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Lila insisted on coming with him to check on the dress form in the hardware store. She seemed so shaken up that he wished she’d stay upstairs where she could be safe.

Then Bear remembered that the scariest part—for her—often took place inside her head. Maybe what she really needed was to deal with the here-and-now and practical reality. So they went together, diving into the strong wind that grabbed at their coats and Lila’s scarf. His eyes watered as he squinted into it. They should have taken the truck, but enough snow had fallen in the few hours they’d been upstairs that he’d need to spend some time scraping it off.

The hardware store was only about a quarter mile down the road, but the trek seemed to take much longer. He scanned the road for signs of footprints, but if there were any, the snow had covered them up. Maybe the perpetrator had been watching the weather, had known that he could get away with something tonight. Snow could work either way. Once it stopped, new footfalls were easy to spot. But if enough snow fell, all would be erased.

After Lila had unlocked the door, he took the lead and stepped inside. Right away, his gaze went to the dress form, which still displayed that old dress from the murder scene. That was a relief. If someone had gotten into Lila’s house and stolen the dress, that would have been a four-alarm situation.

“It’s not the same dress,” he told Lila as she ducked under his arm. “But very similar.”

“Not just similar. Practically identical.” She turned on the light, then grabbed a flashlight to illuminate it even more. He’d taken pictures of the dress at the bar, and now he pulled them up on his phone so they could compare.

A pattern of faded blue roses on the hem. Check. Two pockets, one of them torn at the upper left corner. Check. A zipper up the back. Check. A hook at the top of the zipper to close the neckline. Check.

But his detective’s eye noticed a few subtle differences. He looked back and forth from the dress to the photos, then thumbed to the shot he’d taken of the back of the prank dress.

“It’s definitely the same era,” he told her. “But look at this.” He pointed to the splotches of blood. “The bloodstains aren’t quite the same, and there are no bullet holes in the prank dress.”

“Bullet holes are probably harder to fake.” Lila said, shaking her head. “Or maybe they weren’t important to whoever did this.”

“Do you still think it wasn’t a prank?”

“I know it wasn’t a prank. But I don’t know any more than that. What’s the point? Just to scare us? Someone was able to get into the bar and set that whole thing up while we were upstairs. Also, they knew I was up there with you. It was meant for me, because I’m very familiar with that dress and obviously they know that.”

She made very good points, very unsettling ones as well.

“Someone’s been watching us,” he said slowly.

“Seems like it. It’s either someone we know, that we wouldn’t worry about, or someone lurking around without us noticing them.”

“This time of year, that’s unlikely. I think I know most people who are planning to be here this winter.”

“Which one of them would want to scare us with a dead woman’s dress right before Halloween?”

He cocked his head, thinking that one over. “If it really was a prank, then I can think of a few people who take that kind of thing too far. If it was someone involved with Rita Casey’s murder, I have no idea. It’s hard to believe any of The Fang customers would be part of that. But that’s my bar owner side talking. My former cop side understands that murderous types are very good at masking their true selves.”

He caught her shudder, and took her hand in his.

“I’m not saying that’s what’s going on. I know the folks around here pretty well, and I’m not the most trusting guy. I like to think I would have picked up on something that was off. I also think you would have.”

She nodded a few times. “Let’s go with that. Not everyone goes to The Fang. Some people avoid bars because they don’t drink or they don’t like to be in that environment. We don’t really know all the people around here. Just look at the Chilkoots. After that bust, it turned out they had people living there that no one had ever seen in town. I bet the same is true at the Community. There might be other places like that out there in the forest.”

“I heard about a nudist colony that lasted until about October one year.”

She gave a soft snort, then laughed, a delighted sound that he found completely infectious. He joined in, and for a moment the two of them stood in the middle of that old hardware store and just laughed together. It felt good, after the fright and tension of the last half hour.

Then he frowned. “How did they know what the dress looked like, down to the details about the pockets?”

Her smile disappeared. “You think it was someone who’s been in here?”

“Maybe. As far as I know, there’s no photos out there of that dress. The story didn’t get any press coverage.”

“And some of the files were lost in the fire, including all the crime scene photos.”

His mind went back to their previous theory, that there was police corruption involved. “Unless they weren’t burned, but stolen.”

“Is that possible?”

“Sure, especially if it was someone involved in the case. The question is, why?”

She waved both her hands in the air. “Hold on, back up. We don’t have to make it so complicated, do we? Maybe it was someone who has actually been in here recently enough to remember the details of the dress.”

