The Season of Killing by Leigh Mayberry (top romance novels .TXT) 📕

was feeble, something that needed constant feeding and supervision. He broke away long enough to retrieve the rifle. It was a .30-06 hunting rifle designed for hunting caribou and deer. It had wear and tear and was missing a scope. The bolt action took Lester a moment to loosen. Once he opened the breach, he saw it was empty.

Meghan padded Norman’s pockets. He didn’t have any bullets.

“I need to go after him,” Meghan said.

“I can go.”

She shook her head. “Stay here with Norman. Get a fire going.” She stood up, moved through the thick grass, and muck toward Eric’s snowmobile. “Keep an eye on him.”

“Meg, he can’t go far. Look around. There’s nowhere to go.”

“I can’t leave him abandoned in the wild, Lester.”

“He’s a killer. He’s no good.”

“That doesn’t change things.”

She made it to the machine. It took more time than she had energy trying to start the snowmobile. Lester left Norman lying on the tundra and crossed to her. He eventually got the machine running. Its motor uneven, hesitating as it shimmied. They used the rest of the gasoline from the jug on the saddle.

Meghan climbed on the saddle. She put her weight on the seat and looked at Lester.

“I have to do this,” she said.

“I know.”

“Keep a fire going. When I find him, I’ll come back here. We can wait out until daylight. Someone will come for us.”

Lester smiled. “Is that around February next year?”

“We see daylight over there on the horizon. That’s good enough for me.”

Chapter Twenty-Three

 Meghan didn’t know if it was her inexperience riding a snowmobile or dumb luck that kept her upright and steady once she was alone and in pursuit of a murderer. The confession of a man close to death was good enough for Meghan when it came to pointing fingers. As she followed the thread of track over the tundra, Meghan had time to reflect on what happened.

A young man trying to do something for his grandmother invited a killer into her home. A woman who didn’t trust a lot of people died when she allowed family through the front door. Hilma lived a hard life, persecuted. Her tenuous relationship with the rest of her family became a burden that Hilma eventually realized needed mending. Facing the end of her life, she’d looked back to see daughters she left behind. Barbara made mistakes, Hilma harbored resentment until she met the possibility of dying alone.

Then she brought her grandson into her home. She wanted to make things right with him, give him a sense of accomplishment, and Norman got the opportunity to work. Little did he know, the moment he asked Matthew to help, the man would take his grandmother’s life the moment he stole her life savings. Hilma must have caught Matthew stealing the money. In a moment of alarm, he killed her.

Thinking the moment enough to make amends with Norman, Matthew confessed. He used the fire as a reminder that he wasn’t afraid to use violence to keep the rest of them quiet.

In the end, Meghan knew they were all guilty. They took blood money, spent it on booze, hoped to drown their guilt. Norman’s change of heart, Christine’s fright, made Matthew break free. Norman pursued him. They weren’t fleeing together, Norman wanted justice, at least his version of it.

She had to consider the path ahead of her, physically and figuratively. The splayed snowy artery moved over the landscape haltingly. Meghan saw the ditch left by Matthew’s snowmobile meandering through the white sheet that blanketed the ground for thousands of miles.

While Meghan expected a generally straight line—heading down a central lane that threaded through the relatively flat valley. The topography wasn’t tranquil; the basin had hills, dips, and obstacles. Closer to what she presumed led to another town, Meghan hadn’t visited some fifty miles southeast of Kinguyakkii and forty miles south of Noorvik. Both as the raven flew.

By air, it took perhaps an hour, at least, winding around the tall shadowy white peaks of the mountain range. In a place where land and water coalesced without a solid underpinning, it was impossible to drive an AVT in the summer months. Boat travel took hours from one village to the next. Over land, when winter spread its thick coat, Matthew and Norman played the odds and hoped their machines had groundcover to travel.

Meghan took what the grandson told them at face value. Forced confession through excruciating pain of an open fracture, Norman had blamed Matthew for Hilma Fisher’s murder. Given what she knew, recounting the troubling testimony, Meghan felt there was more involvement with Norman with the money than what he claimed. The murder, as much as Meghan suspected, was all on Matthew.

Much like the path she followed into the unknown, Matthew Anuun made several bad decisions that took him into the cold. Desperate to get away, he sped over the unsafe ground, hoping some tundra enlightenment or unbelievable escape plan opened somewhere in the flat expanse.

Meghan thought of the ludicrous attempt Matthew hadn’t fully worked out. It wasn’t a straight line in the snow. Detritus, debris, patches of thick tundra plants, all got in the way of a smooth ride. It wasn’t like riding over sand dunes in the desert. The snow was malleable with a softer surface. It changed with the environment like sand, forcing the sled to accept ruts hidden in the deep pockets or high white walls of something substantial under the powder.

Matthew’s course continued to change. Every time Meghan thought he’d veer right, Matthew’s path continued to veer left. She realized Matthew had lost his way. He wasn’t running to escape. Eventually, he’d run out of gas or wreck the machine somewhere in the unforgettable landscape.

At that point, Meghan realized Matthew wasn’t the only person lost. She’d followed the fugitive blindly. Now she needed to find