The Girls in the Snow (Nikki Hunt #1) - Stacy Green Page 0,27
and hurried outside. The cold wind almost pulled the jeep’s door from her hand. “Christ.” Nikki slammed it shut and caught her breath.
She knew Stillwater was still a small town, but what were the odds she’d end up at the same gas station as Mark Todd’s brother? Rory had been in middle school when everything happened, and he used to follow Mark to the bonfires he’d have near the creek that ran between the Todd property and her parents’. Mark had been more tolerant of his younger brother than most, but he’d always sent him home when the alcohol came out.
Nikki remembered Mark as an average-sized, wiry guy with a plain face. Between the green eyes and the jawline, Rory had clearly been blessed with the superior genes.
What would he say if he knew who he’d been standing next to?
Rory came out of the store, and Nikki slunk down into the seat. He got into a white pickup truck with Todd Construction clearly emblazoned on the passenger’s door.
Nikki had intended to read the paper at home, but the headline tormented her.
Striking new evidence has come to light, leading to a retrial of Mark Todd, currently serving a life sentence in prison for the murder of Dean and Valerie Walsh.
The daughter of the victims, one Nicole Walsh, claimed to have discovered Todd in her home when she found her parents dead. Her identification of Todd led to his arrest.
An exclusive source has revealed that then sixteen-year-old Nicole Walsh had been drinking heavily the night her parents were killed, casting doubt on her reliability as a witness.
Nikki almost ripped the paper in half. She’d taken both a field sobriety and a blood test the night of her parents’ deaths and she knew that Mark’s appeal was based on lies.
Both the district attorney’s office and Sheriff Hardin—then Deputy Hardin, who arrived first on the scene—did not return phone calls, but Deputy Hardin’s original report stated Nicole Walsh passed his initial sobriety test.
Nikki remembered the paramedic taking her blood and filling out the chain of custody paper. There must have been a toxicology report too.
If the DNA extracted from the new biological evidence is not a match for Mark Todd, it is possible his attorneys will push for a full exoneration.
Vomit rose in Nikki’s throat. In the mid-nineties, DNA testing had been limited, but technological advancements meant even the tiniest samples could be tested. What had happened to the touch DNA taken from the lamp cord and the windowsill in her room?
Nikki’s stomach turned. Biological evidence almost always meant blood or semen.
She threw the paper on the seat and started the jeep. The windshield wipers clicked and made a grinding sound, but only the passenger side moved.
Fantastic. She dug around for her scraper, hoping breaking up the ice would do the trick.
She’d barely rounded the open driver’s door when her feet shot out from under her, her back and head hitting the icy concrete. Stunned, she lay still and tried to catch her breath.
“Don’t move.” Rory’s worried face was suddenly inches from hers. He definitely wasn’t the short kid with the even shorter hair anymore. His cap was gone, and the mess of dark, wavy hair framing his face made him seem even younger.
“I’m okay,” she said, embarrassed.
“Just take a second and get your breath,” he said. “Can you move your fingers and toes?”
“Yes.” Sleet pelted her face and her elbow stung.
Nikki slowly sat up and touched the growing bump on the back of her head.
Rory held up three fingers. “How many?”
“Three. I don’t have a concussion. I just need to get up.”
He grabbed her hand and slipped his other arm behind her back. “Slowly.”
Nikki closed her eyes against the vertigo, her forehead against his shoulder, her free hand on his chest. He smelled like clean laundry.
“If you’re dizzy, you shouldn’t be driving back to St. Paul, especially in this weather.”
“I’ll be okay.” Nikki stepped back, heat creeping over her face. “I just need a few minutes. Stupid windshield wiper.”
“Sit down and I’ll look at it.”
Nikki tried not to think about his last name as he helped her to the driver’s seat. She mentally went through a concussion checklist while Rory cleaned off the wiper blade.
“This thing is about shot,” he said. “Barely any rubber left. You need to replace it before you drive very far. There’s a hardware store down the road. They can do it for you if you don’t know how.”
“Thanks.” Nikki’s father had made her learn to check her oil,