Cold Justice: A Judge Willa Carson Mystery (The Hunt for Justice) Read Online Free

if he didn’t.
    Kemp said, “His name is Leo Richards. He owns the hardware store in Pleasant Harbor. He’s married to Maureen and he has a little girl.” As George moved toward his seat, Kemp added unnecessarily, “I’d appreciate it if you wouldn’t say anything about this until we get a chance to notify the family.”
    “We don’t envy you that job,” George told him as he settled into the driver’s seat. He turned the ignition on and the heater to full blast. Maybe the car would warm up again so that we could both thaw out someday.
    We snugged our seat belts a little bit tighter this time and George carefully pulled out and around the Toyota. My desire to take pictures of the snow had evaporated, which was good because the phone’s battery was low and I didn’t want to run it out completely in case we needed to make another call. The phone charger was packed in one of the suitcases. I could charge up once we reached the cottage.
    As we drove north, away from the scene, I glanced into the side mirror. Kemp stood, holding a cell phone to his ear, watching us go, maybe calling in our license plate or something. Two vehicles with flashing lights pulled up behind him. Probably part of his team. When we rounded the first curve, I lost sight of Kemp, but I still wondered who he’d been talking to.
    There was no rush to take my statement. I wouldn’t forget anything about the man with the pink hands and the hole in his head and his brains splashed all over the inside of his frosty vehicle. No chance of that. No chance I’d let this murder remain unsolved, either. It might not be my jurisdiction, but justice is always my job and I liked it that way. Judges are like cops. We’re never off duty.
    “You sure know how to start a vacation,” I said, once my teeth stopped chattering, already thinking about the next steps.

CHAPTER SEVEN

    We continued on our way toward Pleasant Harbor in silence. The clean snow had lost its appeal and clouds had moved in to replace the sparkling sunlight just as our vacation’s luster had dulled. We traveled with our separate thoughts for companionship, until a small sign on the right hand side of the road caught my attention.
    “Welcome to Pleasant Harbor. Population 1,202,” I read aloud simply to break the silence. Now only 1,201.
    The first flakes of the promised blizzard began to fall. George flipped the windshield wipers on and stopped at the traffic light.
    Smoke rose from the buildings to our left where U.S. 31 abutted Michigan Highway M-244. Once again, the area seemed deserted. In the summer, a line of traffic stopped here and then filed off in all directions. Not today. The hardy residents were probably huddled inside by their fireplaces, which was where I’d hoped to be by now.
    Many times we’d turned right at this intersection to continue on toward Mackinaw City and then to romantic getaways on Mackinac Island. But today, we’d turn left to downtown Pleasant Harbor.
    The light turned green and we travelled a bit farther into town before George said, “Looks pretty much the same as the last time we were here, don’t you think?”
    “It’s hard to tell with the snow covering everything, but I don’t see very many new buildings, if that’s what you mean.” I wanted conversation, but discussing the town or the weather seemed so banal now. I didn’t feel like socializing. My thoughts continued to return to the murder as if a video loop replayed in my head. There was something else about it that was odd, but what was it?
    “What if we take a short ride through town and head to Eagle Creek Cafe? It’s late, but we might still get lunch.” I didn’t say anything. “Or we could go directly to the cottage now, if you’d rather get unpacked.” More silence. “Willa?” He took his right hand off the steering wheel, where it had been firmly planted since we’d returned to the Jeep, and placed it over mine in my lap. His gloved fingers intertwined with mine.
    I