Ice Cap Read Online Free Page A

but I’m glad I didn’t. It’s a little downhill from here to the pergola, so I made it on my own. Barely. Tad’s a lot of dead weight. Sorry, didn’t mean it like that.”
    Danny gently brushed away the lightest snow from the spot Franco had designated. Underneath were chunks of red ice and snow. Danny pointed to where he wanted Judy to take some more pictures. Then he fished a roll of yellow tape out of his pocket and tore off a piece. He stuck it to the ground with a pen, using the butt end of his semiautomatic as a hammer.
    â€œThe CSIs will be screaming over this one,” Danny said.
    â€œCan’t blame the weather on you,” I said.
    â€œThey blame everything on everybody.”
    After that, we walked back down to the pergola and out to the driveway in time to meet a pair of white vans—one from the chief medical examiner’s office, the other from the county forensics unit who shared quarters with the ME up in Riverhead. Dayna Red had cleared the way for them and was facing the unmolested snow that covered the way to the main house. Without discussing it, we all knew it was time to go see Katarzina and break the news.
    *   *   *
    When Tad was still a potato farmer, he tore down the original family farmhouse and built what I think was intended to be a Californian hacienda. It was only one story, but it stretched across a considerable chunk of real estate. The wide, gently sloping hip roofs added to the low-slung effect. Underneath were both enclosed rooms and open spaces, divided by large panes of fixed glass. By that description, it should have been an architectural delight, but Tad had managed to imbue the place with a kind of shabby gloom. Having lived as a bachelor for most of his life, it was an atmosphere entirely of his own making that two years of Zina’s influence had only begun to dispel.
    I followed Danny and Judy across a broad covered patio that led to the front door. Franco and I followed a few steps back. Dayna was happy this time to wait in the truck. When Danny rang the doorbell, a light flashed on above our heads, then another in the living room visible through narrow side windows.
    There was a click at the door, which then abruptly swung wide open. It startled me, as I was expecting something a little more tentative. Zina Buczek stood in the doorframe, her sharp features exaggerated by the light above and the effect of a pair of barrettes that pulled her hair back and stretched her forehead. She stood silently, staring at the cops and waiting, braced for what was to come.
    Danny had done this before and, being a person of essential decency, spoke the words with just the right tone and pitch. Zina stood motionless, but her cat eyes began to widen and flicker back and forth from cop to cop.
    â€œWhat is this you’re saying?” she asked, her accent thick with Polish inflection. Danny was forced to repeat the whole thing.
    â€œNo, it is not true,” she said, her shoulders now sagging as she reached back to the door handle for support. Judy stepped forward and took Zina’s arm.
    â€œSorry, ma’am,” she said. “Let me help you back inside.”
    Danny followed after telling us to wait on the patio. I knew it was the right call, but the brief blast of warm air from the house had left me even more disappointed by the relentless cold.
    A few minutes later, Danny stuck his head out.
    â€œShe wants to talk to Franco,” he said.
    â€œNot without me,” I said.
    The door closed again. Franco stared at the ground, keeping his comments restricted to wordless mumbling. A minute later, Danny let us in.
    The twin sensations brought on by the heat and incandescent light nearly gave me vertigo. The air on my face was drier but somehow heavier than the chilly stuff outside. It soothed my burning cheeks. Franco snatched off his hat and scratched at his curly hair as if relieving a long-denied itch. We stood on