Cold Death

by Mary Stone

  The right restraint loosened enough for Katarina to slip her hand free. She caught a hint of body odor when she lifted her arm and slammed that sucker back down. Her goal was to attract this man, not run him off from her foul smell. “Oh wow, bet that’s frustrating as hell, especially when you’re so busy.”

  Metal creaked as he pulled the bedrail down so she could stand. She was glad that she’d been working her muscles as much as she could from her prone position, or she might not have had the strength to get onto her feet.

  “Nah, it’s honestly okay. Part of my job. Just don’t feel bad about calling for anything, especially when the restraints make it impossible for you to do stuff on your own.”

  “Thank you, you’re so sweet.”

  As he escorted Katarina to the tiny bathroom opposite the bed, the pink tinge to his cheeks told her the flattery was disarming him. Good. She flashed him a bright smile before shuffling inside the cramped space. The second the door shut, she jumped to work. No locks, but that shouldn’t be a problem as long as she was quiet.

  Katarina slipped off her underwear and shoved them in the toilet first. An army of paper towels from the metal holder followed. Once a small mountain formed inside the bowl, she crossed her fingers and flushed.

  The contents swirled, and her heart picked up tempo. Come on, come on. Show me the water.

  The water level surged and overflowed an instant later, spilling down the white porcelain into puddles on the linoleum floor. Katarina purposely soaked her socks before opening the door. “Help! The toilet is backed up!”

  The toilet kept gurgling and running as Jasper hurried over to investigate. His shoes splashed in the growing stream that spilled over into the main room. “Dammit!”

  He raked his hands through his hair before turning back to her. “Come with me. Let’s get you somewhere dry until we can fix this.” He led her out to the hall and pointed to the room next door. “You okay to wait here with Mrs. Thomas? She likes to chat when she’s not looking for her son. Hang on a sec.”

  Jasper grabbed a passing nurse. “Hey, can someone get a janitor on the line? We’ve got a busted toilet next door that’s leaking all over.”

  The woman, who looked to be nearly a hundred years old, nodded. “I’m headed back to the nurses’ station now. I’ll call.”

  “Thanks, I’ll be there in a minute.”

  He ushered Katarina into the room. “Good morning, Mrs. Thomas. I brought you some company.”

  A frail, birdlike old woman with a thin neck and sagging skin speckled with age spots peered at Katarina with round eyes. “Well, hello, dearie. Goodness, are you here for a luncheon? We’re not set up for that quite yet, and I still need my hat. Where is my hat, anyway?”

  She patted her straggly gray hair with a frown while glancing around the room.

  Jasper cast an anxious glance at the bed. “Sorry, she gets a little confused sometimes.”

  Katarina shrugged. “Don’t we all? Hey, do you think I could get some new socks? Mine are soaking wet.” She bent down and stripped off the squishy socks, tossing them into the laundry bin before leaning closer to Jasper and lowering her voice. “As long as you think it’s safe in here. You never know, maybe she only pretends to be a confused old woman to lure in unsuspecting patients.”

  “Well, it’s either her or the guy who has a fondness for stabbing people with pens. Don’t ask me where he keeps finding them.”

  “In that case, sounds like I’m chilling with Jesse’s mom.” Her gut cramped as she forced a smile. Hurry up. Leave.

  Jasper’s shoulders relaxed. “Wise choice. I need to pop out for a few minutes. Hang tight and hit her call light if you need anything.”

  “Will do.”

  As soon as he disappeared out the door, Katarina scooted closer to the bed. Usually, she’d take her time with this part, finesse the old woman a little, but that wasn’t an option today. She had minutes before the janitor arrived and Jasper reappeared with a fresh pair of fugly yellow socks in tow.

  This had to work.

  She inhaled and slipped into the old Katarina persona with ease. The same way she’d molded herself into the type of daughter each new set of parents wanted back before Kingsley swooped in and carted her away.

  With her heart fluttering like a hummingbird’s, Katarina reached out and grabbed the old woman’s chin, wrenching the wrinkled face around until she stared into those dazed blue eyes. Her other hand dug into the woman’s shoulder and gave her a brisk shake. “Jesse is dead. Do you hear me? Dead. I killed him. I slit his throat with my knife and watched him bleed all over the floor.”

  Confusion clouded the woman’s eyes at first…then her gummy lips opened wide, and she started to scream. Shrill, nerve-shredding shrieks burst into the room from that frail body, surprising Katarina with their force as she darted behind the door and waited.

  The old lady continued screaming until footsteps pounded down the hall.

  “Mrs. Thomas, what’s wrong?” The nurse ran straight to Mrs. Thomas’s bed, allowing Katarina to slip out of the room unnoticed as the old woman yelled and thrashed.

  “Code yellow, we have a code yellow in room six twenty!”

  The call spilled from the intercom, filling Katarina with an odd pang of regret as she speed-walked to the nurses’ station. A middle-aged, dark-haired nurse muttered under her breath before pushing the chair back. She made a shooing motion at Katarina with her hands. “Go back to your room. I can’t help you right now.”

  “My room’s the one with the overflowing toilet. I’ll just stand right here until you get back.”

  Muttering under her breath again, the nurse scurried down the hall. Katarina leaned against the wall and pretended to be bored while she tracked the nurse’s progress into Mrs. Thomas’s room. The back of her head was still visible in the doorway when Katarina raced into the nurses’ station and slapped the button that opened the locked double doors.

