A Wicked Snow

guy who wants to meet us at the Spokane Valley Mall next weekend. He says he looks like Justin Timberlake and Jude Law. Combined.”

Emily sat on the edge of the bed, smoothing out the sateen spread.

“He does, does he?” Emily said. She knew when her daughter was pulling her leg and she started to play along. “Maybe I could meet him, too?”

Jenna shook her head. “Sorry, mom, but you’re too old for him. Shali and I are probably too old for him. He seemed to lose interest when we said we were old enough to drive.”

“That’s not funny.”

“Sick, I know.”

“You know how I worry.”

“And you know that you don’t have to worry about me. I know the drill. I don’t make mistakes. My mom is a cop, you know.”

“So I’ve heard.” Emily shook out her hair. “I’m not going to dry this mess. Let’s get out of here and eat. I’m beat.”

Jenna grinned. “Okay. Jude Timberlake can wait.”

With that, Emily returned to her bedroom, and put on a pair of faded blue jeans and a cream-colored boat- neck sweater. She looked in the mirror and gave herself a once over.

“Not bad for almost 4-0,” she said, loud enough for Jenna to hear, which, of course, she did. “Maybe this Jude Law look-alike of Jenna’s would be interested in an old chick like me.”

Jenna appeared in the doorway and put her hands on her hips.

“You’re disgusting,” she said, a smile widening on her pretty face. “Shali and I had him first.”

Twenty minutes later they were sitting in a maroon and black vinyl booth at Pietro’s, the only place in Cherrystone that made pizza that didn’t taste like it came from the frozen food section of the Food Giant. Emily was grateful that her daughter had outgrown the “cheese-only” topping option for something a little more adventurous —pepperoni and black olives. Emily ordered a beer and Jenna nursed a soda.

“You know, you don’t need to order diet cola, honey.”

Jenna swirled the crushed ice with a pair of reed-thin plastic straws. “You mean I’m not fat? Yeah, I know. But I’m hedging my bets. I’ve seen the future. Look at Grandma Anna.”

“Jenna! That’s not nice.” Emily tried to act indignant, but Grandma Anna was her ex-husband’s mother, and it was true that she had thick thighs. “Besides, your body shape is more from my side of the family.”

Jenna drew on her straws and nodded. “Thank God.”

The pair sat and ate their pizza, but the mood shifted when the conversation turned to the storm. “We are lucky. All of us. The tornado ravaged those homes on Hawes, but no one was killed.” Emily swallowed the last of her beer, regarding the foamy residue coating the rim of the schooner. “I don’t use the word lightly, you know, but it was a bit of a miracle, really.”

“I know. Shali and I were talking about that,” Jenna said. “Now you know that Jude Law Timberlake is not real. Nice fantasy, though.”

Emily managed a faint smile. “I’ll say.”

Emily Kenyon was a homicide detective, not an emergency responder, but Ferry County was so small that when the storm hit she immediately reported to work to do what she could. She had to do something. Anything. She’d grown up in Cherrystone and it was her town. Always would be. The house on Kestrel Avenue was her childhood home. Her parents, who had died in a car accident, had left the family home to Emily and her brother. Since only one could live there, Emily bought out Kevin with savings and took a small mortgage. The house, with its bay windows and high-pitched roofline, was the reason she returned to Cherrystone. Not the only reason. Her divorce from David, a surgeon with a quick wit and an even faster fuse, was the other. The divorce made him mad. Emily made him mad. The world was against him. Cherrystone was about as far away as she could go. Leaving a detective’s position in Seattle wasn’t easy, but the move was never in doubt. It had been the right thing.

Of course, in the middle of it all was Jenna. She loved both her parents, but felt her mother needed her more than her father. At sixteen, the courts allowed her to schedule her own visitation with her father. She saw him once a month, usually in nearby Spokane. And that, she was sure, was enough.

Emily asked for a pizza box to take home the remainder of the pie.

“We can have it for breakfast,” she said.

“Only if it lasts that long.”

Emily’s cell phone rang, its dorky ring tone of Elvis Costello’s “Watching the Detectives” chiming from her purse. The number on the LED was Dispatch. The sheriff was calling. She picked it up and held it to her ear.

“Kenyon,” she said.

With her mother’s hands full, Jenna picked up the flat carton and the pair walked toward the door. With her free hand, she fished some Italian ice peppermints from a bowl by the hostess lectern and offered one to her mother.

Emily shook her head, her ear pressed tightly to her flip phone.

“I see,” she said. Her tone was flat, like someone checking a list for which there was no need. “All right. Okay. Got it. I can take a drive out there tomorrow, first thing.”

Emily looked irritated as she put away her phone.

“Do you know Nicholas Martin?” she asked.

“Sure. Who doesn’t? He’s a senior and besides, he’s kind of a freak.”

Emily turned the ignition and the Accord started. She put it into drive.

“Freak? In what way?”

“You know, one of those country kids who didn’t get the memo that the Goth look was so last millennium.”

“Black clothes? White face?”

“And eyeliner, mom, even eyeliner. But what about him?”

Emily sighed; glad she didn’t have a son to deal with.

“Did you see him at school today?”

“I don’t know. Although, if I did see him, I’d probably remember. He’s the memorable type. What’s up, mom?”

“Probably nothing. His aunt in Illinois has called the office twice. She’s panicking because she hasn’t been able to reach anyone from the family since the storm. The big cell tower past Canyon Ridge was knocked out in the twister, too. Sheriff wants me to drive out to their place tomorrow morning and have a look around.”

“I think Nicholas has a brother, Donovan. He’s younger. Third grade?”

“Oh, now I remember. Nice family. I’m sure they’re fine.”

“I could IM Nicholas when I get home. He hangs out in that Goth chat room Shali and I go to all the time.”

Emily shook her head and attempted to suppress a weary smile.

“Uh, you’re kidding, right?”

“Yeah, I’m kidding.”

“No need, honey. I’ll handle it.”

Emily parked in front of the house, the night air filled with the scent of white lilacs her mother had planted when she was a girl. They were enormous bushes now, nearly blocking the front windows. Emily didn’t have the heart to give them a good pruning, though they really needed it. She only thought of the job when springtime rolled around and the tallest tips were snowcapped with blooms. The memory brought a smile to her face, but the smile fell like a heavy curtain with the ring of another call.

Sheriff Kiplinger, again.

“Kenyon, off duty,” she said, to put the reminder of her status up front.

“Emily,” the sheriff said, “you’ll need to go out to the Martin place tonight. Casey will meet you there. Neighbors say they think the twister might have touched down that way.”

“Jesus,” Emily said, waving Jenna inside. “Can’t it wait until morning? I’m about half dead, right now.”

“You know the answer. Once we get a call from a concerned citizen we have to act on it right away. Damned