Arthur frowned. “Pills?”
“Yeah. Oxy. Probably high as a kite, forgot she had the kid in the back. It’s a tragedy, but we see it all the time, right Arthur?”
Arthur looked back at the house. He thought of the boy’s clean pajamas. The expensive haircut. The terror in his eyes that wasn’t just from the cold.
“Don’t be so quick to write the report, son,” Arthur grunted. “Did you find tracks leading from the car to my house? It’s a two-mile hike uphill in a blizzard. A six-year-old doesn’t make that walk alone without succumbing to hypothermia in ten minutes.”
Miller shrugged. “Adrenaline is a hell of a drug. Look, Social Services is backed up because of the storm. Can you keep him here for a few hours until we get the roads fully cleared? Or I can take him to the station, but the heat’s out there.”
“He stays here,” Arthur said firmly.
Two hours later, a black Range Rover pulled into the driveway behind the police cruiser. A woman stepped out. She was dressed in pristine black wool, expensive leather boots, and her blonde hair was pulled back in a severe, perfect bun.
Arthur recognized her immediately. Elena Vance. The local real estate mogul. She owned half the town and was currently building luxury condos on the old Miller farm.
She rushed toward Deputy Miller, sobbing. It was a theatrical performance Arthur had seen a thousand times in courtrooms.
“My sister!” she wailed. “Is it true? Is Sarah gone?”
Arthur stood on the porch, arms crossed. He watched as Elena Vance “collapsed” into the deputy’s arms.
“I tried to help her,” Elena sobbed loud enough for the neighbors to hear, if Arthur had any. “I told her not to drive in this weather. She was coming to ask me for money again. She… she had a problem. The drugs.”
Arthur’s eyes narrowed. He walked down the steps.
“You’re the aunt?” Arthur asked, his voice gravelly.
Elena looked up, her eyes dabbing at dry tear ducts with a silk handkerchief. “Yes. And you must be the hero who found my poor nephew. Thank God. Sarah was… unstable. But at least Leo is safe.”
“He’s inside,” Arthur said. “He hasn’t spoken.”
“Poor thing,” Elena said, straightening her coat. Her demeanor shifted instantly from grief to business. “I’ll take him now. I have the best doctors on retainer in the city.”
“The roads are still icy,” Arthur lied. “And the boy is in shock. Moving him now isn’t smart.”
Elena’s smile didn’t reach her eyes. It was a shark’s smile. “Mr. Sterling, is it? I appreciate your help, but I am his next of kin. I am his guardian now. I will take him.”
“Not until the coroner clears the scene and Social Services signs the paperwork,” Arthur said, blocking her path. “You know the law, Ms. Vance.”
Elena stared at him. For a split second, the mask slipped. Arthur saw pure, unadulterated rage.
“Fine,” she hissed. “I’ll be back in the morning with the paperwork. Keep him warm, old man.”
As she drove away, Arthur felt a chill that had nothing to do with the snow. He went back inside. Leo was still sitting there. Arthur sat next to him.
“Leo,” Arthur said softly. “Do you know that lady?”
Leo flinched. He pulled the blanket over his head.
Arthur knew then. This wasn’t an accident.
Chapter 3: The Locket and the Lie
Night fell again. The house was warmer now, the fire cracking comfortably. Arthur made grilled cheese sandwiches. Leo ate three of them, ravenous.
While the boy ate, Arthur noticed something glinting in the pocket of the discarded wet pajamas drying by the fire. He reached in and pulled out a locket. It was silver, tarnished with age.
Arthur clicked it open. He expected a picture of the mother, Sarah.
Instead, inside was a tiny, folded piece of paper and a photo of a house. This house. Arthur’s house.
Arthur unfolded the paper. It was a note, scribbled in frantic handwriting: “If anything happens to me, go to the Sheriff. Go to Mr. Sterling. He is the only honest man left in Northwood. Trust no one else. Not even Auntie E.”
Arthur’s breath hitched. Sarah Vance knew him? How?
He went to his study, digging through old files. Vance… Vance… Sarah Vance. He found an old file from ten years ago. Sarah was the step-daughter of old man Vance, who had died last month. Elena was the biological daughter.
The will.
Arthur picked up the phone. The lines were back up. He dialed an old friend, a clerk at the county courthouse who owed him a favor.
“Marge? It’s Arthur. I need you to look up the probate records for Jeremiah Vance. Who gets the estate?”
There was a pause, the sound of typing. “It’s all sealed, Arthur. But… wait. There’s a caveat here. The entire estate—ten million dollars in land and assets—goes to his grandson, Leo, upon his 25th birthday. Until then, it’s held in trust. If the grandson dies… it all reverts to the surviving daughter. Elena Vance.”
Arthur dropped the phone.
It wasn’t drugs. It was ten million dollars.
He walked back into the living room. Leo was watching him. The fear was receding, replaced by a desperate hope.
“Leo,” Arthur said, kneeling. “Did your mommy fall asleep in the car?”
