Wind Chill

by Herron, Rita

  He gave a quick nod, then started across the space. The cement floor was coated in years of dust and dirt, and something sticky. He glanced down to see what it was. Blood.

  Gia moved ahead of him, shining her own light in the direction of the refrigerator.

  So far, the Christmas Killer had left his victims posed as if putting on a show, not hidden inside somewhere. He’d strangled them instead of using a knife or gun, which made the crime scene less messy.

  Here, a big puddle of blood stained the floor.

  Although if the killer’s goal was to torture Gia, he could have altered his MO.

  Ashen-faced, she slowly pulled on the refrigerator door handle. A second later, she jumped back, a cry escaping her as a bloody carcass fell from the interior.

  * * *

  9:50 a.m., December 19, Tinley

  Gia made a choking sound and jumped back. For a second, she stood in shock then relief slowly seeped through her.

  The carcass was a dead deer. Not her sister. Not Carly.

  Thank God.

  “What the hell?” Murphy muttered. “Someone killed the deer, then put it in here without even dressing it.”

  “I can’t believe the real estate agent showed the house like this,” Gia said, recovering slightly. “I smelled this the minute we walked through the door.”

  “I did, too. Maybe someone put the animal in here after she showed it.”

  Gia covered her mouth with her hand and nose to help ward off the stench. “Let’s get out of here.”

  She hurried toward the stairs, and Murphy followed. When they made it to the outside of the house, she welcomed the blast of cold and inhaled several deep breaths to stem the nausea.

  Murphy laid his hand on her shoulder and squeezed gently, and she leaned into him, grateful to have him nearby. Murphy had always been a rock. Solid and stable and …so sexy that she’d been afraid if she’d leaned on him years ago and stayed in town, she never would have left.

  She squeezed his hand, then squared her shoulders to let him know she was okay.

  Understanding passed between them. There was something there, a chemistry they couldn’t deny. But now wasn’t the time. Finding Carly was all that mattered.

  Murphy stepped away, then made a call. “Tamika, this is Sheriff Malone,” he said. “Please call me ASAP.”

  Gia gripped the handrail and trudged down the steps. She had to get away from that house. From the sight of that bloody dead animal.

  But she couldn’t escape the fear clawing at her.

  She and Murphy battled the blustery wind as they climbed in his SUV. “You didn’t talk to Tamika?”

  “She didn’t answer. Which is odd. Her assistant said she was working from home today.”

  Gia’s heart stuttered. “Maybe you should check her house.”

  Murphy’s gaze cut to her. “You’re worried about her?”

  “If she showed the vet this house, and he’s our killer, then she can recognize him. That would be motive for him to add her to his list.”

  Concern shadowed his dark eyes. “True. Although if Dr. Whitman is the CK, I met him and so did several locals. We could all identify him.”

  “Tamika might have picked up on something when she showed him the properties.”

  “That’s possible. Let’s head over there.”

  Gia touched his arm. “Murph, drop me at my house, I mean Carly’s. I’ll see if she’s there or if I can find anything indicating he’s been inside. You check out Tamika’s.”

  Murphy wheezed a breath. “I don’t want to leave you alone, Gia. This maniac is after you.”

  “I appreciate your concern, but he has Carly. And we can’t waste time. We can cover more ground by dividing up.”

  Murphy looked as if he wanted to argue, but he was smart and knew she was right. “Okay,” he said, his voice heavy with apprehension. “But if he shows up, call me for back up.”

  She patted her weapon, which she’d stowed inside her jacket. “I have back up right here.”

  His jaw tightened, and he started the engine, maneuvered the drive, then turned onto the country road. Snow whirled in a blinding haze, frost and ice spreading across the front window in a pattern that resembled broken glass.

  Her parents’ homestead sat on the acre lot next door to the house they’d just searched. Murphy turned into the drive, and Gia blinked back tears.

  So many memories here. So many happy times with her sister and mother.

