Wind Chill

by Herron, Rita

  A groggy-sounding Inez answered. The innkeeper was in her late sixties with a tender soul and friendly demeanor. She loved running the inn and catering to her guests. Word was she was an incredible cook, and she planned special activities for the families at the inn. She was also his mother’s friend and visited her regularly.

  “I’m sorry to disturb you at this hour, Inez, but it’s important.”

  “What’s wrong, Sheriff?”

  “Carly Franklin has gone missing.”

  “Oh, dear, and in this terrible storm. What in the world happened?”

  He didn’t want to alarm her, but residents would soon learn about Carly’s disappearance anyway. Still, he withheld details. “We have teams searching for her, but it’s possible there was foul play.”

  “How can I help, Sheriff?”

  “I know there are a lot of tourists already in town. Did any of the guests at the inn strike you as suspicious? Maybe a single man traveling alone who came in last night?”

  He heard a rattling sound and realized she was probably looking for her glasses. She had a habit of losing them wherever she was. “Let me look at the guest registry.”

  “Thanks, Inez.”

  Footsteps sounded, and Murphy maneuvered his SUV past the library and town hall. Holiday decorations adorned the streetlights, twinkling lights everywhere. A giant sleigh sat in the front of the park beside the gazebo where Santa visits occurred daily. The horse and buggy carriage that offered carriage rides through town was parked by the pond. Thankfully the animals had already been moved to a barn to wait out the blizzard.

  “No single male guests at all. Mostly there are families, and only one checked in yesterday. The Robinsons from Cleveland. They have four children and come every year for the festival. Said it’s part of their family tradition.”

  They might be disappointed this year.

  But the town’s festival was the least of his worries at the moment. “Alright, thanks for checking. If any of your male guests act strangely, call me.”

  “Oh, heavens, now you’ve got me worried.”

  “Nothing for you to fret about tonight.” Inez was too old to fit the victim’s profile. All of his victims had been in their twenties. “Get some rest.”

  He ended the call and drove past Sari’s Sweets which boasted peppermint milkshakes and a dozen different kinds of Christmas cookies and pastries, then turned onto Pitchfork Street, named because it led out to acres and acres of cornfields.

  The old motel was four miles from town and had fallen into disrepair three years ago when the owner Willie Pickens died in a tractor accident on his brother’s farm. Murphy had expected someone else to snap up the property, but it would take a mountain of work to restore it to its potential. And no one wanted the old building, not with the new cabins built on the east side and the cottages by the creek.

  The place slipped into view, and he scanned the area. The structure was crumbling, paint peeling, and the roof needed replacing. Unlike the rest of the town, there were no holiday decorations or sparkling lights. The building appeared dark, except…he spotted a dim light in the room on the end.

  His pulse jumped, and he cut his lights on his SUV and veered off the side of the road before he reached the parking lot.

  After climbing from the vehicle and gently closing the door, Murphy pulled his gun and crept toward the building on foot. He didn’t want to alert whoever was in that room that he was coming.

  * * *

  3:00 a.m., December 19, Tinley

  Gia was shocked her plane had taken off and landed. According to the flight attendant though, the airlines were trying to accommodate as many as possible before the worst of the blizzard struck full force which was supposed to be within the next twenty-four hours.

  Thankfully, she’d managed to secure a rental car before she’d left Gulf Shores, or she would have been out of luck. The airport floor was carpeted with stranded passengers trying to sleep. Others were accepting housing from virtual strangers and others were sharing vehicles. Although some people were frantic to get home and tempers were stretched thin, she’d seen small acts of kindness as well.

  Considering she saw the worst of society on the job, the good will was refreshing and reminded her that not everyone was evil.

  Wind rattled the windowpanes of the small SUV and battered the sides, forcing her to grip the steering wheel with an iron fist to keep the car on the road. Snowflakes fell in thick white sheets, black ice already creating hazardous conditions on the highway.

  She cranked up the defroster and heater, the bitter cold permeating her all the way to her bones.

  Carly’s plea for help repeatedly echoed in her head as she braved the roads. Every minute seemed like hours. Finally, a sign for Tinley—Tinsel Town—waved back and forth in the wind. Five more miles.

  The car hit an icy patch and skidded, and she fought not to run into the ditch. She had to make it to town. Had to find Carly before it was too late.

  An ancient pick-up truck barreled around the corner, going way too fast. She yelled at him to slow down. A second later, the driver hit a patch of ice, swerved, then skidded and careened straight toward her.

  Gia bit back a scream as she swerved to avoid crashing into him head on. Unable to avoid the black ice, she lost control and the rental vehicle skidded off the road. She braced herself for the impact, but her head snapped forward as the SUV slammed into a giant oak, and the car nosedived into the embankment.

  The window shattered on impact. Glass sprayed her face, and the air bag exploded, slamming into her chest. Her head snapped forward, then she saw stars.

  She tasted blood just before the darkness claimed her.

  Chapter Seven

  3:10 a.m., December 19, Tinley

  He listened to her shallow breathing as she slept.

  He itched to turn on a light and watch her more closely, but it was too dangerous. Someone driving by might see the light and find them.

