Jack Frost: Detective Jack Stratton Mystery Thriller Series

by Christopher Greyson

  Vicky’s mumbling voice came from inside her tent. “Fifteen minutes.”

  Jack gathered his gear and rolled up his pack, then waited outside for Vicky. He was eager to get back to the lodge and was glad when Vicky’s tent flap unzipped after only a few minutes had passed.

  She stepped out, tilted her head back, and squinted, her eyes traveling back and forth across the sky as if she were reading. “I’m going to go talk with Leah.” She reached back into the tent and grabbed her pack. “I’ve got a feeling it’s going to get really windy.”

  Jack pulled out the GPS Leah had given him.

  “You don’t need that,” Vicky said. “I know the way back. And the trail’s marked well enough.”

  Jack thought, not for the first time, that Vicky was a rare bird. A glamorous knockout with stellar survival skills—and a fierce competitor, too. Jack had learned a long time ago that people are not always as they appeared. Kiku came to mind.

  Jack stuffed the GPS in his jacket. “How’d you sleep?”

  “Like a baby. Did you toss and turn thinking about me all night?” She smiled as she shouldered her backpack.

  “No, I spent my night guarding your tent.”

  Vicky’s snarky smirk vanished. “You didn’t need to do that.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  “I didn’t say thank you.”

  “I know. But I figured that was the closest you’d come.”

  Jack started walking, and Vicky hurried to catch up. They hiked for several minutes before Vicky muttered a “Thank you” that was almost lost in the wind.

  Jack nodded.

  The sheer rocky slope back to the lodge was now covered in fresh snow. The going was slippery and slow. Jack had to feel his footing with each step.

  “I think you must be more of a runner or a swimmer than a climber,” Vicky said as she followed after him.

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Your butt. Most guys who climb have thick calves and thighs, and big, wide butts. You’ve got a tight little butt.”

  Jack opened and closed his mouth a couple of times before finally saying, “I jog.”

  “I knew it. I bet you have a six-pack, too?”

  Jack cleared his throat. “I think one of those storms decided to switch direction. The temperature’s really dropping.”

  “Funny, I thought the temperature was rising. Are you not comfortable with your body?”

  “I’m comfortable with it. I’m just not comfortable discussing my abs or the shape of my butt with you.” They had reached a short, steep slope they needed to climb, and Jack found a handhold and pulled himself up.

  “I’d prefer not to talk about it either.” She put her hand on his butt and squeezed. “I’m more hands-on.”

  “Keep your hands to yourself,” Jack said, hoisting himself out of her reach.

  “If a man did that, he’d be called assertive.”

  “What world are you living in? If a guy grabs your butt, he’s called a creep. It’s not just uncool, it’s illegal. And, for the record, I’m engaged.”

  Vicky climbed up and stood, staring at Jack. “Okay, but also for the record, I know it’s awful to be touched when you don’t want to be. I’m sorry.”

  He hadn’t expected a mea culpa. She wasn’t just unusual, she was unpredictable. Maybe a good quality in her line of work, but not so much in his.

  Leah’s voice crackled over his earpiece. “This must not be working right. I thought I just heard Vicky apologize.”

  Jack sheltered his mic from the wind with his glove. “Can you hear me?”

  “Yes. We’ve been trying to reach you. I need you both to come back to the lodge. There’s a… here. I’m hav—” Static filled his earpiece.

  “Big Brother is always watching,” Vicky said, pointing at the red glow of a camera mounted to a post. “Now, that’s creepy.”

  22

  The Two-Headed Beast

  Jack and Vicky crested the ridge that sloped down to the lodge. Four tents, in the four contest colors, had been set up directly in front of the building.

  “What are those for?” Vicky asked.

  Jack shrugged. “Don’t know. They weren’t there when I left.”

  They crunched through the last few yards of deep snow and were met by Leah walking out of the lodge, snow swirling around her.

  Vicky’s demeanor instantly changed. Gone was the flirty survivalist, and back was the fierce woman you wouldn’t want to cross. “Ryan promised me that Eric would be gone,” she snapped at Leah. “I’m not putting up with that psycho lurking around on this mountain. Have you found him yet?”