  So much sadness when her mother died.

  She could not bury her sister, too.

  * * *

  10:00 a.m., December 19, Tinley

  Murphy parked in front of the Franklin house, his shoulders knotted with tension. Snow stood over two feet deep in front of the sprawling farmhouse, coating the steps to the wrap around porch, and icicles clung to the awning. The trees in front of the property swayed in the storm, the branches bowed and heavy with snow and ice.

  He’d always thought this property was beautiful, but today it looked almost eerie, haunted.

  “I’ll go in and do a quick search with you,” Murphy said.

  Gia offered him a brave smile. “No, I …need to go in alone. Check on Tamika and let me know what you find.”

  Murphy had the insane urge to drag her into his arms and hold her. To assure her everything would be all right.

  But he couldn’t do that, not when he didn’t know if her sister was alive or dead.

  “Go,” Gia said, her tone commanding this time. “If Tamika is in trouble, she needs you.”

  Murphy nodded, his chest tight with anxiety as she jumped from his SUV and plowed through the snow up to her porch. He told himself she was a trained agent, and she was armed.

  Gia was right. If the killer had targeted Tamika, it might not be too late to save her. But if she was unharmed, she might have insight as to whether Whitman was the CK.

  Gripping the steering wheel, he shifted into reverse, turned around and headed toward Tamika’s house. She lived about a block from town in a bungalow near her real estate office.

  His phone buzzed. Cody.

  He quickly connected. “Yeah? Did you find Carly?”

  Static popped and crackled, the blizzard already messing with phone reception and the only nearby cell tower.

  “Afraid not.” Cody’s voice warbled in and out with the wind battering the connection. “One of our teams found a family trapped in their car. They skidded into a ditch and have been there for a few hours. A rescue team is digging them out now.”

  Perspiration beaded on Murphy’s neck. “Send a team out to the cottages and have them look by the creek. Is Judah Willingham with you?” Judah had been a deputy in the county for twenty years before he retired.

  “He was first to volunteer.”

  Murphy chuckled. “Deputize him and have him go door to door with you. Also, canvass the people staying at the cottages. Maybe someone saw something. Or—”

  “Or see if the killer is holding Carly there,” Cody finished. “On it.”

  Murphy thanked him, his snow tires churning as he swung into the drive for Tamika’s bungalow. He scanned the small yard and property but didn’t see anything suspicious. The garage door was shut. Was Tamika’s car inside?

  He parked and climbed out, weapon clenched by his side as he hiked through the snow and climbed the steps to her porch. A welcome sign dangled precariously in the violent wind. A loose shudder flapped. The watering can on the porch had blown over and was rolling across the wood planks.

  A light glowed from inside, indicating someone might be home. He raised his gloved hand and knocked on the door.

  “Tamika,” he shouted, “if you’re in there, please open up.” He stepped to the side and peeked through a front window. A shadow moved. His hand inched to his gun as he waited.

  A minute later, the door screeched open, and Tamika appeared, burrowed in a big terry cloth robe. “Sheriff? What are you doing here?”

  Murphy shifted and tried to lo
ok behind her. There was someone there. Was he holding Tamika against her will? “Just checking to see if you’re all right.”

  Her thick black brows bunched as she frowned. “I’m good. Why shouldn’t I be?”

  “You heard the news about Carly?”

  “Yes, that’s awful,” she said, her voice softening.

  “Tamika, sweet babe, are you coming back to bed?” a man called.

  Murphy recognized the voice. Devon Boles who owned the hardware store.

  “Yes, I’ll be right there.” A blush stole across her ebony cheeks.

  Murphy smiled. He hadn’t realized Devon and Tamika were seeing each other. “Looks like I interrupted something.”

  Tamika toyed with her waist-length braid. “Figured we all had a day off cause of the storm. Although Devon left his assistant at the hardware store for people needing emergency supplies.” She curled a hand around the door. “Why are you really here, Sheriff?”

