Spirit of the Season by Cate Dean

Author:Cate Dean [Dean, Cate]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: cozy mystery, ghost mystery, women sleuths, amateur sleuth
Publisher: Cate Dean
Published: 2017-08-21T04:00:00+00:00

Nine

The storm hit as Martin reached the car park at the top of the high street.

He cursed under his breath, and made a dash for his car. The snow blinded him, assisted by the screaming wind. He couldn’t see his hand in front of his face, never mind his car. There was no possible way that he was leaving. Not today, and most likely not for days.

Now, all he had to do was find his way back to the antique shop—and hope that Maggie would accept his apology. He certainly owed her one, after his spectacularly horrifying treatment of her.

His chance of reaching the shop to offer that apology looked grim. He used the closest vehicle as support, and what little cover it offered as he crouched beside it, and tried to orient himself.

The wind shifted, and he got a glimpse of the line of shops at the edge of the car park Afraid to expose himself to the lash of the wind, he hiked his backpack over one shoulder, and crawled across the tarmac, headed toward where he saw the buildings.

His head found the sharp corner of the first shop. He hunched against it, cursing under his breath as he rubbed his forehead. Step one was complete. Now, all he had to do was follow the shops down to Maggie.

“Right, mate,” he muttered, his head throbbing from the impact. When he pulled his hand away, he saw blood on his fingertips. “That’s all you need to do.”

He slipped the other strap over his shoulder, and wrestled with the waist straps, snapping them together. That was one less thing to deal with, while he made his way through the storm.

The cold seemed to focus on the laceration on his forehead, and his head pounded every time he moved. He ignored the pain as best he could, kept one hand on the building next to him, and leaned into the storm as he inched forward. His fingers slid over glass; it felt like ice against his skin, and he wanted to snatch his hand away. Instead, he spread his palm over the glass and kept moving.

A hard gust slammed into him and tossed him at the window. He feared for a moment that he would go straight through the plate glass. Finally, the wind let him go, and he sank to his knees, shaking from the shock, from the increasing cold.

I will not give up, steps away from her.

Martin knew he was more than steps from Maggie. Blocks would be a better indication of distance, but the words helped him stand, pushed him forward. He couldn’t see beyond his nose—and realized that part of the problem were his glasses.

He took them off, and carefully tucked them in the pocket of his coat. Their removal improved his visibility, but left his eyes vulnerable to the assault of the wind and snow. He pulled his scarf up, until it covered most of his face, leaving just enough clearance for him to peer over the top of the ice crusted wool.

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