Cover of Snow by Jenny Milchman Read Free Book Online Page A

something had radically changed. Brendan proposed. And then he suggested we return to his hometown, where he had gotten an offer to join the force. Being a cop gave Brendan good benefits, long-term security, and something else. A call to his heritage.
    I stared up at the traffic light. It was the only one in town. Chance Carson, the owner of the bait and ammo store, had paid for that light. Made access to his parking lot easier.
    Wedeskyull was a big small town, if that made sense. It had its own schools, jail, police force, and there were enough residents—especially with the newcomers coursing in—that no one could really claim to know or even recognize everybody. You could drive twenty miles and still be contained by the borders of Wedeskyull, but within its spread-out confines stood one central stalk, a deeply rooted tree, the branches of which went back to the town’s inception and had witnessed its growth.
    The now green light blurred before my eyes.
    An engine gunned behind me.
    I jolted forward, putting my hand up in apology, and turned into Al’s lot.
    Grimacing at the salt chunks that broke beneath my boots as I got out, I tugged open a smeared glass door. The temperature inside and out differed by about sixty degrees, which led to condensation. Across the empty street, the Mobil lot was clear beneath a brightly lit overhang.
    Now that I was inside, I could see that this place was more modern than its age and position in town would suggest. I’d been expecting something out of
Andy Griffith
. Instead there was a high bank of gleaming machines with buttons that lit up, tools that more closely resembled thermostats or telephones than wrenches, and some blue thing on wheels that looked like a friendly robot.
    But no one to use all of this equipment. I was alone except for a crackling radio, set to the police channel. I backed away from its buzz of familiar voices.
    â€œCan I help you, Missus?”
    I had no idea where the voice had come from.
    â€œUm, yes,” I began.
    The sole occupant of the dim interior showed himself. He was dressed in camouflage, the white kind for winter, and as I studied him, I realized he couldn’t possibly help me. He was just a kid.
    He moved out from behind a grimy desk, blue eyes squinting.
    I tried a smile.
    â€œWhat can I do you for?”
    The boy had a dazzling smile to go along with those bright eyes. He was on the small side—not much taller than I was—and his light hair was tangled. The smile faltered when I didn’t say anything. “
What can I do you for
. That’s what my boss always says.”
    Now that he was standing in the open, I thought he looked vaguely familiar, like someone I might’ve seen around but never really met.
    â€œWell,” I began, “my car’s outside and it’s got a light out?”
    The boy’s smile broadened. “Let’s have a look.”
    I found myself smiling back as we walked across the slushy lot.
    â€œMessy out here,” he said. And then to my amazement, the boy drew his camouflage-patterned sweatshirt over his head, and laid it on the asphalt. He hadn’t bothered with a jacket back in the shop; now he stood unflinching in the air, which was cold enough to shatter, wearing only shirtsleeves.
    I glanced down at the cloth.
    â€œStand on that, why don’t you? Then your feet won’t get as wet.”
    â€œUm,” I mumbled. “No, that’s all right …”
    The boy turned an injured gaze on me, and I saw in that moment that I’d been wrong. He wasn’t a child, he might be as old as twenty, twenty-five even. A faint scruff of beard on his jaw showed in the light, and his eyes also held more than someone very young could’ve seen.
    I stepped onto the white cloth, rapidly liquefying in the slush, and the boy’s chunks of teeth showed again. “Think I got this one in stock. You stay right here.”
    I was trying to tease