A Mischief in the Snow - By Margaret Miles Page 0,28
had written bits of messages in the unblemished snow. And one large frozen puddle, Lem thought with a smile, had been made by the more community-minded. It might have been seen as an interesting study of dispositions, he supposed, if one cared to think about such things.
After adding his mark to the others, Orpheus was still not content. His ears pointed with new alertness. He began to whine softly. He moved to the edge of the copse, and uttered a low growl. In another moment he stepped hesitantly into the trees, and disappeared between their singing limbs. A mournful howl then rose above the wind.
With misgiving, Lem strode to the trees and plunged inside. When his eyes had adjusted to the dimness, he saw that someone lay sleeping—a young man stretched out on his chest, on top of a soft bed of needles. A second later he realized he'd been wrong. With a worse shock, he knew by the frost covering its exposed flesh that the body was no longer alive—and, that it was Alex Godwin. He touched a hand, and found it icy cold, hard as marble.
The poor fool must have returned after all, and gotten drunk by the end of the afternoon, Lem imagined with a shudder. Very drunk indeed to fall asleep here, and stay long enough to freeze! It was a terrible thing—and yet, perhaps, a fate that was not entirely unjust.
As this seemed a shameful conclusion, Lem began to look about for something to make him feel more charitable toward his former rival. There was his ridiculous hat, with its fringe of grouse feathers. Odd that it appeared to have been tossed down onto the back of his head, hardly as if he'd put it there himself. With the beginning of a new suspicion, Lem bent to move the hat, and then felt true horror at the sight of a dark hole in the soft base of Alex Godwin's skull. It looked to be deep. There was little blood about—so he'd died quickly, or perhaps somewhere else. But how? Lem soon found the answer. Beneath a fir branch lay an ice hatchet—one all too familiar.
He reached out, but drew back. He could see the damage hadn't been caused by the bite of the flat blade. But the back of the hatchet had a wicked point, now stained with something. Someone must have found it, and brought it here. Who? And why would anyone have wanted to use it for this?
Yet as he straightened, he had to ask himself if some in the village might not rejoice to have Godwin out of the way. And then it came to him where he'd left the canvas bag the day before. He'd set it down near the bonfire— not long before his fight with Alex, in front of several women! Mrs. Willett, as well as a couple of the old village hens, had heard them arguing. And Mattie! What would Mattie think when she heard of what had happened now?
Feverishly, he began to ask himself if there could be a simple way out. What if Mattie never heard? Maybe none of them had to—at least not any time soon. After all, they might think Alex went off in one of his high and mighty moods, as he often did. He only boarded in the village—he might not even be missed, if someone went in quietly, one day soon, and took away his things. Only yesterday there had been plenty of open water in the pond. It probably hadn't frozen much. With the hatchet, he could open up a hole and slide the body in. It might not be found for months.
But it would be found eventually. And then, Richard Longfellow wouldn't be happy to learn what someone had done to his ice pond. Lem wondered, too, if he could keep such a thing hidden from Mrs. Willett. She already suspected there was something he wouldn't tell her. Keeping this, too, a secret would be next to impossible.
Orpheus began to whine again, then allowed himself to be led out through the branches, back into the streaming wind.
Lem knew he would have to go to them both, and explain what he could. Mr. Longfellow, as one of the village selectmen responsible for seeing to the peace, would have an idea of what to do next. With Mrs. Willett helping him, he might even discover who had done this thing— and why.