Frozen Stiff

by Annelise Ryan

  He stares at me, and the disappointment I see on his face is crushing. “I need some time to think about all of this. Go home. I’ll let you know when I’ve reached a decision.”

  Chapter 33

  I drive home in a deep funk, wondering if I’ve just made the worst decision of my life other than the one I made when I married David. And speaking of David, he is still at the cottage when I get there, sitting on the couch watching TV.

  As soon as I walk in he picks up the remote and flicks the TV off. “I’ve been waiting for you,” he says.

  “Whatever it is, I’m not in the mood, David,” I say sullenly. I head for the kitchen, take a pint of Cherry Garcia out of the freezer, and rip the lid off. After digging a spoon out of the drawer, I stand next to the counter and start eating.

  David comes out and raises his eyebrows at me, but to his credit all he says is, “Rough day?”

  “Something like that.”

  “I’ve booked a suite at the Sorenson Motel and if you’ll give me a ride over there, I’ll be out of your hair and you can have the place back to yourself.”

  “Okay. Just let me finish this,” I say, proffering the ice cream container. I scoop out another spoonful and shove it in my mouth.

  “I spoke with our insurance agent and she came out to look over what’s left of the house with me this morning. Because of the holiday, we probably won’t get anything done until the early part of next week, though she’s working on getting me a rental car by morning. She said we should have a check for the house soon so we can tear down what’s left and rebuild.”

  I look over at David feeling mad as hell, though I’m not sure if it’s him I’m mad at or myself. I realize that the money from the insurance settlement is more important to me now than ever. If I get fired from my job, I’m going to need that money to live on, and probably to find a new place to live. Remaining here as Izzy’s tenant will be too awkward.

  “Half of that money is mine, David, and I have no intention of using my half to build you a new house.”

  “Yes, I realize that, which is why I also contacted an attorney today. I’m prepared to make you an offer. I’ll sign your divorce papers as long as you don’t ask for any type of alimony. I’m willing to split the house money sixty-forty, and I’ll use my portion to rebuild something that will be in my name only. It will be smaller, but that house was too big for me anyway.”

  “I want half the money, David.”

  “I don’t think you understand. I’m offering you the sixty percent,” he says, making me nearly drop my spoon. “To compensate you for the value in the land the house stands on, which won’t be included in the insurance settlement.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Yes, seriously.”

  “Why the sudden change of heart?”

  “Because I know now that you’ve had a change of heart with regards to me so there isn’t much sense in dragging things out any longer. It’s time to cut my losses and move on.”

  I narrow my eyes at him, suspicious of his sudden acquiescence. But I can’t afford to question his motives for too long. I need that money.

  “Okay, you have a deal. But it has to be in writing, as a formal part of the divorce settlement.”

  “No problem. I’ll have my attorney draw up the papers next week.”

  I turn my back to him to toss my spoon in the sink and recap my ice cream, hoping to hide the shock and suspicion I’m feeling. I’m tickled that things have been so easily resolved yet it all feels too easy. There’s more to the story, I’m certain of it. The question is what.

  “I’m going to load my stuff into your . . . car.” He says this last word with obvious distaste. “Let me know when you’re ready.” He turns and walks back to the living room, grabs several of last night’s shopping bags, and carries them outside to the hearse.

  I head for the bathroom to pee, but also to have a private moment to think. If David carries through on his end of our bargain, it will eliminate some of the immediate financial pressure if I do lose my job. But it won’t lessen my sense of loss. I truly like what I’m doing now. Oddly enough, the job suits me and I’ve been looking forward to learning more and expanding my duties. While the settlement David is offering is generous, it’s hardly enough to allow me to live a lifetime of leisure. I’ll still need some type of job, and while I could go back to the hospital to work, I don’t want to.

  Plus there’s Izzy. Losing my job would be upsetting, but losing Izzy as my friend would be devastating. Somehow I have to make things right again.

