Deep Freeze

by Lisa Jackson

  “Yeah?” a soft voice called back.

  “We’re leaving now.”

  Which was a blessing, Jenna thought, after that god-awful, miserable, nerve-grating rehearsal.

  “Okay.” Lynnetta’s soft voice floated up from downstairs.

  “You coming?” Rinda called.

  “In a minute. You go on ahead. I’ll lock up.”

  Rinda shrugged and rolled her eyes. “Okay,” she yelled back. “I’ll lock the door behind us. You lock it again when you leave. And turn off the lights.”

  “Fine, fine,” Lynnetta said loudly, her voice echoing against the high rafters.

  “The acoustics in here leave a lot to be desired,” Rinda muttered under her breath. “One more thing to fix.”

  “Let’s wait.” Jenna knotted her scarf around her throat. “I don’t like leaving her here alone.”

  “She’s not alone. Oliver’s here.”

  “Oh, and a fine lotta protection he is.”

  Rinda wasn’t listening to any of Jenna’s arguments. “Lynnetta will be okay. I’ll lock the dead bolt so no bogeyman can get in.”

  “It’s serious—you know that two women are missing, another one found dead.” Jenna didn’t like it. “I think we should stay.”

  “Knowing Lynnetta, she could take another half-hour or so. Don’t worry about her. She only lives a couple of blocks away, and she always calls her husband to come over and walk her home after dark. The reverend is quick to oblige and I think it’s damned romantic.”

  “But this town isn’t safe anymore.”

  “I’ll lock the door, okay?” Rinda put a hand on Jenna’s arm. “Really, it’ll be all right. Relax.”

  “If only I could.”

  “Look, she’ll call her hubby and Romeo will come escort her home.”

  Jenna had trouble thinking of Lynnetta’s husband doing anything the least bit romantic. “Just let me double-check.” She yelled toward the staircase near the stage. “Are you sure you’re okay, Lynnetta?”

  “Yes! Please. I’ll be fine.”

  Rinda tossed Jenna an I-told-you-so look. She arched a knowing eyebrow and whispered, “Maybe she wants us to vamoose because her husband comes over here and they do it center-stage.”

  “You’re awful,” Jenna said, thinking of Reverend Derwin Swaggert, barely forty yet a serious, long-faced preacher with a full black beard, bushy eyebrows, and a voice that boomed as he delivered fire-and-brimstone sermons.

  “This was a church not all that long ago, remember? Sex where the altar once stood would definitely have appeal.”

  “Come on. Let’s get out of here before the conversation sinks to an even lower level.”

  “Is that possible?” Rinda’s laugh was low and totally irreverent.

  “Probably not.” Jenna yanked open one of the twin double doors. A rush of brittle winter wind swept through the vestibule. Outside, she gazed up at the starless night and shivered. “God, when is it gonna warm up?”

  “Never,” Rinda predicted as she locked the dead bolt behind her and pulled on the door handles, double-checking that they were secure. “No end in sight, according to the weatherman at KBST.” They headed down the exterior steps. “Time to think of moving south before the play opens and we get panned by the local press.”

  “Has anyone ever told you that the cup is half full some of the time?”

  “Never,” Rinda said as they followed a cement path to the nearly empty parking lot where their two vehicles waited beneath a solitary lamppost. It shed a weak blue haze over the cars, making them shimmer under a thin glaze of ice. The wind swept through a back alley and rushed over the lot, cutting through Jenna’s heavy down jacket as if it were made of gossamer lace.

  “Got time for a beer?” Rinda was fumbling with her key ring. “I’ll buy. The least I can do for your donation today,” she said, mentioning the clothes, shoes, and purses that Jenna had brought to the theater.

  “Don’t worry about it. A tax deduction, you know. My C.P.A. will be thrilled.”

  “Then you buy.”

  Jenna giggled. “Better not tonight. I’ve got to report in,” she said, and with a gloved hand, pulled her walkie-talkie out of the pocket of her jacket. “Besides, I’m beat. Haven’t slept that well since I got that fun little missive from my ‘friend.’” Not sleeping well was an understatement. Ever since discovering that her bedroom had been violated, Jenna had been unable to relax. She’d been hearing things—strange noises, or footsteps, and she’d felt all the while that someone was watching her every move, that someone not being Jake Turnquist. Just knowing that someone had been in her home, sneaking through the corridors, pawing through her things, had made her jumpy and anxious.

