Fritters and Fatality by Wendy Meadows

Author:Wendy Meadows [Meadows, Wendy]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Majestic Owl Publishing LLC

Neil Vermont tucked his head down against a powerful gust of wind that sliced into his body. “They’re not going anywhere in this storm. I need to warm up.” Neil glared at a closed back door with deadly eyes and then faded back through deep snow and began working his way toward a dark cabin. The wind was causing dangerous snowdrifts to pile up against the lodge and the line of cabins that complimented the lodge; cabins designed to house rich and spoiled people who demanded stronger privacy. Working his way through the storm, the deep snow, and deadly winds was extremely difficult. Neil felt frozen to the core. By the time he reached number 4, the killer felt as if his entire body was nothing more than an iceberg.

“Shut the door!” John Richtore snapped at Neil. “You’ll let the heat out!”

“All right…all right.” Neil stepped into a warm front room and hurried to close a thick wooden door. The windows to the room were boarded up. No one from the outside could see that four lanterns were sitting in the room along with a kerosene heater.

“I heard the explosion. Good.”

Neil ripped a black mask off his face, revealing a fat, ugly—hateful—mask that stood in stark contrast to Shelia’s pretty facial features. “I nearly blew myself up! The fuse needed to be longer!” Neil glared at a scrawny old man that reminded him of Alistair Sim from the movie A Christmas Carol. John was sitting on a dusty brown chair like a deadly spider slowly spinning a vicious web in his mind.

“You’re alive, aren’t you?” John asked.

“Barely.” John moved toward a gray kerosene heater that was sitting in the middle of a medium-sized room coated with dust, cold, and time. Two doors sat at the far end of the room. One door opened up to a small bedroom and the second door offered a path into a dark bathroom. No kitchen was attached to the cabin. All food had to be acquired at the lodge. “Everyone moved into the kitchen.”

“Oh?” John folded his hands over a heavy gray coat.

“They’re not going anywhere.”

“Are you sure of that?” John asked in a venomous voice.

“The snowcat that Claude Stewart owns has no gas. I stole the reserve gas can. I blew up the only entrance to the ski resort. I doubt they’re going to risk taking the back trail in this storm.” Neil snatched off a pair of heavy black gloves and began warming his hands. “No one is moving until morning. I need to warm up.”

John glared at Neil with sour eyes. He despised his daughter’s so-called husband. The man looked like a fat blimp wearing a black curtain. Only a set of messy red hair gave the soulless tick color. “We need a heavy body count.” John narrowed his eyes. “Shelia should be dead by now.”

“I couldn’t find her—”

“Maybe you didn’t want to find my daughter?” John snapped.

“You’re a worthless rat, John.” Neil shook his head. “For a man to turn

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