Heart of Ice

Chapter Thirty-nine

Cherrystone

Donna Rayburn, the lawyer who’d filled in for Cary McConnell at the Crawford lineup, stood at the gas pump in $300 jeans, stiletto-heeled boots, and a creamy white leather coat that looked so soft it had to have been spread on her. Cherrystone, Washington, didn’t see people like her too often.

Emily Kenyon doubted her Ethan Allen leather sofa cost as much as Donna’s coat.

“Nice coat,” the sheriff called to Donna from her gas pump, a row away—too close to pretend she didn’t see her. She wanted to say something about how the coat’s coloring was a near ringer for Donna’s BMW, but thought better of it. “You look like you’re headed off somewhere.”

Donna nodded in Emily’s direction. “Cary and I are going to his cabin. You know how he loves the great outdoors.”

It was the first acknowledgment between the two women that they’d both dated Cary. Emily was relieved that her liaison with Cherrystone’s most narcissistic lawyer was long since past. At the same time, she almost felt sorry for Donna. She was sleeping with the devil and didn’t even know it.

“Oh yes, the cabin,” Emily said. “I’m sure you’ll have a wonderful time.”

Donna turned off the pump and waited for her receipt.

“Only going for one night,” she said. “Cary is such a workaholic.” Donna slid into her car, waved at Emily, and drove off.

Emily finished filling the Crown Vic, wondering how on earth the department could justify the gas-hog that barely got fifteen miles to the gallon. She also wondered who approved such a hideous kelly green livery for the small fleet of department cars. Mostly she pondered how long it would take Donna to wise up about Cary.

She’d been up to the cabin a couple of times in the beginning of her relationship with Cary. It was a few miles from the Schweitzer Mountain Resort, in northern Idaho. The whole place was a shrine to Cary and his quest to be the most formidable at all the things he did. Everything was the best. His snowmobiles, fishing gear, and ski equipment. Weekends at the cabin were exhausting, and not for the reasons most being romanced would hope.

Poor stupid, BMW-owning Donna. She’ll just have to figure out things on her own.