  “Like I said, it’s about that killer we think is in town.”

  Fear flashed across the young woman’s face. “You think he’s after me?”

  “No, but you should stay with Devon until we catch him. At the moment, I’m considering a lot of possibilities. He took Carly, we know that. I also saw her with that vet who came to town a couple of times. You showed him some property?”

  “Yes, an abandoned warehouse and the house neighboring the Franklin’s. I don’t think he was ready to commit though.”

  “What was your impression of him?” Murphy asked.

  Tamika scrunched her nose in thought. “He was nice enough, I guess. Seemed like he was on the fence about moving.”

  “Did he ever say or do anything suspicious when you were with him?”

  Tamika cinched the belt around her robe. “Not really. I just think he was torn about relocating and not ready to commit.”

  Because he hadn’t really planned to move there?

  “You said you showed him the house beside the Franklin's?”

  Tamika’s eyes widened as she connected the dots. “Oh, heavens, you think he was staking out Carly’s house, that he used me to get close?”

  Murphy shrugged. “It’s possible.” His phone buzzed, and he glanced at it wondering if it was Gia. No. Arlene.

  “Tamika, think about it, if Whitman said or did anything that made you think he might be dangerous. Or if he might have been probing you for information about Carly and her sister.”

  “I will. Good luck finding her, Sheriff.” Fear clouded her expression as she closed the door.

  Murphy connected the call. “Hello.”

  “Sheriff, it’s Arlene over at Bubba’s.”

  “Yeah.”

  “I may be overreacting, but Sari was supposed to deliver some pies to the café today and she hasn’t shown with them.”

  “She probably decided to stay home because of the weather,” Murphy said.

  “Could be. But last night, she said she’d already baked the pies and she insisted she’d drop them off early, so I’d have them for the search crews. She really wanted to help.”

  That sounded like Sari.

  “Anyway, Bubba walked down to the sweet shop and she’s not there.”

  A frisson of alarm ripped through Murphy. Sari was young. Pretty. Lived alone.

  What if the CK had chosen her as his tenth victim?

  Chapter Sixteen

  10:10 a.m., December 19, Tinley

  Gia slid her hand into her pocket and placed it over her service weapon as she reached the front door of her family home.

  Beverly Franklin hated guns of all kinds and would probably be appalled she was bringing one into the house today. She’d emphasized family dinners, togetherness, and helping your neighbors. There was always room for one more at the table.

  Then she’d died and left an empty hole in Gia’s heart. She’d turned her grief and anger into motivation that had made her throw herself into work and hunting down bad guys.

  She would want you to find Carly.

  That thought lessened the guilt for the gun.

  A wind blast pummeled the windows, and ice cracked and snapped from the trees, flying downward. She jiggled the door, but it was locked. She’d left her key for the house back in Florida.

  Remembering that her mother always left an extra one beneath the flowerpot, she checked it in case Carly followed suit. A smile tugged at her mouth as her fingers raked over the metal.

  People in Tinley never locked their doors and trusted their neighbors.

  That would change after this was over. A predator on the prowl in your hometown tended to destroy trust and incite suspicion. Not a good thing.

  But necessary.

  She hated that she’d brought that dark cloud to Tinley.

  Gia unlocked the door, then eased it open and peered inside in case the killer was waiting in ambush. That had happened to her once early on in the job. She’d ended up with six stitches in the back of her head and the perp had escaped.

  The ancient furnace rumbled, working hard to heat the interior of the farmhouse and failing. When she found Carly and brought her home, she’d install a new HVAC system.

  Emotions clogged her throat as she spotted the balsam fir perched in front of the window facing the front porch. Carly had strung garland along the limbs, yet the box of family ornaments, ones she and her sister had handcrafted with their mother, sat on the floor by the wall waiting to be added.

  Carly wanted the two of you to decorate together.