  Right now, they were all alone, cocooned in the midst of the biggest snowstorm in Nebraska's history. The soft white snow falling outside painted the earth in a postcard white like a Norman Rockwell painting.

  Yet dark thoughts invaded his head. This was a new feeling. To keep his victim alive instead of snuffing out her life immediately.

  Adrenaline had surged through him as he’d watched the horror on her face when she’d opened her eyes and realized she had been taken.

  Tears had rained down her pretty ivory cheeks, and she’d pleaded with him not to kill her. She’d rattled on and on about the holidays and good will toward others.

  He’d smiled and told her she had a little time, but she wouldn’t make it to Christmas. That he was waiting on her sister.

  That had shut her up. Had made her eyes widen in terror.

  Then he’d given her the drugs to make her sleep.

  After all, he was bone tired. Last night he’d been up late posing Terry Ann for the police to find. Then traveling was a pain in the neck. He hated being crammed into those tiny airplanes, arms brushing against sweaty bodies that barely fit into the narrow seats. The damn turbulence from the wind had people puking in the aisles, too. A shudder ripped through him. Disgusting.

  People had no manners either. Their bodies pressed together like sardines gave off such bad odors that his stomach roiled.

  The woman seated next to him on the last leg of the journey had been so paranoid she’d yelped and clutched his arm every time the plane dipped and jolted.

  He’d been tempted to put her out of her misery and make her number ten.

  But…he couldn’t strangle her in public and raise suspicion. Besides, she’d babbled on and on about how her family was waiting. If she didn’t make it off the plane alive, all the passengers would be detained and questioned.

  He didn’t have time for that.

  So, he’d tried to calm her, then when she’d raised the shade on the window to look outside at the storm, he’d slipped a pill in her drink and sh
e’d drifted off to la la land for the remainder of the flight.

  Finally blessed quiet.

  Now Carly…she was a different story. Even frightened, her voice sounded like honey. Her long blonde hair looked like corn silk from the Nebraska fields and her skin was the purest ivory he’d ever seen. A man could lose himself in her sea-blue eyes and the scent of jasmine wafting from her skin.

  It was a shame he had to kill her.

  But…Gia Franklin had challenged him. And he did not back down from a fight.

  Not even for a sweet innocent thing like Blondie.

  His heart hammered in his chest. His game had to end soon, but what a way to end it.

  The grand finale, two women in one night, sisters no less, and one the very agent chasing him, would make him a legend!

  But first…first he had to take one more woman. He’d already chosen her.

  For now though, he’d rest. He had less than a week until Christmas. Plenty of time.

  “The Twelve Days of Christmas” lyrics chimed in his head as he drifted off. On the twelfth day of Christmas, my mother abandoned me…

  The twelfth day would be here soon. And then he’d have eleven months until the blasted song and the holiday started tormenting him again.

  He stretched out on the braided rug beside Carly and let her gentle breathing lull him to sleep.

  With the storm bearing down on Tinley, he couldn’t sleep long though.

  An hour or two and he would be good to go.

  He smiled as an image of his next victim flashed behind his eyes. Anticipation heated his blood.

  The ornament would look lovely next to the holiday apron he’d picked out for her to wear.

  Chapter Eight

  3:15 a.m., December 19, Tinley

  Although the only light coming from the motel was in the last room, Murphy eased along the front row, briefly pausing to listen at each door he passed in case someone was inside.

  After all, even killers had to sleep.

  He didn’t detect any noise, so he continued toward the end of the row, staying close to the doorways to keep from being seen in case whoever was inside decided to look out.

  As he grew closer, the sound of a male voice echoed from behind the closed door. He kept his gun at the ready and pressed himself flat against the wall by the window and listened. The curtains were drawn, preventing him from seeing who it was, but someone was definitely in there.

  “It’s all right,” the voice murmured. “It’ll be over soon.”

  Murphy froze as a woman’s cry followed. Carly?

  “Shh, we can’t get caught now.”

  Anger tightened Murphy’s muscles, and he debated on knocking, or charging into the room. But if the CK was hurting Carly, he had to act quickly. The man could snap her neck in a second.

  Bracing his gun, he balled his hand into a fist and knocked, then twisted the doorknob. The door was locked. He stepped back and kicked the thin wood. The door flew open, wood splintering.

  “Police!” Except for the dim light in the bathroom, darkness bathed the room.

  “What the hell?” a male voice shouted.

  A female’s shrill scream followed. Carly?

  “Put your hands up where I can see them.” He aimed his gun at the bed where the man stood and lifted his flashlight to illuminate the room.

  Bright light glared across the paint-chipped walls and allowed him to see that the male was a teenager, not a man. “Don’t shoot,” the boy pleaded.

  “No, don’t shoot.” The female started crying and snatching at the bedding to cover her nakedness.

  Hell, he’d interrupted a teenage hook-up, not the CK and Carly.

  The boy stood with his boxers around his ankles, hands raised in surrender, eyes wide with fear. “We ain’t doin’ nothing wrong,” the boy stammered.