  “Hey, you’ve got the bodyguard now. Things should be better, right?”

  “I know, that should help, but…” Jenna glanced up at the steeple rising high, piercing the low-hanging clouds. “…I’m still a little uptight.”

  “All the more reason for a beer or glass of wine. Besides, I think we need to discuss the play. I’m sure you noticed that Madge hasn’t really grasped the role of Mary Bailey,” Rinda said. Her car door unlocked with a loud click.

  Jenna agreed, but said, “She’s getting there.”

  “And when is she going to arrive? In the next millennium?”

  “It’s not that bad.”

  “Oooh, I think it is. Face it, Jenna, Madge is hopeless! Terribly, horribly, indecently miscast.” She frowned in the eerie blue light. “My fault. I should have gone with someone else.”

  “You’re exaggerating,” Jenna argued, though watching Madge try to emote as Mary Bailey had been painful.

  “No, I’m not. I’ve got some ideas about the part.”

  “If it involves me stepping in, forget it. Madge will get it right.” Jenna checked her watch. A glass of wine sounded like heaven. Coffee laced with Kahlua, even better. She needed to unwind, to forget about all the stresses in her life, but it was already late. “I’d really better take a rain check. We could discuss this over coffee in the morning, though.”

  “Fine, spoilsport,” Rinda acquiesced. “Coffee it is…say, ten at the Canyon Café?”

  “I’ll be there.”

  “And you’re buying.”

  “Right.” Jenna unlocked her Jeep and slid inside. Shivering, she started the engine; then with the doors locked, fired up the defrost, turned the fan on to its highest setting, and waited for the ice on her windshield to melt. Within five minutes there was a patch of visibility in the window. She drove out of the lot a few seconds after Rinda did, following the red taillights of her friend’s car, bothered slightly that the lights in the theater still blazed and Lynnetta was alone in the basement.

  “Don’t worry about it,” she told herself, but worry had been her steady companion over the last few weeks. Everything in her life was eating at her, keeping sleep at bay. Driving through the snowy streets, she noticed that the town seemed inordinately quiet; few cars were traveling the narrow streets lined by storefronts proudly displaying holiday decor.

  None of the lights, garlands, or wreaths brought Jenna any joy, nor any comfort. As was the case ever since Jill had died, Jenna dreaded the holidays, a time of year that felt empty and cold and riddled with guilt.

  You should have died instead of Jill.

  How many times had those words echoed through her skull?

  A hundred?

  A thousand?

  Ten thousand?

  “Stop it!” she said out loud. She was overreacting to the coming of Christmas. The disturbing letters she’d received and the missing women only added to the tension she felt as the holidays approached. She turned on the radio and, as if the DJ had sensed her mood, the strains of Blue Christmas wafted through the speakers. Elvis Presley was warbling about a sad holiday. Just what she needed.

  “Great,” she said to herself, clicked off the radio, and reached for her cell phone. She dialed home and Allie answered before the second ring.

/>   “Mom?”

  “Yeah.”

  “You’ve got my backpack, right? I mean, I left it in the car and forgot it and I didn’t have it all day and I need it for my homework and—”

  “Hey, whoa! Slow down, honey.” While trying to keep the SUV on the road, Jenna turned on the dome light and hazarded a quick look into the backseat. “I don’t think it’s here.”

  “It was in the way back. Remember? Critter jumped into the backseat with me yesterday and I threw my backpack into the cargo space, you know, with all that other junk you were taking to the theater.”

  Jenna’s heart sank. “You mean with the bags of clothes and purses I was donating?” Jenna flashed back to her arrival in the parking lot. Wes Allen had just been getting out of his truck and had offered to help her unload the back. She’d been grateful for the help at the time. “It’s probably at the theater, then.”

  “I have to have it,” Allie whined.

  “Tonight?” Jenna asked, trying to think of some way to avoid a return trip into town. “You want me to go get it?”

