3 Requiem at Christmas Read Online Free

She was grateful for the hot drink
and able to actually sip at it because she had taken care of personal matters
before putting on her skis. Squatting by the car had been painful and
distasteful, though she had been lucky enough to have tissues in her purse.
Hopefully no frostbite had happened.
    Though glad to let her muscles rest, the sofa was a long way
from being comfortable and Juliet found herself getting to her feet again
almost immediately. She noticed a worn copy of War and Peace on the ranger’s desk.
    “If you’re feeling better, ma’am, perhaps you could tell me
what you’re doing here. I mean, you are hell and gone from anyplace. Surely you
aren’t from the ski lodge. They shut down days ago when the power went out and
no one sent out a missing persons report.”
    “No, I’m not from the ski lodge.” She sounded breathless. Frightened. Juliet took a deep breath, silently chanted her
favorite yoga mantra, and then told her host the incredible story.
    The ranger was not stupid, but he was skeptical and
basically unimaginative, and he understandably lacked enthusiasm for going out
into the storm to see the murdered man for himself. It wasn’t really part of
his job. Especially if the man was dead.
    Juliet was glad that she had had a few dress rehearsals with
rigid thinkers in her old job because it helped her keep her temper as she
argued.
    Nyland sat behind his desk, his
shaggy brows rising higher and higher as she talked until he rested his
forehead against his folded hands in a prayerful manner. Juliet finally stopped
talking.
    “I guess I better call it in.”
    The phone line was down but the ranger did have a radio
which he used to contact the highway patrol, who promised to come as soon as
they could, but it obviously wouldn’t be real soon. There was no need to rush
out for a dead man when there were living people stranded all over the roads who
needed help.
    Juliet again urged the ranger to come with her so that they
could photograph the body—something she was kicking herself for forgetting to
do—when the small window facing east lit up with an orange glow. A moment later
there was an explosion, which probably wasn’t all that large, but with the
sound trapped in the canyon came across as something impressive.
    “Dear God.” The ranger was apparently a religious man, at
least when circumstances were trying.
    “That was probably the Jaguar.” And maybe
her car too, a thought which brought a fearsome frown to her face.
    “But you said that you turned off the engine.”
    “I did, but the killer probably went back to finish the
job.”
    “Finish the job? The guy was dead—or so you said. What’s to
finish?”
    “He was dead. As for
what is to be finished—it’s hard to identify a body, let alone determine what
happened to cause death, once it has been blown to bits and then had the bits
burned. Except for me, the whole thing might have been passed off as some freak
accident. It might not have been discovered at all,” she added.
    The thought left her cold in spite of the glowing potbelly
stove.
    Had the killer seen her and let her go for humanitarian
reasons?
    Or had he—or she—simply been unable to keep up with Juliet
once she hit a downhill slope?
    “Damn.” Nyland reached for the
radio again. “They aren’t going to like this.”

 
    *   *   *

 
    Juliet was glad that Sheriff Garret lacked the messianic
enthusiasm for prompt paperwork and procedure that afflicted Officer Gibbons,
who seemed—among other sins—to have about an inch less forehead than was
standard in most humans, and had more fuss and whine than any granny. He was
very proper in appearance. His buttons gleamed, his shirt was tucked in tight
as a drum and his boots were polished, his hair exactly in place. This was
actually quite a feat as he had come on a snowmobile. But proper dressing was
where his competence ended.
    Juliet could tell Nyland disliked
him and decided that she did too. Standing side by