  “He hasn’t shown up, but he will,” Leah said. “Either way, it doesn’t matter, because we’re keeping you close. We’ve set up tents for the contestants right next to the lodge. All of you will ride out the blizzard here. She turned to Vicky. “You’re in the green tent. No contestants are allowed in the lodge.”

  “Blizzard?” Vicky said. “I thought the storms were supposed to miss us.”

  “The forecasters were dead wrong. Both storms changed direction, and they’re both heading our way. They’re calling it the two-headed beast. Two storms slamming together and making the mother of all blizzards.” Leah leveled her gaze at Jack. “And guess where the epicenter is?” She pointed at her feet.

  “But what about all my gear?” Vicky asked.

  “You know the rules: you carry everything you need to survive at all times. I assume that’s why you brought your pack. The other contestants are being told no more than you were: that I want them to come back here.”

  “But they don’t have to worry about some psycho roaming the mountain, looking for them,” Vicky grumbled.

  “We’re doing everything we can to locate Eric, and to keep things going. I’m sorry that you actually have to do some work like everybody else here, but I’m going to ask you to go over to the green tent or leave the contest.”

  Jack held his breath, waiting to hear—or see—what Vicky’s reaction might be, but she just spun on her heel and stomped over to the green tent.

  “Any sign of Eric last night?” Jack asked.

  Leah looked haggard, putting her back to the wind. “No. The camera feed inside his tent cut out at nine.”

  “Did Harvey see anything before he lost the video?” Jack asked.

  Leah shook her head. “No, something hit the camera from behind. It’s possible his tent collapsed in the wind, or maybe he cooled down, returned to his tent, and took his frustration out on the camera.”

  “Do you want me to go check it out?” Jack asked.

  She shook her head wearily. “No, Abe is getting Chiri; I’ve already asked him to check on it on the way back.”

  “I didn’t see anyone last night. What about your idea of using the drone to look for him?”

  “Grounded because of the wind.”

  “I still think you’re taking a risk leaving her outside with Eric roaming around.”

  “Well, I can’t do better for Vicky’s safety than having them camp on our doorstep. Personally, I think Eric’s just trying to extend his fifteen minutes of fame. Once the cameras start rolling, he’ll show up, make a big scene, and then leave for good.”

  Jack searched Leah’s brown eyes. As a policeman, he had gotten used to people lying to his face, and something didn’t ring true. “Are you saying you think Eric will do that, or you’re sure he will?”

  Leah’s eyebrows rose, and her voice dropped. “Are you accusing me of staging Eric’s disappearance?”

  “I’ve seen some collusion on your show, so yes, I’m asking. Are you or is anyone else on your staff working with Eric to pull off a dramatic scene? Is this whole thing—his disappearance and moving the contestants closer—a big setup?”

  Leah gave him a look that said it was beneath her dignity even to answer such a question. Instead she said, “I spoke with Gavin. He said he ‘found’ the blue tile.”

  “Shocking.” Jack gritted his teeth. “
I told you to wait to confront him about that.”

  Leah bristled. “You work for me.” She jabbed a finger at Jack’s chest.

  He backed away, in a way that made it clear he was not backing down but digging his heels in. “I work for McAlister Insurance. And let me remind you of the situation. I make one call and inform Brian that in my opinion this production is unsafe, and he pulls the policy.” He called on the stone-munching voice and pit-bull stance of Tom Ricketts, a drill sergeant he and Chandler had learned to imitate perfectly—during their many hours of punishment runs and push-ups for him. It usually got good results, and this was no exception.

  Leah clenched her fists. “You’d really shut us down? You—”

  “All I’m doing is asking, for the third time, is the whole thing with Eric staged?”

  Leah paused, then loosened her fists and let out a slow, controlled breath. “No. This is all Eric’s doing.”

  Still, he had the impression that she wasn’t exactly upset about the idea of filming some sort of dramatic showdown between contestants.

  She changed the subject again. “Is there a possibility that Gavin’s telling the truth about finding the tile? He swore up and down that’s what happened. He was convincing.”