  But you were too busy. Always too busy.

  Fear and regret stole the air from her lungs. But she didn’t have time to break down. She wasn’t here for a trip down memory lane. That could come later.

  She needed to look around, hunt for any hint the killer had been inside.

  She jerked her gaze away from the tree and moved into the den, which opened to the kitchen and dining area. Christmas decorations adorned the wall and house, each one a reminder that Carly was continuing the family traditions while she’d abandoned them.

  Her mother’s collection of Santas lined the mantle. Another table held Christmas cottages and snow globes. The family pictures of her and Carly when they were little standing by the Christmas tree in their holiday pajamas were arranged on the bookcase. The yearly photos of the two of them in the sleigh at the tree farm occupied an entire shelf. Silver bells and mistletoe dangled from the doors. Red, green and gold candles dotted the bathroom and kitchen counter. The scent of apple pie wafted from the candle on the breakfast bar.

  A scrapbook on the kitchen counter drew her eye and she walked over to examine it. Curious, she opened it.

  Inside, the pages were filled with articles covering each case she’d worked. Other pages held photographs from various press conferences and news events where she’d briefed the public.

  Was her sister keeping up with her career by collecting these?

  She turned the last few pages and discovered articles about the Christmas Killer.

  Then on the last page—a copy of the lyrics to “The Twelve Days of Christmas.”

  * * *

  10:30 a.m., December 19, Tinley

  Murphy decided to stop by Sari’s Sweet Shop before checking her house. Sari usually arrived at the shop by dawn to start baking for the day. He checked the rear parking lot for her car as he drove up, but the parking lot was empty.

  So were the streets, a good sign people were heeding the warning about the hazardous weather conditions. The Christmas garland and strands of lights the town had put up were battering the light posts and storefronts as the wind gusts intensified.

  Today would have been the parade with floats, music and food trucks in the town square. Instead, the downtown area looked like a ghost town buried in white.

  The only businesses that had opened were the hardware store and Bubba’s. The financial loss would hurt.

  But right now, he was more concerned about a killer on the loose.

  He parked in front of the store, butto
ned his coat and yanked on his winter hat then hiked through the snow to the front entrance. The glass door was coated in an icy fog, so he wiped at it with his glove then peered inside.

  The interior was dark. No movement inside.

  The memory of finding blood in Carly’s shop taunted him, and he circled to the back door and checked the door. Locked.

  He picked the lock, then pushed open the door. He paused to listen as he entered. Silence greeted him along with the smell of cinnamon, gingerbread and chocolate.

  He kicked snow off his boots and walked through the hallway, peering into the storage room where Sari kept baking supplies. Next he checked the walk-in refrigerator/freezer. Relieved to find cooking ingredients, frozen cookies and cakes instead of Sari, he inched through the hall to the front of the store. The glass cabinet that held pastries was stocked with a few treats, but the tables were clean, chairs stacked, counter empty, indicating Sari hadn’t come in at all today.

  Perhaps she’d baked those pies at home and was snowed in.

  Unless…the CK had gone to her house.

  He gripped his keys and hurried out the back door and locked it. His cell phone buzzed as he climbed back in his SUV. Gia.

  “Hey,” he said as he connected and started the engine.

  “He was here, Murph.”

  Murphy went bone still. “At Carly’s?”

  “Yes.”

  “Is he there now?”

  “No and no sign of my sister. But he left a scrapbook, articles of all the cases I’ve worked and ones covering the Christmas Killer case.” Agitation shattered her normally calm voice. “He also left a copy of the lyrics to ‘The Twelve Days of Christmas’ in the album.”

  "I'm on the way." Murphy spun in the direction of the Franklin house. “Listen, Gia, Arlene called. She was expecting Sari to show up with pastries, but she hasn’t seen or heard from her. I checked the Sweet Shop and she’s not there. I was going to drive out to her house now. I’ll swing by and pick you up.”