Page 21 of The Frozen River

“Is it possible that North already knew?”

“Perhaps. There was smoke rising from his chimney when I arrived in the Hook. Someone could have told him. Or he could have heard the commotion. Seen them bringing the body to the tavern.”

Again, Ephraim nods. “Or he could have been there when Burgess went into the river. Could have done it himself.”

The possibility has occurred to me as well. “We aren’t the only ones who will wonder about that.”

“Accusing and proving are different things. A cause of death would have to be declared. Evidence brought forth.”

A sly grin creeps across my face. “Which is, no doubt, why Amos Pollard summoned me this morning. Tomorrow is the last Friday of the month. The Court of General Sessions is meeting.”

“In his tavern no less. Clever bastard.”

“And, having examined Joshua Burgess, I can declare cause of death.”

Ephraim closes the short distance between us. He pulls me against his chest and buries his face in my neck. I can feel him draw in a long breath through his nose, take in my scent, and then a wave of warm air brushes across my skin as he exhales. As is his habit, Ephraim slides his hand into the mound of hair at the base of my skull and pulls out a single curl. He winds it around his finger then lets it spring free. He does this several times as he ponders the situation.

“It seems you’ve had quite a morning.”

“And you’ve not even heard the half of it.”

He chuckles into my skin. “Dare I ask?”

“Oh, nothing quite so dramatic as a half-drowned man and a dead body. But I did see a fox when I got home.”

“I thought I heard one barking.”

“The fox was black, not red.”

“A silver fox, then. Those are rare indeed. Some call them ghost foxes.”

“Well, she didn’t look like much of a ghost to me. She was quite real. And she was on the rise leading to the south pasture. Near the live oak.” I pause, feeling foolish, but Ephraim presses a hand to the small of my back, urging me to continue. “The thing is, there were two trappers at Coleman’s this morning when I stopped in. They were talking about that fox. And there she is, waiting for me when I get home? You must admit that’s odd.”

He doesn’t comment one way or another.

“They know that fox is here,” I tell him. “They’re hunting it.”

“It’s called poaching when it’s on private land. I’ll keep an eye out for them. They’ll be back, no doubt.”

“They’d run that risk? You can shoot a poacher on sight.”

“One silver fox is worth forty beaver skins, love. And trappers aren’t known for keeping to a strict moral code.”

“There’s something different about this one.”

“How so?”

“I couldn’t shake the feeling that she was here for me.”

“Why?”

“Because of the way she looked at me. I was debating whether to come speak with you or go check on Sam. She kept looking at me, then back to the house. Like Sam was more important.” I glance up to see if he’s laughing. But he isn’t. Those bright blue eyes meet my gaze, and there is no teasing tilt to his mouth.

“I’ve never seen a silver fox, you know. Alive, that is. But if one came to you, it’s worth noting. Foxes don’t come to people naturally. And if you asked the Wabanaki, they would tell you that it is a sign.”

“Of what?”

Ephraim keeps his hand on my back but turns his face to the window. Only a rectangle of forest and snowbank can be seen through it, but he peers out intensely. “The native people believe that the fox presents itself only in times of great uncertainty. That it acts as a guide.”