“I saw her with a glass of wine. That’s normal.”

Gianna coughed.

“I mean, it’s not odd for her to have a glass of wine in the evening, but I’ve never seen her drunk,” Violet amended.

“How do you think the fire started?” Frisco asked.

Violet raised a shoulder. “When I saw it, most of the flames were in the kitchen area. Something went wrong there. Maybe some bad electrical?”

Chris held Gianna’s gaze and tipped his head in Violet’s direction, hoping Gianna understood he wanted to bring up the odor in the cabin but wasn’t sure about doing it in front of her daughter. She glanced at her daughter and shrugged.

“Did you look inside the cabin?” Gianna asked Frisco before Chris could speak.

Frisco shook his head. “I read the note that everyone got out and headed right over here. I wasn’t about to go near it. It looks ready to cave in.”

“Chris thinks there’s a dead body inside. He stepped inside and could smell it.”

“What?” Violet reeled back in her chair. “What are you talking about?”

Frisco’s gaze shifted to Chris.

“Something with burned flesh is in there. I could smell it. They didn’t have any pets, and I can’t imagine that a wild animal headed in after the fire was already started. That tells me something human has to be in there.”

“That can’t be right,” said Violet. “How could someone have died in there? It was just the two of us . . .” Her voice trailed off and she met Chris’s gaze. “That’s why you were looking at that other path. You think someone was there.”

“What other path?” asked Frisco.

Chris told him what they’d seen outside the cabin.

“I think I need to go take a look and see for myself,” said the ranger.

“Can we get out to the ranger station to make some calls?” asked Gianna. “The fire department should also be notified if there is a body in there. They have the professionals to investigate how it started.”

“Nothing’s been plowed but the main highway. And they did part of it only because of the accident. I’m doing all our patrols by snowmobile today.”

“What accident?” asked Chris.

Frisco lifted his brows. “Big pileup about ten miles west of here. About twenty big rigs and a dozen cars. No traffic has gotten through since last night. What a fucking mess. It was all that damned ice.” He looked to Violet and Gianna. “Pardon my language.”

“The highway’s only two lanes wide out there,” Chris commented.

“Yep. Didn’t take much to block it and create the biggest snarl I’ve ever seen. You can’t even head east and cut to the north, because they’ve closed the highway along the gorge due to ice. South is the only option, but that’ll take you four hours out of your way—if you make it. My understanding is that the ice is even worse down there.” He glanced around the cabin. “How are you set for food and heat?”

Violet paled. “We’re stuck here? For how long?”

“It’s supposed to warm up. Not too much longer.”

“We’ve got plenty of food, wood, and propane,” Chris said, mentally taking inventory. “But that also means we can’t get the police out here.”

“I want to look inside that cabin before I call the sheriff’s department. Who knows what could have made that smell,” said Frisco. “The county has a big enough mess with that wreck. And things are a general mess back in Portland, too. According to the news, the city has a lot of power outages and several of the streets are impassible from the ice.”

“Can you get another person on that snowmobile?” asked Chris. “I’d like to go with you.”

“No, I should go,” asserted Gianna. “I’m the best person to take a look if there’s a body.”

Surprise crossed Frisco’s face. “And why is that, ma’am?”

“I’m a medical examiner. Dead people are my business.”

He stared at her for two seconds before shrugging. “No arguing with that.”

Frisco was a daredevil on a snowmobile. Full speed ahead with no concern about anyone coming around a turn. Gianna hadn’t ridden one in years and clamped her arms around his waist in a death grip. Memories of a wild high-school boyfriend with a motorcycle popped into her head. The same boy had taken her snowmobiling countless times. Looking back, she wondered how they’d both survived.

She’d never autopsied anyone who’d died in a snowmobile accident, but that was because she’d worked in Manhattan. No doubt an examiner from Montana or Idaho would have interesting snowmobile accident stories to tell.

They made it to the cabin within a few minutes; the winding curved driveway to her rented place stirred up her nausea as Frisco cut the hairpin turns as tightly as possible. Her heart stopped as they came within sight of her vehicle. Someone had smashed the driver’s window.

All of Chris’s concerns from the previous day shot through her brain.

Someone else has been here.

“Holy shit!” said Frisco, spotting the mess. “I was just here an hour ago and it didn’t look like that.” He slowed the snowmobile next to her Suburban and pulled a turn to reverse direction before they stopped and dismounted. They both slowly scanned the woods, Frisco resting his hand on the butt of the weapon at his waist. With the snowmobile abruptly silenced, the woods seemed eerily quiet.