Frozen Stiff by Annelise Ryan Read Free Book Online

kind.”
    “Can you describe it in more detail for me?”
    “Sure. It’s about nine inches in length. There is a small nick in the blade just below the hasp. And the figure carved into the handle is a dragon.”
    “That’s it,” I tell him. “Show me where you kept it.” Hurley nods, picks up his wineglass, and heads for a door across the kitchen. Determined to keep my wits about me, I leave my own wine on the table and follow him. We enter a two-car garage that contains no vehicles and has been done over as some kind of workshop with a large table in the middle of the room and workbenches lining the perimeter walls. Hanging above and stored below the work areas are many sizes, shapes, and colors of sheet metal, and a variety of tools. The walls are insulated though unfinished, and a heater in the ceiling blows warm air onto my shoulders.
    “What is all this?” I ask.
    “It’s my workshop. I dabble in metalwork on my off time, creating the occasional artsy piece, like wall hangings and some jewelry.” He walks over to a side table, opens a drawer, and pulls out a small square of folded paper. He sets it on the workbench and carefully unfolds it, revealing a pair of filigreed earrings that look like elongated silver lace doilies. “Stuff like this,” he says, handing the earrings to me.
    “These are beautiful,” I say, holding them up to the light. “I had no idea you did anything like this.”
    “I don’t do a lot of the small stuff anymore. Mostly I do bigger items, like that thing over there.” He points to a piece leaning against the wall. It’s a large rectangular chunk of varicolored metal strips woven together like a rug.
    “What do you do with what you make?”
    “I sell most of it, at flea markets mainly.”
    I try to give the earrings back to him but he pushes my hand away. “Keep them,” he says.
    “Are you trying to bribe me?”
    “Absolutely.” He smiles at me and adds, “The color suits you. Please take them.”
    “Okay, thanks.” I remove the pierced earrings I’m wearing, fold them up inside the paper on the workbench, and put the whole thing in the pocket of my slacks. I then slip the new ones, which are done in a French hook style, through my ears.
    “What do you think?” I ask him when I’m done. I turn my head from side to side to show off the earrings.
    Hurley doesn’t answer right away. He looks at the earrings and smiles, then his eyes shift to my hair, my face, my throat . . . his gaze softening as he goes. Then, as if someone flipped a switch, his smile disappears and he turns away. “They look great,” he says, his voice catching slightly. Hurley’s signals lately are about as clear as a broken traffic light and I can feel my level of frustration grow another notch. “I’m glad they found a good home.”
    There is an awkward moment as Hurley rearranges some tools on the center worktable that were just fine where they were and I try to figure out what the hell just happened. While I love the fact that Hurley has just given me jewelry, I can’t help but wonder if I’ll need Daniel Webster to defend me in the near future.
    Hurley has left the earring drawer open and after glancing inside it, where I see neat little rows of folded paper envelopes that I assume hold more pieces of jewelry, I close it. The sound seems to shake Hurley loose and he walks over and opens a door in the far wall. “Come on out here,” he says. “My boat is parked alongside the garage.”
    I follow him outside into the cold night air and there, hidden beneath a tarplike cover, is a small jon boat atop a trailer. He pulls the tarp off near the back of the boat and says, “I kept the knife in this little cubby here, beneath the seat.”
    I look where he’s pointing and see a hollowed-out area under a metal seat that spans the width of the boat. “When’s the last time you know it was there?”
    “The last time I had the boat out, which was in mid-September.”
    “Are you sure you