  “Pleeeeaaaase, Mom. If I don’t do my algebra assignment, Mrs. Hopfinger will kill me.”

  “I doubt that the situation’s that dire.”

  “It’s dire-er!” From the sound of it, Allie was on her way to a mega-meltdown, the last thing Jenna needed to deal with tonight.

  “Life and death?” Jenna teased.

  “Yes!” Allie wasn’t in the mood for any jokes.

  “Okay, okay,” Jenna said, resigned to her fate, her eyes already narrowing as she searched through the misty windshield for a place to turn around. “Relax, honey. I’ll go get it.”

  “Thank you, thank you, thank you!”

  “You’re welcome,” she said, a few flakes of new snow swirling and dancing in the path of her headlights. “Is Jake there?”

  “Um-hmm.”

  “Why don’t you put him on?”

  “Kay.”

  There was a second of dead air. Jenna spied a wide spot in the road and slowed as a deep male voice said, “Turnquist.”

  Jenna launched into what was happening. “Look, here’s the deal with Allie’s backpack.” She explained what she thought had happened and said, “I’m going back for it now.”

  “Wait a minute.” Concern edged his voice. “I don’t like you going back there. No one’s at the theater. Let me handle this.”

  “It’ll take too much time, Jake, and it’s safe. The theater’s locked up tighter than a drum, and I’ve got one of the few keys. I probably won’t even be alone. Lynnetta Swaggert was there when I left ten minutes ago. Rinda locked her in, and her husband comes over to walk her home, so I think I’ll be okay. Besides, I don’t want you leaving the girls alone out at the house. I’m only ten minutes out of town. I’ll turn around and pick up the backpack and have my walkie-talkie, mace, and cell phone with me. If I’m not home in forty minutes, send in the cavalry.”

  She could tell that he wanted to argue, but thankfully he didn’t and she hung up, promising to call him if she sensed that anything was wrong.

  What a joke. The problem was that everything was wrong right now. Nothing was right.

  “Damn it all to hell,” she whispered, then, despite her own trepidations, she pulled a quick one-eighty and headed back to Falls Crossing.

  If she was lucky, Lynnetta would still be in the theater.

  If not, she’d make this a very short trip.

  CHAPTER 32

  It was probably her case of nerves, but the town seemed more deserted than when Jenna had driven through it a few minutes earlier. The parking lot of the theater was empty and ice-glazed. The old church-cum-theater stood like a lonely sentinel, dark, cold, and foreboding, its spire knifing upward through the falling snow.

  As she stared through the rapidly fogging windshield, Jenna felt a cold tickle on the back of her neck, a warning not to go any farther.

  It’s just your imagination. You were inside less than half an hour ago! Get this over with, for God’s sake!

  Briefly, she considered calling Jake again and keeping him on the phone as she searched for the backpack, then discarded the idea. It seemed foolish, would make her appear a helpless female.

  What kind of a baby are you? Just get the damned pack and go home.

  Before she could change her mind, she climbed out of her Jeep, locked it behind her, and felt icy pellets of snow rain down her neck. She dashed across the slippery parking lot, then hurried up the stairs. A block away she heard traffic, told herself she wasn’t really alone, and rammed her key into the lock. She twisted, but the bolt didn’t slide. “Come on, come on,” she urged, wondering if this was some kind of omen when suddenly the lock sprang open. “Thank God.”

  Inside, the theater was cold and still. Weird plays of light seeped through the stained-glass windows in strange, shifting patterns. She felt a tremor of fear. Even the few remaining religious images tacked to the walls took on a demonic rather than heavenly guise in the shadows.

  “Get a grip,” she mumbled under her breath and snapped on the lights. Immediately the old nave was awash with light and her trip-hammering heart slowed a bit. She hastened down the main aisle, her footsteps clicking loudly. “Lynnetta?” she called, more for the sound of her own voice than anything else. “Are you still here? It’s Jenna.” She paused, listening, but, as she expected, there was no response, just the creaking of old rafters and the rush of wind against the steeple. No doubt Lynnetta had already gone home, probably on her husband’s arm.