  “Of course there’s a possibility. That’s why I wanted you to wait.”

  Leah snapped an icicle off the railing and tapped it against the metal, breaking it into a hundred little chunks.

  He tried to establish eye contact again. “I think Gavin is sleeping with Vicky. I also think Gavin took the blue tile so Vicky would get the easiest route. But I can’t be a hundred percent sure, and I can’t prove it. The blue tile was in the basket when I gave it to Ryan. Ryan handed the basket to Gavin.”

  “Now you’re accusing my director of fixing the contest?”

  “What I’m saying is, if anyone fixed the contest, it can only be Ryan or Gavin. They both knew Vicky was drawing last, and both of them had an opportunity to take the blue tile out.”

  Leah pinched the bridge of her nose, as if easing a migraine. “All right, let’s back-burner this for now. The radio is barely working with the storm coming in, and it’s getting worse, so I’ve sent Ollie out to make sure Frida comes in, and Abe is getting Chiri. That leaves you to go bring in Cornelius. His camp is on the south side, the green trail. The coordinates are in your GPS.”

  “I’ll go right now.”

  “You need to hurry. The storm to the south is coming closer than expected. Things are going to start to get really bad.”

  Jack opened the tent flap, and a pungent mix of odors hit him. Cornelius sat cross-legged in the back of the tent, a bowl in front of him. Plants and grasses hung from the ceiling, but whatever the mountain man was eating seemed to be the source of the stench.

  “I didn’t expect company. It’s almost gone, but you’re welcome to some fresh stew.” Cornelius held out the bowl.

  Jack declined, while trying to breathe through his mouth. “Leah needs to speak with all the contestants.”

  “About the blizzard?”

  “You know about that?”

  Cornelius chuckled. “The barometric pressure’s dropping like a rock and the temperature has come up a bit. Plus, my nose is runnin’. Sure signs precipitation’s moving in. You can feel it. The storm’s heading this way. It’s gonna get sloppy bad.” He tipped the bowl to his lips, poured the remainder of the contents into his mouth, and gulped. “How ’bout I miss this little meetin’. I’m fine right here.”

  Jack shook his head. “Not an option. She ordered everyone to come to the lodge.”

  Cornelius leveled his spoon at Jack, his bushy eyebrows knitting together. “This isn’t some kind of trick, is it?”

  “No, sir.”

  “What about the others? Are they going?”

  “Yes. Vicky’s already there, and the others should be on their way. If you don’t go, it could get you kicked out of the contest.”

  “Oh, hang on just a minute, I’m comin’.” Cornelius wiped his bowl out with a rag and set it down. “I bet those yuppie babies are tuckin’ us under their wing ’cause they’re worried about a few flakes. Some survivalist show,” he muttered. “Buncha pampered city folk pretendin’ at livin’ off the land.” He grabbed his backpack and a walking stick. “But I ain’t gonna get accused of breaking no rules. That money’s mine.”

  23

  A Deliberate Act

  Alice anxiously paced the floor, listening to the wind howl and shake the apartment’s old windows. The weather stations were all reporting the same thing—they were calling it the two-headed beast. The storms had changed direction and were expected to converge in a monster blizzard. One channel had gone so far as to call it a thousand-year storm.

  And the beast was heading straight toward Mount Minuit… and Jack.

  Brian hadn’t been able to get ahold of Leah since morning. He said the last thing he’d heard was that she’d ordered everyone back to the lodge, and they would all ride out the storm there. Lady raised her head when Alice’s fist came down on the arm of the couch.

  What kind of plan is that? She needed a better plan; one that got Jack safely off the mountain and down on the ground, riding out the storm with her.

  She couldn’t wait to tell him what she’d learned from Joe. And with this storm, who knew when she’d get through to him again. Alice thought about the threats against anyone on the mountain and wrapped her arms around herself.

  I just want Jack home.

  Lady raised her head and scrambled to her feet. A moment later, someone knocked on the door.

  “Sit,” Alice begged, trying to pull Lady away from the door. Lady whined and held her ground.