Leo shook his head slowly. He opened his mouth, his voice rasping like sandpaper.
“Mommy didn’t drive,” he whispered.
Arthur froze. “Who drove, Leo?”
“Auntie E,” the boy said, tears spilling over. “She was driving. She stopped the car. She put Mommy in the front seat. She told me to run. She said… she said the monsters were coming.”
“And then?”
“Then she pushed the car.”
Arthur closed his eyes. Elena had staged the crash. She had killed her sister. And when she realized the boy had survived the crash or managed to escape the car before it went over, she must have panicked. Or…
“Leo, how did you get to my porch?”
“Auntie E found me,” Leo sobbed. “She said she was taking me to a safe place. She drove me here. She opened the door and told me to wait on the porch for the Sheriff. Then she drove away.”
She didn’t just leave him. She dropped him off at the most isolated house in the county, in a blizzard, knowing Arthur was an old recluse who rarely opened his door, hoping the cold would do what the car crash didn’t. She wanted it to look like he wandered off and froze.
Chapter 4: The Confrontation
The next morning, the sun was blindingly bright. Arthur was cleaning his old service revolver when he heard the tires crunching in the driveway.
He looked out the window. It wasn’t just Elena. It was a van from a private care facility, flanked by two large men in orderlies’ uniforms.
“Get in the cellar, Leo,” Arthur commanded gently. “Don’t come out until I say so.”
Leo ran. Arthur locked the cellar door, pocketed the key, and stepped out onto the porch.
Elena strode up the steps, holding a piece of paper. She looked victorious.
“Good morning, Arthur. I have the emergency custody order. These gentlemen are here to transport Leo to a specialized trauma center in the city. He needs professional help.”
“He’s fine right here,” Arthur said, standing like a granite statue in the doorway.
“Move aside, Mr. Sterling,” Elena said, her voice dropping the sweet facade. “You’re an old man. Don’t make this difficult. You don’t want to be charged with kidnapping.”
“And you don’t want to be charged with two counts of first-degree murder,” Arthur said calmly.
Elena froze. The color drained from her face beneath her makeup. “Excuse me?”
“I know about the will, Elena. I know Sarah wasn’t driving. And I know you dropped this boy off on my porch to freeze to death so you could cash out.”
Elena laughed, a high, brittle sound. “You’re senile. Who’s going to believe you? A mute traumatized brat and a washed-up Sheriff against a pillar of the community?” She motioned to the orderlies. “Get the boy.”
The two men stepped forward. They were big, young, and strong. Arthur was seventy-two.
But Arthur Sterling had something they didn’t. He had righteous anger.
“I said stay back!” Arthur roared, drawing the revolver.
The orderlies stopped. Elena sneered. “You won’t shoot. You’re too old. You’re shaking.”
“I’m shaking because I’m holding back,” Arthur said. “I radioed the State Police an hour ago. Not Deputy Miller. The Captain. They’re on their way. And they’re bringing the forensics team to check your car for Leo’s fingerprints.”
Elena’s eyes darted to the road. Panic set in. She lunged at Arthur, screaming like a wild animal. “Give him to me!”
She clawed at his face, knocking the gun from his hand. It clattered down the steps. The orderlies hesitated, confused by the sudden violence of their employer.
Arthur grappled with her. She was younger, but Arthur was fighting for a life. He twisted her arm behind her back, pinning her against the porch railing just as sirens began to wail in the distance. Blue and red lights flooded the snowy yard.
Chapter 5: The Thaw
The arrest of Elena Vance was the talk of the state for months. The evidence was overwhelming. Leo’s fingerprints were all over the passenger side of her Range Rover. The “suicide note” found in Sarah’s pocket was written in Elena’s handwriting. And the testimony of a six-year-old boy, who found his voice to save the man who saved him, sealed her fate.
Elena was sentenced to life without parole.
Six months later.
Summer had come to Northwood. The snow was a distant memory, replaced by wildflowers and the hum of bees.
Arthur sat on his porch, whittling a piece of cedar. He wasn’t alone.
Leo sat next to him, his legs swinging from the bench. He looked healthy, his cheeks rosy, holding a smaller knife, learning to carve.
“Like this, Grandpa Arthur?” Leo asked, holding up a crude wooden bird.
Arthur smiled—a real, genuine smile that reached his eyes. “Just like that, kid. Keep the blade away from your thumb.”
Arthur had been granted permanent guardianship. The town, ashamed of how they had judged Sarah Vance, had rallied around them. They brought casseroles, clothes, and toys. Arthur wasn’t the scary old hermit anymore; he was the grandfather of Northwood.
Arthur looked out at the green fields. He thought of the note Sarah had left. She had trusted him when no one else would.
“Grandpa?” Leo asked.
“Yeah, Leo?”
“Can we go visit Mom today?”
Arthur nodded. “We sure can. We’ll bring her some flowers.”
They put down their knives and walked hand in hand toward the old truck. The nightmare was over. The long winter had passed. And for the first time in years, Arthur Sterling wasn’t cold anymore.