  By the time I come out of the bathroom, David has all his stuff loaded into the hearse. Our ride to the motel is a silent one and when we get there, our only utterances are a few polite “I got it” comments as I help him carry his stuff into his temporary new home. As I carry the last of the bags into his suite and drop them on the counter of his tiny kitchenette, there is an awkward moment where we both stand there staring at one another, trying to find the right thing to say. This is such a momentous juncture in our lives that I feel the need say something meaningful and profound. But in the end all I come up with is “Gotta go,” before hurrying back out to my car.

  I’ve got an hour before I’m supposed to meet Richmond at Slim’s Dungeon for our next torture session and I’m tempted to blow it off given that my body is still in agony from yesterday’s session. Then I figure some physical exertion may help me get rid of some of the frustration and anger I have pent up inside, not to mention the ice cream I just ate.

  After trying once more to call Callie’s sister, Andi, and getting her voice mail again, I drive home to let Hoover out and to change into my loose-fitting dungeon clothes, momentarily imagining myself in some cute, tight-fitting little leotard like some of the other women at the gym had on. Since I have a little time, I decide to make a quick run to the store to see if I can find some more suitable gym wear.

  Ten minutes later, I’m inside a dressing room trying to squeeze into the largest size leotard the store has. It’s a struggle—the thing is at least two sizes too small—but I’m hoping that all that elastic material will not only stretch to accommodate my body, but that it might help hold certain parts of it in and keep them from jiggling.

  When I finally get it all the way on, I look in the mirror. The forgiving Lycra isn’t. Every seam is strained as tight as it can be and I can barely breathe. I fear that if I bump into something with the least little bit of force, my fat will burst out of the leotard like popping-fresh dough from the can. Resigned to looking frumpy, I get back into my sweatpants and T-shirt and head out of the store with my head hung low.

  When I arrive at the gym I park out back in my designated hiding spot behind the building. I’m a few minutes early and Richmond isn’t here yet, so after a few brief warm-up exercises, I head for the birthing chair machine and begin my workout. Helga is there and after a brief greeting, she leaves me to my own devices. I make my way through the circuit the way she showed me the day before but my performance isn’t the best because my muscles are protesting every move. I keep an eye out for Richmond the entire time, but he never shows up.

  By the time I’m done with my workout, I’ve dreamed up a hundred different names I’m going to call Richmond the next time I see him, none of them very ladylike. I’m muttering to myself as I leave the gym, rehearsing what I’m going to say as I dial Richmond’s number on my cell. He doesn’t answer—not surprising since I’m sure he knows I’m going to rip him a new one—and it flips over to voice mail just as I get to my car. With my keys in one hand and my cell in the other, I give him a piece of my mind.

  “Richmond, you lying piece of shit. I’m at the gym and you’re not. Now you’re a dead man for sure because if your fat doesn’t kill you, I’m going to. You better call me.”

  I disconnect the call and put my key in the door of the hearse to unlock it when my phone rings. Thinking it’s Richmond, I answer without bothering to look at the caller ID. “You better have a damned good excuse
for not being here. That fat of yours isn’t going to disappear on its own, you know.”

  “What about my fat?”

  Shit. “I’m sorry, Izzy. I thought you were Bob Richmond.” I grimace, knowing that I’ve probably just made it that much easier for him to fire me.

  “Actually, Richmond is here with me. I’ve got some new evidence regarding Callie Dunkirk’s murder,” he says. “Can you come to the office?”

  “Sure. I’ll be there in five minutes. Does this mean you haven’t fired me yet?”

  I hear footsteps approaching behind me and I turn to see who it is. But before I can, I hear a strange crackling noise—like firecrackers going off in my left ear—and then the left side of my neck burns like someone just lit it on fire. My body is wracked with a sudden, searing pain and I hear myself scream as my brain explodes in a flash of blinding light.

