Wind Chill
Page 16
Five long minutes later, an orderly wheeled his mother in. Her graying hair spiraled around her pale face, making her look small and ghostlike.
But her eyes seemed sharp as a cat’s, as if she was searching for him.
“I’m here, Mom.” He clutched her hand as the orderly shifted the gurney into the tiny room. “How are you feeling?”
“Like a danged fool for falling.” She huffed. “Sorry for dragging you over here in this storm. I know you have more important things to do.”
Emotions clogged Murphy’s throat. He lifted her frail hand in his and pressed a kiss to it. “Mom, nothing is more important than you.”
His mother had always been kind. Loving. Taken care of him when he was sick. Encouraged him to be a good man. To stand up for what was right.
“Don’t be silly, son. It’s time you find someone of your own.” She gave him that motherly look she used when admonishing him.
“I’m fine, Mom. I just want you to be okay.”
A doctor in a white coat appeared and introduced herself as Dr. Kim Young. Then she placed a gentle hand on his mother’s shoulder and smiled down at her. “Mrs. Malone, I have good news and bad news. Which do you want first?”
“Just give it all to me,” his mother said in her no-nonsense fashion.
“First of all, then, your heart is fine. The chest pains you were experiencing were caused from anxiety over the fall.”
Murphy exhaled in relief. “That’s good, Mom.”
Dr. Young gave him a sympathetic smile. “However, the x-ray did reveal that you fractured your hip. That’s going to require surgery, and then some physical therapy,” Dr. Young waited a heartbeat for them to react.
His mother clenched the sheet to her. “All righty then, let’s get the ball rolling.”
“Are you sure she’s up for surgery?” Murphy asked.
“Like I said, her heart is in good condition. We will, of course, monitor it while we repair the fracture.”
Murphy pushed a wiry strand of gray hair from her forehead, knowing she would make the final decision. “Mom?”
“I said let’s do it,” she said. “I intend to walk at my son’s wedding, not roll around in a wheelchair like some old lady cripple.”
He had no plans for a wedding. Although Gia’s face flashed in his mind and that kiss taunted him.
Would she leave as soon as this case was solved? Could they possibly have a future together?
She pulled him closer and he leaned in to hear her. “Now, I’ll do my part and get well, Murphy. You do yours and find you a good woman.”
Murphy pressed a kiss to her cheek, and watched them wheel her from the room, his heart in his throat.
* * *
6:15 p.m., December 19, Tinley
Carly’s words reverberated in Gia’s head. Christmas tree…she’d wanted her to decorate it with her…
Or had she been trying to give her a message?
The fact that the call had come shortly after her interview with Clarissa could be coincidental. Or maybe it was intentional, just as the killer had planned the murders.
If Folsom was the killer, he hadn’t orchestrated the call or seen that interview. Which meant he was probably innocent, at least of the Twelve Days of Christmas murders.
Unless he’d carried Carly back to their childhood home after they’d searched it. And Carly had somehow gotten hold of a phone…
She had to see if Carly was there.
She reached for her phone to call Murphy but saw his text.
Mom broke her hip and is going into surgery. I need to be here for a while. Let me know if a lead comes through.
Indecision warred in her mind. She wanted him with her more than she’d ever imagined. But she couldn’t take him away from his mother at the hospital.
Still, she needed transportation. She texted Murphy.
Hope surgery goes well. Folsom still refuses to talk. I’m going to my old house to rest. Borrow a vehicle?
He responded immediately. Sure. My Jeep is in the parking lot. Keys in my desk drawer. Be safe.
She snagged his keys, then bundled up to tackle the outdoors. The wind nearly knocked her over as she pushed through the cold and snow to the Jeep. It took a few attempts to start the engine, and another few minutes for the defroster to clear the windshield enough for her to see the street.
Driving was treacherous and slow, but at least there were no other cars on the road. The few miles seemed to take forever, but thankfully, the Jeep’s four-wheel drive helped her manage the sludge and ice. She kept her eyes peeled for an ambush as she pulled up the driveway and parked.
No vehicles in sight. No signs of tire tracks or any other mode of transportation.
Securing her gun in her jacket pocket, she tugged her scarf and coat around her and braced herself for the wind as she climbed out and maneuvered the path to the front door. Before checking the lock, she pulled her gun and held it at the ready.
If the CK was inside with Carly, he could be waiting.
Gia jiggled the door, but it was still locked, just the way she’d left it. Using her key, she unlocked it, then eased open the door.
The wind whistled through the eaves in a mind-numbing roar. The ancient wood floor creaked as she entered and scanned the foyer. Senses honed, she moved through the house, searching each room and closet.
Everything appeared as it had been the last time she was here.
Carly was not inside.
Frustration mounted on top of despair, and she returned to the living room with the bare Christmas tree and sank down in front of it, hoping for answers.
But the box of family ornaments waiting to be hung on the tree mocked her.
She picked up a tiny silver frame that held a picture of she and Carly, one when they were around three and five in candy cane pajamas. Her mother’s favorite.
