Cold Lake by Jeff Carson

presumably to the back of the property. A large bay window revealed open curtains and a spinning ceiling fan inside, but little else.
    “I’m Sheriff David Wolf, of the Sluice County Sheriff’s Department. I’d like to talk to you for a bit.”
    “Okay.” She chopped another piece.
    Wolf heard a faint motor to his left and turned, noticing the abrupt edge of the land fifty yards away for the first time. The lake that Wolf knew was there below the precipice was invisible in the eye-level clouds they stood in.
    “Can you please stop with the axe?”
    She jammed the axe into the stump, pulled down her hood and turned around. “Sorry, I’m low on firewood. Need to get some stocked back up. Still gets plenty cold up here in the summer, you know?”
    She flashed a gleaming smile, and Wolf saw the similar mole above her lip as her mother’s, though Kimber’s was more pronounced. She pulled off her leather glove and pointed to it, then pointed at Wolf’s face.
    “We both have these damn things,” she said.
    Wolf smiled and shook her hand, which was hot and sweaty, slender, fitting easily inside his, and when she took it back it was like pulling sandpaper from his grip. She was callused like an old farmer, or a rock climber.
    “Kimber Grey,” she said.
    “Nice to meet you. I’d like to talk to you about the,”—he gestured to the lake—“recent activity on the lake. I take it you’ve heard?”
    Leaning back, she made a face and twisted back and forth to loosen her muscles. “Yeah. I’ve heard. I’ve been watching it.”
    “Do you think we could go inside for a chat?” Wolf asked.
    She nodded. “Follow me. You drink coffee?”
     
    Wolf sat at a small eating table and watched Kimber work in the kitchen.
    Kimber made coffee with elegant movements: lifting a back leg as she bent into a cupboard and pulled out a French press, jumping just the right height to grab a bag of coffee grounds stored on top of the cupboards. There was no wasted action. She knew every centimeter of the kitchen, and she was well practiced with what she was doing. Apparently she liked her caffeine.
    By the time she was depressing the plunger the weather was clearing outside, and the clouds slid out to the east, revealing more and more of the majestic view of the silver lake below. He wondered how much the property had cost when they had moved here all those years ago.
    “How many acres you have here, if you don’t mind me asking?”
    She poured the coffee and set it down in front of Wolf. “Sixty three. It’s mostly that way, up towards Olin Heeter’s place.” She faced the lake and then pointed left.
    Wolf remembered his father’s notes, and Olin Heeter’s mention of seeing something being dropped in the lake on the night of July 6th.
    He sipped the strong coffee and then stood up and bent over the counter to get a better look out onto the land below the house. It was the side of the house and beneath it was the parallel edge of the cliff line below. Some scrub oaks and pines obscured the edge to the right, and over to the left the cliff was more exposed—grassy land and then precipice. On the far left part of the exposed section was a wood staircase with a hearty handrail that disappeared over the edge. “Man, that’s quite a ways down. I hope that’s a sturdy staircase.”
    “Oh yeah. It’s sturdy.” She leaned over next to him and pointed towards the scrub oak. “If you don’t want to go down the stairs, you can always rappel down my rope.”
    Wolf squinted and saw a turquoise and pink climbing rope, attached to a sophisticated top-rope anchor system that hooked to two tree trunks, dangling over the edge and out of sight. He whistled softly and walked back to the table. Sitting down, he noticed her smile, looking satisfied she had impressed him.
    “You climb up that?” Wolf asked.
    “Yep.”
    “And who’s belaying you from below?”
    “I self-belay.”
    Wolf nodded.
    “You rock climb?” Kimber’s amber brown