  Chapter 34

  The next few minutes are a kaleidoscope of fractured sounds and images: my body colliding with the hard pavement; my left ankle screaming with pain; someone grabbing me beneath my arms; my body being slowly dragged across the parking lot; someone grunting; a man’s voice yelling—Hurley?—and then another collision with the pavement; feet running off; and then, miraculously, Hurley’s voice close to my ear.

  “Can you stand?” he asks me, sounding breathless. He grabs my hands and tries to pull me up but my left ankle refuses to support much weight. Hurley drapes my right arm over his shoulders, grabs me around my waist, and hoists me across the small parking lot. “Come on, we need to get out of here,” he says, and the urgency in his voice helps me to get past the pain.

  Hurley drags me to his car, which is parked at the far end of the front lot, dumps me into the passenger side, slams my door closed, and runs around to hop behind the wheel. “Can you fasten your seat belt?” he asks as he starts the engine. He doesn’t wait for an answer, whipping the steering wheel hard and hitting the gas. As the car lurches forward, I fumble with my belt, trying to clasp it in place. I manage to do it but it’s a struggle, both because I’m being tossed around by Hurley’s driving and because my fingers don’t seem to want to work. My head feels as if it’s been overstuffed with cotton—dull, thick, and like my skull wants to explode.

  “What the hell just happened?” I manage to say once I get my belt secured.

  “You were Tasered. I’m guessing that whoever is framing me just tried to kidnap you.”

  “Kidnap me?” I can’t wrap my mind around the concept at all. “Why?”

  “Most likely they were going to use you to try to flush me out, or kill you to frame me for yet another death.”

  Kill me? Someone just tried to kill me? A million questions fill my head and I start firing them at Hurley. “How did they find me? Who is doing this? And how did you know they’d be coming after me?”

  “I didn’t for sure,” he says, answering only the last question. “But I figured my disappearance wasn’t a part of their plans, and that they would escalate their efforts somehow to flush me out. You were the logical choice. That guy back there at the gym has been following you since yesterday and I’ve been following him, waiting for him to make a move.”

  “That’s why you were outside my bedroom window last night.”

  “Yes.”

  “Who is he?”

  “I don’t know,” Hurley says with a frustrated sigh. “I’ve never gotten a good look at him because he’s always wearing a hoodie. About all I can tell you is that he was short and of average build. I think it may be the same guy Minniver’s neighbor lady saw.”

  “Did you get the plate number on the car?”

  “I did. I have it written down somewhere but I didn’t want to go to or call the station to run it. I’m willing to bet it’s the same number you got from the neighbor.”

  I shake my head, hoping to knock some of the cotton loose. “I still don’t get it,” I say, confused. “Why come after me? Why am I the logical choice? What did I do?”

  He lets out a humorless laugh. “You met me.”

  “Huh?”

  “They’ve been going after people who play a significant role in my life, people who mean something to me.”

  “I mean something to you?” I say, grabbing at the only part of his explanation that my mind can fully comprehend at the moment.

  He looks over at me and smiles, but says nothing.

  “Where are we going?”

  “Over near Tomah. There’s a cabin there we can stay in.”

  “You own a cabin?”

  “No, it belongs to a friend I know who lets me use it. When my dad was alive, we used to go there to fish a lot.”

  “Your dad is dead?”

  “Two years ago. Cancer.”

  “Is your mom still alive?”

  He shakes his head. “She died in a car accident when I was two. I really don’t remember her at all.”

  “Did your dad ever remarry?”

  “Nope, it was just the two of us.”

  I digest this information, saddened by the fact that Hurley has no family. That explains why whoever is trying to frame him is going after friends and neighbors, and why they came after me. I suppose at this point, I’m the closest thing to family Hurley has.

  My head is clearer now and thoughts of family make me think of Thanksgiving, which makes me think of my mother, Dom, and Izzy. Then I remember Izzy’s phone call to me, right before I was attacked. I lean forward and look around inside the car. “Where’s my purse, and my cell? I need to call Izzy and tell him what happened. He’s expecting me.”

