St Kilda Consulting 01 - Always Time to Die

believe it. Some of it tastes like what it is—disgusting. Stay here where it’s warm while I check out the tire tracks.”
    “Disgusting? What was it?”
    “Do you really want to know?”
    She thought about it. “No.”
    “Good choice.”
    Dan got out, closed the truck door, and zipped up his parka. The sky was overcast and smelled of snow. The air felt almost warm after the stark, clear-sky iciness of last night. Swirls and veils of snow drifted out of the dawn. The air was hushed, the silence thick with falling snow.
    As he’d feared, the vehicle had parked on top of the tracks left from the time when Dan and his father had hiked up the back side of Castillo Ridge to watch a funeral they hadn’t been invited to. Though six inches of snow had fallen between the funeral and sunset last night, it was nearly impossible to find any pure tread marks. Obviously more than one car had used the turnout since the funeral. Tire tracks crisscrossed every which way.
    He looked from the turnout to the ridge rising dark and silver with the dawn. As he’d expected, the “poacher” had used the trail that Dan and his father had already broken to the top of the ridge. Unfortunately, some sightseers and snow-sledders had done the same. The informal trail was trampled flat. Nothing to learn from it.
    He went back to the truck.
    “Well?” Carly asked.
    “More than two vehicles have parked here the past week. More than two parties have gone up the ridge.”
    “Is that unusual?”
    “Not really. The locals have been playing in the snow here for decades. When wind sweeps the snow off of other, more accessible places, there’s always the back side of Castillo Ridge for an outing.”
    “So there’s nothing we can find from tracks?”
    “Pretty much. I’m going to take a look anyway. I might get lucky and come up with a bullet.”
    “Shouldn’t we let the sheriff do that?”
    “If he doesn’t get out here in the next few hours, there won’t be anything to see.”
    Carly got out of the car and felt the tender bite of snowflakes. Then she thought about the chance of an overworked, skeptical sheriff bucking a snowstorm for a look-around at the site of what he was sure was an accidental and therefore unsolvable shooting.
    “No harm, no foul?” she asked sardonically.
    “Yeah. If the bastard had killed me, then we might see some action. As it is…” Dan shrugged. “I can’t say as I blame Montoya.”
    “I do.”
    Dan pulled her close, and melted the snowflakes on her lips with a kiss. “Have I mentioned how much I like you, Carolina May?”
    “Same back,” she said. Her eyes narrowed as she looked at the bandage on his forehead. So close. So damn close. Why do we always think there’s more time? She kissed the rough, cool line of his jaw. “Next time, don’t let me sleep in. Wake me up early enough to play.”
    He turned his head, caught her mouth beneath his, and gave her the kiss he’d wanted to give her before dawn. When he finally lifted his mouth, her cheeks were flushed and her eyes were smoky gold.
    “It’s a deal,” he said. “And if I don’t let go of you real soon, we’re going to be rolling around in the snow.”
    Her eyelids went to half-mast. “Really?”
    “Stop it,” he said, letting go and stepping back from her. “You’re supposed to be the sensible one.”
    “What? Since when?”
    “Since I can’t trust myself around you.”
    She licked her lips and laughed at the look on his face. “Okay, I’ll be good. Really, really good.”
    “Starting when?”
    “Right after I jump you.”
    Laughing, shaking his head, hands in his pockets so he wouldn’t do anything stupid, Dan started off up the ridge.
    “Wait,” Carly called. “What about the snowshoes we borrowed from your folks?”
    “We won’t need them. This trail is pounded flat. Watch out for icy spots.”
    She didn’t point out that she had on snow boots. She’d decided that watching out for others was built into Dan’s bones. Giving unnecessary directions was the vice of his virtue of caring about others. She followed him up the bumpy trail and only slipped once.
    Dan slipped more than that; his excuse was that he was watching other things than the trail. He glanced back, saw that Carly was keeping up, and concentrated on his footing.
    At the top of the ridge, the trail unraveled into sled runs, snow angels, and some marks that defied explanation. Dan turned left, toward the spot where he and his father had