  Jenna hurried down the few stairs past Rinda’s office, then took the rest of the flight downward to the basement and costuming area where the hint of Lynnetta’s perfume still lingered. She reached for the light switch but her hand paused in midair.

  Again she sensed a tickle of cold breath against her skin, a hint that something was wrong. Out of place. She braced herself against the wall. “Lynnetta?” she called, certain she felt someone in the building, sensed someone breathing. She held her breath, straining to listen.

  Nothing.

  “Jesus,” she whispered, her nerves strung tight as piano wire. Once again, her heart was beating a wild tattoo as she flipped on the lights and the warren of dressing rooms, makeup stations, and closets was suddenly awash with bright, near-blinding fluorescence.

  The sacks of clothes were where they’d been dropped near the closets. Jenna wasted no time pawing through the bags. No backpack. A small pile of purses and shoes had been left on an ancient, battle-scarred bureau, but Allie’s pink-and-purple camouflage pack was again missing in action. “Terrific,” Jenna whispered sarcastically, searching again and trying not to hear the moaning of the wind in the rafters or the creak of old timbers as they continued to settle.

  She flung up her hands in surrender, figuring Allie had been mistaken about leaving the backpack in her car, when she heard it.

  The soft scrape of a boot against hardwood…or was it? The hairs on her nape raised. Her skin prickled. “Is anyone there?” she shouted, reaching into her purse for her can of mace. “Hello?”

  Quiet.

  Unearthly silence.

  And yet…she felt as if she wasn’t alone…knew there was another presence nearby.

  Her diaphragm slammed hard against her lungs.

  She shouldn’t have said a word. Now, if someone evil was lurking in the shadows, he’d know exactly where she was and she’d be trapped in the basement. Unless she took the stairs to the exterior exit near the kitchens. But that was too far, down a long, winding, dark hallway. She was better off using the main stairs.

  Nervous sweat broke out on her skin and a chilling fear took hold of her throat.

  To hell with the damned backpack. Clutching her can of mace as if it were a silver cross and she was about to face a vampire, she slowly eased up the stairs. She reached into her pocket for her cell phone and flipped it open. It beeped. Oh, God, how did she mute the damned thing so whoever was in the theater with her couldn’t hear it? Her hea
rtbeat pounded in her ears. Her breathing was nonexistent, the spit in her mouth dried. She swallowed hard. Hit the cell’s autodial key for her house and heard the phone try to connect. Please answer. Please. Carefully, she turned at the landing, her ears straining.

  Crash!

  “Oh, God!” Jenna whirled, her finger on the mace can’s button. She dropped her cell and it clattered noisily to the floor.

  Something brushed against the back of her legs.

  She jumped, nearly squealing in fright before spying Oliver. The cat was staring up at her with big green eyes, an old umbrella stand tipped over and rolling against the floor. “For the love of God, Oliver, you scared the hell out of me!”

  He meowed plaintively up at her and she instantly forgave him, relief rushing through her bloodstream as she petted his soft head and righted the umbrella stand. “I’m sorry,” she cooed as he purred as loudly as the rumble of a single-plane’s engine. “And am I glad to see you. If you only knew.”

  She found her cell phone and pocketed it. “It’s pretty obvious that I’m a little on edge these days, isn’t it?”

  The truth of the matter was that her nerves were stretched so thin they were about to shatter, and she’d forgotten all about the cat.

  As if proud of himself for scaring her witless, Oliver rubbed up against her legs as she, calmer, put away her mace. “You stay here and guard the place,” she ordered, before he trotted off to Rinda’s office, hopped onto her desk, and began washing himself. “Good. That’s real good. No bad guy will get past that defense,” she told him.

  Bam! Bam! Bam!

  A loud knocking rattled the windows and echoed through the theater.

  Jenna nearly jumped out of her skin.

  “Jenna? It’s Shane Carter,” the sheriff’s voice boomed through the door.

  Her knees turned to water. Carter? Here? Relieved, she raced along the main aisle and unlocked the dead bolt.

  His expression as dark as the night, he was standing beneath the overhang of the roof.

  Tears of relief sprang to her eyes as he stepped inside the theater.