  “Your purse got left in the parking lot,” Hurley says. “Your cell phone is there, too. It bounced under your car when you dropped it and broke into at least two pieces. I wanted to get you out of there in case your attacker had some kind of backup waiting in the wings, so I didn’t take the time to grab anything.”

  “That’s okay. I appreciate what you did. Can I use your phone?”

  He shakes his head. “Cell phones can be traced, and until I can figure out who’s behind all of this, I don’t want my whereabouts—or yours—to be known.”

  Something about this bothers me but it takes me a minute to figure out what it is. “Wait,” I say. “That throwaway phone you gave me is in my purse and it has your cell number in it. Won’t they be able to trace it from that?”

  “Did you save my number under a different name like I told you?”

  “I did. I assigned it to Ethan.”

  “Then they won’t know it’s mine.”

  I wince. “They might,” I tell him. “David overheard my last conversation with you. He was in my cottage and I didn’t see him right away.”

  Hurley frowns. He reaches into his jacket pocket, takes out a cell phone, and hands it to me. “Turn it off. As long as it isn’t on, no one can locate it. If they do get the number somehow and trace the calls made to or from the phone to see what towers it pinged on, they’ll think I’m still in the Sorenson area.”

  I open the phone and start to turn it off, but hesitate. “Hurley, that guy at the gym came after me while I was on the phone with Izzy. He was with Richmond and they were expecting me to meet them at the morgue. Izzy must have heard me yell and when I don’t show up, he’ll be worried and send Richmond out looking for me. I should let him know I’m okay.”

  Hurley doesn’t answer right away but I can tell he’s thinking.

  “Please?”

  Hurley cusses under his breath and rakes a hand through his hair, leaving it tousled and messy looking. There’s an exit coming up and he turns on his blinker to take it. “Let’s stop here and grab a bite to eat,” he says. “Turn the phone off for now. I need to think.”

  He steers into a McDonald’s drive-through while I shut down the cell phone. I order a Quarter Pounder with cheese and some fries, effectively negating the workout I did earlier. I try to mitigate the damage by getting a diet Mountain Dew to go with it and the thought that I’m no better than Richmond comes to mind, but I shove it asi
de. Hurley orders a Big Mac, fries, and a regular soda. He parks in a distant space at the back of the lot and we sit inside the car eating in silence.

  The food gives new life to my frazzled brain and as I watch Hurley stare out the window, his brow furrowed in thought, I remember that I have other things to tell him.

  “Do you want to know about the search warrant they exercised on your house today?”

  “I don’t know. Do I?” he asks, looking pained. “Did they find anything?”

  “Well, they found that potassium cyanide stuff in your workshop and they collected some metal fragments that I’m betting will match ones we found in Callie’s hair. Plus Minniver apparently kept a spare key to his house hidden inside the light on his front porch, but it’s missing. They found it in that drawer where you kept these earrings.” I touch one of the delicate filigrees still hanging from my ears.

  Hurley’s face darkens. “Is that it?” he asks.

  “Afraid not,” I say, wincing. “They also sprayed Luminol in your workshop and they found a blood smear on the floor leading to the exterior door. We sampled some blood we found in the threshold to do a DNA comparison with Callie’s blood.”

  Hurley squeezes his eyes closed. “I’m sure it will match,” he says. “Smart bastards. I’ll give them that.”

  After another period of silent eating, I say, “What about calling Izzy? I don’t want him to worry and the last thing we need is a big manhunt focused on me.”

  Hurley nods. “I have an idea, but it means letting Izzy know you’re with me and that you’re going to stay hidden for now. It might put your job in jeopardy.”

  I let out a mirthless laugh. “Too late for that,” I tell him. “Izzy already knows I’ve been keeping secrets from him regarding this case and he’s contemplating firing me.”

  Hurley leans his head back against the headrest and sighs. “I’m sorry, Mattie. I never should have dragged you into this. I didn’t know who else to turn to.”

  “It’s okay. You didn’t force me into it; I did it willingly. I knew what the consequences were.”