She traced a finger over Carly’s sweet little face and began to sob like a baby. And she couldn’t help but wish she had Murphy’s arms around her, to provide an oasis from the storm of sorrow choking her.
* * *
8:15 p.m., December 19, Tinley
Two hours later, Murphy paced the hospital waiting room, sucking down coffee as he tried to remain positive. His mother was tough, at least mentally.
She would make it.
She had to.
He listened to the weather report. The governor had declared a state of emergency. For the next twenty-four hours, everyone was asked to stay hunkered inside. First responders were ordered to stay off the roads as well.
His phone vibrated. Cody.
“Hey, man, I was about to call you. Please tell me you found Carly,” Murphy said.
“I wish I could.” Cody’s voice sounded tired, strained. “We’ve searched all the cottages and that extra outbuilding being renovated. Nothing.”
“Are all the guests accounted for?” Murphy asked.
“All except one. A no-show for Cottage Six. Owner of the cottages said the guy cancelled because he was stranded in Colorado.”
Murphy tensed. “A single guy?”
“Yeah.”
“You get his name and contact information?”
“I did. I’m on my way back to the office. I’ll run him through the system when I get there.”
“Let me know what you find.” Murphy explained about Folsom being in the holding cell. “Oh, and I just heard the weather. You need to call off the search teams temporarily. It’s too dangerous to have our people out now.”
“I hate to do that.” Emotions thickened Cody’s words. “I want to find her, man. I should have told her how I felt.”
“I know.” Murphy heard regret in his deputy’s voice. He didn’t want to have that same kind of regret with Gia.
“We aren’t giving up,” Murphy said.
“No, no way,” Cody agreed. “See you back at the station.”
“I’ll be back as soon as possible.” He walked over and stared out the window at the sea of white.
He just prayed Gia stayed home, and that she was safe. He couldn’t lose his mother or Gia tonight.
* * *
8:30 p.m., December 19, Tinley
Gia splashed cold water on her face. Her eyes were swollen and puffy now, her cheeks flushed.
She had to pull herself together.
Think.
If Carly had been giving her a message, and she wasn’t referring to home, then where?
She strode back and forth in front of the picture window, shivering as Holly pounded them.
Christmas tree…
Childhood memories assaulted her. She and her family traipsing through the tree farm to choose the perfect tree. Then they’d chop it down, stow in it the cab of her dad’s pick-up truck. After he died when she was five, it was just she and Carly and their mother.
She glanced back at the tree, then the pictures on the mantle. An eight-by-ten of she and Carly having a snowfall fight at the Christmas tree farm. Moira and Leon Hanes ran the place and sold hand woven wreaths and garland. A life-size sleigh and statuesque reindeer sat to the right of the shed, a favorite photography spot for families. She and her sister had climbed in that sleigh every year and smiled at their mother.
The visit was always fun, except for the Hanes’ creepy son. Homer had been in charge of handing out axes and saws to the customers.
She studied the photograph again. Gossip had spread that Mr. Hanes was a mean drunk and beat his son. His wife just left one day, leaving Homer with his daddy. Then one day the Department of Family and Children’s Services had been called. The old man ran off and Homer was sent to foster care.
Another owner bought the property and had been running it ever since. They’d torn down the Hanes farmhouse and built a sprawling ranch a couple of miles away.
But the shed where the tools were stored remained.
Her pulse jumped. With the farm closed because of the weather, that shed would be the perfect place to hide out.
Adrenaline churning, she dragged on her coat, snow boots, gloves and hat, then snagged her purse and the keys to Murphy’s Jeep. Walking to the vehicle was a challenge. Her calf muscles ached with the effort to move against the force of the wind, and the chill burned her exposed cheeks, stinging as if blades of ice were stabbing her face.
She ducked into the vehicle, fired up the engine and rumbled down the drive. Twice, she almost ran off the road, but managed to right herself before sliding into a ditch. Finally, she spotted the shed in the distance.
The sleigh and reindeer still stood in the same place. She slowed, scanning the property as she approached. No movement, except for the trees swaying and bending.
She screeched to a stop, gripped her gun at the ready, wrapped her scarf around her face and headed toward the shed.
Just as she reached it, she heard a scream.
“Run, Gia, run!”
Carly.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
9:00 p.m., December 19, Tinley
Gia reached for the door handle to the shed, but a shadow moved behind her.
Two strong hands grabbed her into a chokehold. She kicked back and bucked, then tried to elbow her assailant, but he pressed a rag over her mouth and dragged her through the snow.
Cold and ice bit at her through her clothing. The world spun. Darkness beckoned.
Carly! She tried to scream her sister’s name, but the sound died in the violent wind gusts.
Think. Fight.
But a fog enveloped her brain, and the world slipped out of focus. She struggled to wrench free, but her limbs suddenly felt weighted. Lifeless. She couldn’t move them.
Then she collapsed into the darkness.
* * *
10:15 p.m., December 19, Tinley
Night was setting in. The storm was intensifying.
Murphy hadn’t heard from Gia in hours.