  Murphy clenched his jaw. “You broke into this property,” he growled. “What the hell are you two doing out here in the middle of the night? Don’t you know we’re in the middle of a blizzard?”

  The girl yanked on a t-shirt, another sob escaping her, while the boy lifted his chin in a show of bravado meant to impress his girlfriend.

  Dumb kid. She wouldn’t be impressed if she wound up stranded out here with no heat or food for days.

  “We just wanted some time alone,” the boy said. “Her parents freaked out the other night and said I can’t come over no more.”

  The scent of weed wafted toward Murphy, and he gestured toward a joint on the end table. “I wonder why. You seem like such a responsible young man.”

  “I am,” the boy blustered.

  He ticked the boy’s offenses off with his fingers, “You are in possession of an illegal substance. You are sleeping with an underage girl. And you could be charged with breaking and entering, plus statutory rape.”

  “I didn’t rape her,” the boy protested.

  The girl looked up at him with tear-filled eyes. “We were just messing around.”

  “It’s not like anyone uses this old place,” the boy muttered.

  “Shut up, the both of you,” Murphy growled. “I should haul you to the station and keep you overnight just to teach you a damn lesson.”

  “Please don’t.” The girl trembled. “My daddy will kill me if I get arrested.”

  Murphy didn’t know about that. He’d seen this girl around town. Her family was churchgoers. Not that attending church excluded the father from having a temper.

  But he had more important things to do tonight than babysit them. He lowered his gun and stowed it in his holster. “All right. I’ll let you off with a warning.”

  Wind whistled through the thin glass windows, and the girl shivered violently. The heat in the building had been turned off for years. He spotted the reflection of a candle flickering in the bathroom mirror.

  “How did you get out here?” he asked.

  “My truck,” the boy answered. “I parked between some trees around back.”

  “Take the girl home,” Murphy said. “Straight home, do you hear me? Because if I learn you went somewhere else to finish this little rendezvous, I’ll bring you both in. And no amount of pleading for mercy will stop me from pressing charges and calling your folks.”

  The teens exchanged terrified looks, and Murphy fought a smile. Throwing a little fear into them might keep them home safe where they belonged.

  “One more thing,” he said. “Did you see anyone else out here tonight?”

  The two glanced back and forth confused. “It was just us,” the boy said. “We didn’t have a party if that’s what you mean.”

  No, it wasn’t. But he had his answer.

  The teens hurriedly dressed then the girl grabbed the candle from the bathroom. The boy went for the weed, but Murphy shook his head. “Don’t push it, kid.”

  A second later, the two pulled on their coats and ran toward the cluster of trees where they’d parked.

  Murphy scowled. As a teenager, he’d done some stupid things. He’d snuck out with girls, too. But tonight, with the worst storm of the century marching through, their stupidity was just plain dangerous.

  He closed up the room, then decided to check the other rooms just in case the CK had stowed Carly in one of them.

  * * *

  4:00 a.m., December 19, Tinley

  A trilling sound roused Gia from unconsciousness. She opened her eyes, then blinked against the darkness.

  Where was she? What the hell happened?

  She rubbed her forehead and her hand came away with blood. She tasted it in her mouth, felt it trickling down the side of her cheek.

  The blinding white outside hurt her eyes.

  The car…she’d had an accident. On the way to Tinley to see the sheriff.

  To find Carly.

  And that noise…it was like a jackhammer to her skull.

  Panic streaked through her.

  Then she realized the sound was her phone.

  Heart racing, she fumbled on the seat for her purse. Not on
the seat.

  In the floor where it had been tossed during the crash. The damn air bag was in the way. She wrestled with it and pushed it away enough to run her hand along the floorboard.

  Her head throbbed as she dragged the purse back onto the seat. She wiped blood from her hand onto a tissue in her bag, then raked through the contents for her phone. Finally, her fingers connected with it at the bottom of the bag. The ringing stopped just as she snatched it and went to connect the call.

  Gia released a shaky breath then checked the number, hoping it was the sheriff with good news. That he’d been wrong, and the Christmas Killer hadn’t abducted Carly. When, in actuality, she was safe at the old homestead waiting on Gia to trim the live tree she’d brought home.

  All wishful thinking of course.

  Tears and panic blended, and she fought a scream and squinted to see the name on the screen.

  Not the sheriff. Her partner had left a message.

  “Gia, it’s Brantley. Sorry, but I can’t get out of the city. As of an hour ago, they’ve cancelled all flights going anywhere near the Midwest.”

  He sounded so upset that her chest squeezed with emotions. They’d only been working together for a few months, but he wanted to catch this serial killer as much as she did.

  Yet now, as a gust of wind beat at the car, and she looked through the blinding snowstorm, she knew she was on her own. She quickly punched Brantley’s number. When he answered, he sounded winded as if he was pacing back and forth.

  “I got your message, and I understand,” she said. “I barely made it on that last flight and there were hundreds of people stranded. I’m on my way to the sheriff’s office now.” She didn’t bother to mention that she was sitting in a ditch.

  “I’m so sorry, Gia. As soon as I can book a flight, I’ll fly out there.”

  “It’s all right,” she said adopting her professional tone. “I’ll call you when I know something.”