybe that plays a significant role in why this killer is doing what he is doing.”

Mariella raised a manicured finger. “I can help Matthew with that.”

“What about Jesse?” Duke sat back in his chair, appearing stiff from sitting for so long. “Has anybody looked at him again? He was the primary suspect when the police originally investigated.”

“He had an alibi for the night of one or two of the murders,” Ranger said. “I’m not sure what it would do to continue looking into him.”

“You’re right.” Andi didn’t think they should waste their time if the man had already been cleared—especially since the countdown was on. “I’m also wondering what the connection is between the victims and the body parts left on these snowmen. It’s been bugging me because I wonder if there’s any significance to those choices.”

“I don’t see how there would be.” Duke shrugged. “I mean, the woman that worked at the planetarium did lose an eye and the gardener lost a hand. But why in the world would hair be significant? It’s not like the Burrows were barbers or hairstylists.”

Andi frowned and slowly nodded. He was right. But . . . “I just feel as if we’re missing something, and we need to figure out what it is.”

“Let’s review everything we have one more time,” Duke suggested. “We won’t be able to do much investigating outside this room today anyway, not unless these conditions outside clear up some.”

Andi glanced at the window and saw the snow still coming down. She hoped Gibson got to the hospital safely.

“I say we start looking over these victims again,” Andi said. “If we study the possible significance of the date and the snowmen, maybe something will click for us.”

With that directive and all the tasks given out, the team got to work.

An hour later, the team was still researching. At least they still had an internet connection out here, but Duke wasn’t sure how much longer that would last. The conditions outside were brutal, to say the least.

He and Andi had been studying the victim list, looking for any connections they might have missed. So far, they hadn’t found anything of note.

What were they missing?

“This may or may not be significant.” Matthew stared at his computer and tapped a few more things on the keyboard. “But I did find one thing about something happening on December 6.”

They all turned toward him, giving him their full attention.

“Like I said, it might not be anything, but on December 6 twenty-one years ago, a man and woman were shot and killed in their home in Fairbanks. Their killer was never found.”

“Keep going,” Andi said.

“This couple left behind an eight-year-old son. Maybe this wouldn’t be significant, but . . .”

“But what?” Ranger tapped his finger on the table.

“Their son, Hans, grew up to be an artist. I checked out some of his work. He does oil paintings.” Matthew turned his computer around to show them the screen. “And is it just me . . . or does his favorite subject to paint about seem to be random body parts?”

Duke looked more closely at the screen. The paintings were abstract with bright colors and shapes. The one on the screen now was electric blue with some lime green mixed in, almost reminding him of the northern lights. Various black lines cut through the painting, almost like cracked glass.

But then, in various sections of the painting, ears floated randomly in the space.

The next painting was a tangerine orange and fluorescent yellow. The artwork had the same black lines stretching across it, almost as if Hans had wanted to imitate a shattered look. But this time instead of ears, there were eyes.

More paintings followed suit. There were hands, noses, mouths.

In the last one, there were mustaches and beards.

Duke remembered the beard drawn on the mirror in their bathroom.

The thought of it still left him unsettled. The drawing had been a threat, a warning that Duke and Ranger should watch their backs.

If the two of them were in danger, then the whole team was in danger.

His stomach knotted at the thought.

“I definitely think he’s someone worth looking into.” Andi nodded slowly as she stared at the paintings. “Good work, Matthew.”

He practically beamed. “Thank you.”

“Where is the guy located now?” Duke asked.

“He’s in Fairbanks still. As far as I can tell, he’s not married, nor is he especially successful as an artist—at least not from what I found online. In fact, it appears he works full-time doing car detailing.”

Duke glanced out the window again at the whiteout conditions. “The weather could make it difficult to go anywhere today—though I’m still hopeful it might clear up some. But we can search this guy’s social media at least. Maybe even give him a call or talk to some of his friends. It’s worth pursuing.”

Duke’s phone rang. It was Gibson. Maybe he had an update for them.

He quickly put the phone to his ear. “Did you make it to Fairbanks okay?”

“I did.” Gibson’s voice sounded grim and serious. “But I got here about ten minutes too late.”

“What do you mean?” Duke braced himself for whatever bad news Gibson might be about to share. He sensed it coming.

“Right before I arrived, Emmett flatlined.”

Duke’s lungs froze. “What? I thought he was doing better?”

“That’s what my impression was as well. I’m getting the hospital to do some additional tests to confirm his cause of death.”

Duke’s thoughts continued to race. Emmett had been on the verge of sharing something possibly significant to this case. Maybe he’d seen something at the camp. Maybe he knew something about Pepper’s death.

Now, they’d never know.

If the wrong person found out Emmett had awoken and was about to share that information, this person could have wanted to silence Emmett for good.

But the logistics of that were tricky. This person would have needed to hear Emmett was awake. Then, in a short period of time, he would have needed to get to the hospital and kill him before authorities arrived.

As Gibson ended the call, Duke’s thoughts continued to race over the possibilities of what might have happened.