DEATH OF A HAND

A

 K & D Mystery

Tyler Mallone

Prologue

Hummingbirds streaked by my face, chickadees trilled in the pines and I noticed small green buds on the dead-looking snowbushes—signs that heralded spring—finally. According to my calendar, it was long overdue. The brutal winter, with a series of heavy blizzards, had tested the patience of the residents of Bear Creek and I had learned mid-season that just the mention of another snowstorm brought reactions to some people, not unlike those of a rabid dog.

I had enjoyed a great ski season; however, when the snow turns to the consistency of mashed potatoes, I’m anxious for summer to arrive. Three feet of dirty snow still smothered the ground, but I’d packed away my skis and snowsuits and resurrected lighter clothing. Today with the warmth of the sun my skin tingled, the scent of pine in the air was heavy, I lifted my chin, inhaled and let thoughts of hiking and canoeing flood my soul. These days the temperature rose from 28 degrees to 62—almost shorts weather. Soon the melting snow would reveal things that had been buried for months—including, I was soon to find out, bones—human bones.

“I love it!” Jane’s voice squealed with excitement as she spun around. “Tom, isn’t this just the nicest setting?”

Those words are beautiful to a Realtor, especially one who has just spent three months showing this couple dozens of cabins—some several times. My eyes rolled from Jane to Tom. They had both liked the house on the inside even though the exterior was the color of volcanic ash. I had led them into the backyard to complete our inspection. An abundance of pine trees crowded the lot, hid neighboring houses and afforded privacy.

Jane was actually smiling at her husband. Tom, too, was showing positive signs; a grin spread over his face as he stood, arms folded over his belly, feet spread apart for balance, head nodding, eyes surveying the ample backyard. Even I allowed myself a glimmer of hope.

My name is Kelly Madison, broker and co-owner of K&D Realty, and Jane and Tom Stoddard were the type of clients that made me wish I’d stayed in computers. They argued constantly and agreed on nothing. She wanted a two-story house; he kept reminding her that his knees, shredded from his skiing days, couldn’t negotiate stairs. He wanted a rustic log-cabin look; she wanted a cottage with picket fence and roses. And I just wanted them out of my life.

Most of the time selling real estate in the small mountain community of Bear Creek is fun. People come up from the cities looking for a vacation home, ski cabin or summer retreat—a place to escape to. This couple seemed to be caught up in a power struggle.

This house did have two stories; however, the master suite was on the lower level. The upper level would accommodate guests nicely with two bedrooms and a loft, and probably Tom would never have to climb the stairs.

    When I first met Jane and Tom, I tried to guess what their backgrounds were. It was like a game with me; did their personalities indicate what type of profession they were in? I could have just asked them, but that would take away my fun. I’d changed my theories several times. I first pictured Tom working behind a desk, and Jane working in a garden nursery. But, through the months, I had developed a feeling that it was Tom who worked outdoors, maybe working with heavy equipment, moving loads of dirt around. And Jane, I had decided, had been cooped up in an office, probably lived in a condo and was looking for a chance to get her hands into dirt and do some gardening.

    I had invested months searching for and previewing every house in their price range, had trudged through blizzards and shoveled snow to get them into cabins, and each time I showed them a house, one would love it and the other would voice strong objections. It was a game with them, I decided; a game of ‘he with the strongest will wins.’ And I had come to the conclusion that this was a no-win situation, and I would be the biggest loser.

Bear Creek is located high enough in the Sierra Nevada Mountains of California to get buried in snow each winter, which is why we moved here. David, the D part of K&D Realty, and I are avid skiers, and this winter, with unusually cold days and a never-ending series of heavy snowstorms, had dumped an accumulation of fifteen feet on the ground.

    I was proud to be a part of this community; the small-town atmosphere was refreshing after living in southern California. Over a hundred years ago the town had started with gold-seeking pioneers who, after their disappointment in not finding gold, stayed and harvested timber to support the railroad crawling its way west.

    Now the town, which six years ago had a population of only 5000, was growing rapidly as people who worked for computer-linked companies found they could work at home and home could be located anywhere.

    In close proximity to the town were several popular ski areas, which was one of the reasons David and I chose to move here. I felt only a twinge of guilt that we had added to the population explosion when six years ago we sold our house in southern California and migrated to the mountains to sample living and working in snow country.

    The day sparkled. It was mid-June and the snow, with a consistency of mush, was melting rapidly. Bare land was beginning to appear in places not shaded by tall pines. As we trudged through the heavily wooded backyard, Jane planned where she would plant a garden and Tom pointed to where he would build a rock BBQ. Fortunately, neither heard my yelp.