“You should make a list of everyone who’s been inside.” He prowled through the space, checking the latches on the windows and looking for any signs someone had snuck in.

“That’s easy.” Lila walked over to her goldfish tank and sprinkled some fish food on the water. “Goldilocks can vouch for the fact that Ani, Molly, and Charlie, and possibly Sam and Nick, are the only ones who have come inside. And you.”

He grunted as he kneeled to check on a book that had fallen to the floor from a set of metal shelving. It was a cookbook called “Cooking for Miners in Fangtooth Gulch,” and it seemed to be a collection of recipes put together by local cooks.

“Maybe we should find out who rented it before me,” she suggested as she crossed the room to join him. “I’ve never seen that book before, where did it come from?”

“It was on the floor here.” He showed her exactly where he’d found it. “It must have fallen off this shelf.”

“There weren’t any books on that shelf.”

Sure enough, it was filled with vintage cooking equipment—an old waffle iron, a griddle, an aluminum pot coated with white corrosion, a blue and white flecked coffee pot. He frowned down at the book as a chill swept through him. “Where did it come from, then?”

She took it from him and flipped the cover open. In faded handwriting, a note was scrawled on the inside cover. “ Darling Nancy - Paul found this and we thought of you. Happy birthday. Gwen,” she read aloud. “Paul. Is that Paul Anthony Bowman?”

He shrugged as she handed him the book.

“You know something else I just remembered?”

“Hm?” He leafed through the cookbook, noting the lack of olive oil and prevalence of lard in the recipes.

“Buster said there were rumors about Gwen and Paul Bowman being lovers.”

The implications raced through Bear’s imagination. If Bowman had formed relationships here, if he wasn’t filled with rage and ready to lash out with a hunting rifle, maybe he wasn’t the actual gunman. No one had seen him do it. He’d surrendered to searchers at the train station, then confessed.

Had someone coerced him into taking the fall?

From personal experience, he knew how that could go down.

“I think we need to consider the possibility that Bowman was framed,” Lila said gently, obviously thinking along the same lines.

He nodded, and gestured at the cookbook. “Who’s Nancy? She’s another of Paulina’s friends, right?”

“Yes. According to Paulina, Nancy was ‘the warrior.’ But she hasn’t been in touch with Nancy since she left after the murders. She might not even be alive. Paulina keeps saying she’s the only one left.”

“Her name didn’t come up in the police reports at all. She wasn’t a witness. I’ve never heard of her in all the time I’ve lived in Firelight Ridge.”

Lila let out a breath filled with frustration. “I wish there was more information about this town’s history. No library, no local newspaper, no church, no city hall. The only record is people’s memories.” She took the cookbook from him and brandished it in the air. “This is the closest thing we have to a historical document. A cookbook from 1935. Come to think of it, that’s actually pretty cool. Bowman found this book, knew it was special, and he and Gwen gave it to Nancy with a nice birthday message. Does that sound like a killer?”

He tended to agree—although none of this was evidence that would reopen a long-closed case. Was that what someone was aiming for? “Aren’t we missing another question? How did this book get here? You’ve never seen it before, right?”

“No, never.” With a shudder, she handed it over to him. “Are you saying someone snuck in here and planted this book? Why?”

“You said you thought the dress was a message. This could be another one.”

“But what? What are all these messages all about?”

He decided to test his theory out loud. “Maybe someone wants us to take another look at the Snow River Murders.”

“But why? Everyone involved is dead and gone! Including you, Allison Casey!” Her voice rose to a higher pitch and she flung her arms wide. “If you have something to say, just come out and say it, coward!”

For an eerie moment, he thought someone was going to answer. Of course no one did, but it showed just how rattled they were both getting.

“I want you to stay with me for a while,” he told her.

“I can stay with Molly and Sam, or Ani and…” She trailed off, then nodded before he could point out that would mean driving on the icy winter roads back and forth to work. “Okay.”

She looked so spooked that he drew her close to his side. “I’ll bring you breakfast in bed. Foot massages every night. I have a killer DVD collection.”

Nuzzling her head against his chest, she murmured, “You don’t have to sweeten the deal, you know. You already have the best secret weapon.”

“Oh, is that what you’re calling it?” He shifted his hips so his crotch brushed against her hip.

She giggled. “I was talking about Jack Daniels. But sure, I suppose that counts too.”