  “Sit, Lady,” Kiku commanded from the other side of the door.

  Lady immediately stepped back and sat down.

  “How do you do that?” Alice asked as she let Kiku in.

  Kiku patted Lady’s head. “One, Lady respects me. And two…” Kiku held up an enormous rope chew toy. “She likes me.”

  Lady grabbed the toy in her jaws, turned, and raced over to lie next to the couch.

  Alice crossed her arms. “She loves me.”

  Kiku slipped off her jacket and held it out to Alice. “It’s the respect part you need to work on. You’re gentle with Lady, but you need to be firm also. That way, she’ll love and respect you. The same method will work on Jack.”

  Kiku’s thin smile made Alice blush.

  Alice hung Kiku’s damp jacket on a hook. “Has the snow picked up?”

  “Not yet, but it is supposed to increase in intensity very soon. Are we alone?”

  Alice nodded. “Mrs. Stevens took a break. She’s coming back in half an hour.”

  Kiku walked over to the recliner and sat down. Lady got up, trotted over, and lay at Kiku’s feet. “This will be brief. I need to speak with you regarding the meeting with Joe. Some things he said do not make sense.”

  Alice felt like the floor shifted a little. She grabbed the edge of the couch and nodded. “Go on.”

  Kiku rubbed Lady’s broad back. “Why was the man wearing a motorcycle helmet?”

  Alice’s stomach felt like she had been on the Tilt-a-Whirl too long. She tasted acid in her mouth, but forced herself to picture the scene as Joe had described it. “I keep thinking… if it were me, and I witnessed an accident, I’d take my helmet off when I checked on the family. Why didn’t he?”

  “Right. And the police received only the one emergency call—from the old man. No call came in from this helmeted man.”

  “Do you think the motorcycle rider was involved?”

  “I think the man wearing the motorcycle helmet was involved.”

  “Isn’t that the same thing? Wait—” Alice’s stomach went from churning to falling.

  “No one reported actually seeing a motorcycle. It was assumed that there was one because of the man wearing the motorcycle helmet. And the witness didn’t see anyone running away from the stolen truck. Only one man was see
n. What if the man who stole the truck was the same man, wearing the motorcycle helmet?”

  “Why? Instead of a mask? Unless…” Alice sank to the couch. Kiku’s words hammered against her temples. “Are you saying…” She felt like she was going to throw up. “You’re saying someone stole the truck and put on a motorcycle helmet because… because they knew they were going to hit my family’s car… on purpose!”

  Kiku nodded slowly. “And the sedan parked at the convenience store was the getaway car.”

  Alice shook her head. “No. That doesn’t make any sense. Why would anyone want to hurt my family?” Alice hopped to her feet, wanting to scream. “This is crazy. How could anyone do such a thing?”

  Kiku crossed her legs. Alice thought Kiku was rubbing her thumb and forefinger together, but between Kiku’s fingers an old coin appeared and delicately traveled across her knuckles. It disappeared into her palm, then reappeared and made another pass over her hand before she spoke. “I think it was a professional hit.”

  A strange chuckle caught in Alice’s throat. “That’s ridiculous, Kiku. My father was a florist!”

  “And your mother?”

  “She helped him with the flowers. Just because an old friend said my mother traveled overseas doesn’t make her a target for assassination.” Alice scowled and just about spat the words from her mouth in anger.

  “True. But the facts are pointing to a deliberate act,” Kiku said calmly.

  Alice wanted to deny that, but she couldn’t. With all the facts laid out in her mind, she had to agree that someone intentionally hitting her family’s car was a very real possibility. “Maybe it was a sicko. Are there other reasons why you think it was a hit?”

  The coin in Kiku’s hand stopped moving, and her gaze locked on Alice’s. Her eyes were so dark they looked black. “Yes. Because it is a method of killing someone I would use.”

  All the cables on the Tilt-a-Whirl abruptly let loose, and Alice’s stomach seemed to plunge down a hundred feet in a second.

  Kiku’s coin began moving again. “At the moment, what I am most interested to find out is what Detective Clark’s friend at the FBI will give as the reason they took over the case from the local police department.”