He called her for the dozenth time while he waited on his mother to wake up from surgery. She’d made it through the procedure and was in recovery.
No answer on Gia’s phone.
Murphy pressed her number again. Dammit, Gia, pick up.
It rang and rang, but nothing. What in the hell? Where was she?
Were the cell towers down?
He punched Cody’s number. “Have you heard from Special Agent Franklin?”
“No, was I supposed to?”
“No, but she’s not answering her phone,” Murphy said.
“Maybe it’s not charged,” Cody said. “Or she decided to sleep a while.”
Gia’s words taunted him. I won’t rest until I find Carly.
“Are you at the jail?” Murphy asked.
“Yes.”
“Is my Jeep there?”
“Not in the parking lot.”
Murphy scrubbed a hand over his face. He hoped to hell she was sleeping. He was bone tired himself. Gia had to be. “Gia took it to her house. I’m going by there and see if I can find her. Let me know if she shows up.”
Cody agreed, and Murphy went to talk to the nurse. “Can I see my mother now?”
She bit her bottom lip. “For just a minute. She’s pretty heavily sedated.”
“I don’t care. I have to go, but I need to see her first.”
She conceded, and he followed her to the recovery area. His mother lay so still that for a moment, emotions choked him.
The nurse touched his elbow. “She’s all right,” she murmured. “Just coming out of anesthesia.”
Murphy breathed out, then stepped over to the bed and cradled her frail hand in his. “Mom?”
She moaned softly, then her eyes flickered open. “Murph?”
“I’m here, Mom. You made it through surgery. They’ll be moving you to a room soon.”
She squeezed his hand although her grip was so weak he barely felt it.
“I have to go,” he said. “That case…”
“I know,” she murmured, her voice slurred from the drugs. “Don’t forget what I said. You need a woman.”
He chuckled and kissed her on the forehead. He was thinking about it. Trouble was, the only woman he wanted was Gia Franklin.
Cold fear knotted his belly as he left his mother and hurried outside.
The five-minute drive took over twenty minutes. Twenty minutes of terrifying scenarios bombarding him.
Gia had never made it home. She’d been accosted on the way. The Christmas Killer had her.
Bile rose in his throat. He had to find her, save her, tell her that he cared about her.
In spite of the freezing temperature, he was sweating by the time he finally reached the Franklin house. The driveway was empty. He parked, then climbed out and shined his flashlight on the path to the door in search of footprints or signs that she’d been there.
Twigs and debris littered the steps, and indentations in the snow indicated Gia—or someone else—had been here. The same on the porch.
He jiggled the door, and it opened easily.
A cold sense of dread ripped through him.
He pulled his gun and entered, scanning the entryway and beyond. The floor was damp, the wet stains about the size of a woman’s boots.
“Gia!”
A hollow emptiness echoed back, followed by the raging wind beating at the farmhouse.
He hurried through the kitchen and into the living area where he spotted the Christmas tree waiting. The box of ornaments sat beside it. Several lay on the floor as if Gia had been looking through them.
No Twelve Days ornaments though.
No Gia either.
He searched the house. Empty.
A half full teacup sat on the kitchen counter, left unfinished. Beside the teacup, sat a framed photograph of Gia and her sister posing at the Christmas tree farm.
Murphy gripped the edge of the table with clammy hands.
Where the hell was she?
* * *
&
nbsp; 11:30 p.m., December 19, Tinley
Gia had no idea how long she’d been unconscious. She’d been in and out for a while though. But each time she woke, she was too weak to do anything.
Because this sicko had injected her with that paralytic drug. What was he waiting for? Why not just kill her?
Did he need the storm to lift so he could choose the perfect place to pose her and Carly with those damn Christmas ornaments?
Thoughts jumbled together, nausea rolling through her. Murphy’s strong handsome face taunted her.
She hadn’t wanted to take him away from his mother. She had to be independent.
But she could have called someone. Brantley. Murphy’s deputy.
Why hadn’t she?
She could have trusted Murphy. She did trust him. She admired him, too.
She always had. Had always wanted him. Maybe that was the reason she hadn’t dated anyone seriously since. Murphy had stolen her heart years ago and she’d never gotten it back.
God help her, she wanted to tell him that. But her brain was fuzzy again. The drugs and nausea robbed her energy and sanity, and she gave into it and closed her eyes.
The next time she stirred, her hands and feet were bound, and a gag was stuffed in her mouth, nearly choking her. But she could move again. The drug was wearing off.
Still, it was so dark she couldn’t see anything. And cold, as if she was locked in a space with no heat.
She raked her hand across the floor and touched wood, then a wall. More wood. Curved. Metal above her.
A building? The shed at the tree farm?
The scent of pine and fertilizer hit her. Then the smell of fear.
A second later, she heard breathing.
Heart pumping, she yanked at the gag with her bound hands and pulled it away. “Carly?”
A low moan, then the breathing sped up, more erratic.
“Carly, honey, it’s Gia. Are you in here?”
A whimper, then a cry. Gia scooted across the floor. “Carly, I’m here. It’s okay.”