  She whirled as they swung open and raced for the opening. If anyone spotted her now, she was screwed.

  Three steps. Five steps. Seven. On the eighth step, she burst through the open doors and into the outer hallway. Out of the psych ward, but not yet free. She fled for the stairs, taking two at a time, circling down to the third-floor door before shoving the metal bar and popping out near a waiting area. Her pulse thundered like she’d been climbing for days as she checked for threats.

  A forty-something man sat on one of several couches, talking on a cell phone while staring at a TV. “Yeah, I’m just waiting on them to discharge her. No, they said her hip should be fine to go home now. She’s been using a walker to get around and has decent range of motion. We just need to make sure she keeps up her exercises once she’s back home…”

  Rehab floor. Perfect. No locked doors.

  Katarina veered left at the nurses’ station, heading straight toward the open door that led to the patient rooms. Unlike the psych floor, neither nurse here spared more than a passing glance as she hurried by, allowing Katarina’s breathing to return to a regular rhythm. She peeked into the first open doorway but kept walking when she spotted the patient sitting upright and flipping through channels on the TV. The second room had visitors clustered around the bed.

  She paused in the third doorway. Soft snores emitted from the elderly man who sprawled in bed with his eyes closed, but what really caught Katarina’s eyes were the blue hospital socks on the empty chair.

  Slipping inside, she tiptoed to the chair and slid the socks on her feet. After glancing at the bed to make sure the patient was still asleep, she rummaged around in the tiny closet and drawer.

  Clothes, two books, a family photo. No wallet or money.

  She went back to the clothes. No pants that worked, but the gray Berkeley sweatshirt would do. After turning the sweatshirt inside out to hide the logo and pulling it over her head, Katarina scurried from the room.

  Socks and shirt, check. Now she needed something to cover her bare legs.

  In
the hallway, another elderly man in a hospital gown was pushing a walker past while a white-haired woman kept pace and chattered in his ear. “Coco is doing fine, but I can tell she misses you and wants you to come home. She’s been crying at night and peeing on the floor.”

  Katarina adopted a stiff-legged, clumsy walk as she headed toward them, hoping that Coco was a dog. At just the right moment, she let her right leg buckle and stumbled into the woman’s oversized purse. “Oh no, I’m so sorry about that. Still getting the hang of this new knee.”

  The woman smiled. “That’s like my John here, except he’s getting used to his new hip. See, John? Getting a joint replacement doesn’t make you old.” John mumbled and continued pushing the walker. “Oh, don’t be such an old grumpy pants. Coco will be mad at you if you come home with that attitude.”

  Katarina retraced her steps down the hallway with the woman’s wallet tucked beneath her sweatshirt. Thank god the woman hadn’t paid enough attention to notice Katarina’s lack of a bandage or surgical scar.

  Sweat dampened her armpits as she hurried back past the nurses’ station. Any minute now, Jasper would notice she was gone. If Katarina was still inside the hospital when that moment arrived, she was toast.

  She raced down the last three flights of stairs, slowing her pace to a quick walk when she hit the lobby. Arrows pointed the path to the gift shop. Resisting the urge to peer over her shoulder, she rounded a corner and burst into the sweet-smelling space.

  Almost there.

  The clothing was near the front. She grabbed the first pair of sweatpants she found and moved on to slippers next. At the register, she grabbed a cheap pair of mirrored aviator-style glasses and a pink knit beanie. She paid for the purchases with a one-hundred-dollar bill she found tucked into the wallet.

  Less than five minutes later, Katarina hustled out the sliding glass doors, confident she was unrecognizable to the casual eye as the psych patient from the sixth floor. Especially not when she was wearing a pair of pink “New Mommy” sweatpants.

  The winter sun warmed her skin, and she paused for a moment to tilt her head back and drink in the natural light and fresh air.

  Freedom at last.

  Seconds later, she was moving again, losing herself among the other pedestrians and putting distance between her and the hospital.

  Now it was time to rescue her daughter.

  21

  The older woman headed down the sidewalk toward Chez La La’s black and white awning with the high chin and confident strides of someone accustomed to commanding attention. The rose-pink shade of her elegant pantsuit accentuated both a slender waist and taut, unlined skin that Ellie would bet money was thanks to regular Botox injections.

  She checked her watch. 10:26. Letitia Wiggins had arrived right on time for her hair appointment.

  No surprise there. Hank Crawford’s podcasts and articles, which Ellie had spent all last night poring over in her hotel room, had suggested as much. According to Hank, Letitia cared about appearances—physical and reputational—more than anything else. Ellie had been expecting an immaculately groomed and dressed woman, and so far, the former headmaster’s wife didn’t disappoint.

  The morning sun glinted off Letitia’s hair, turning the platinum strands a brilliant shade of white gold. In older photos, her hair had been coppery, more like Ellie’s own, but blonde was much better at hiding gray. If Ellie didn’t know better, she’d guess the woman’s age a decade or two younger than her sixty-some-odd years.

  A façade that Letitia obviously invested impressive amounts of money into maintaining.

  From the passenger side of the SUV, Ellie tracked the woman’s progress down the sidewalk a little longer, hopping out when Letitia was still about ten feet short of reaching the salon. She’d already argued with Shane about her safety, which was why he was standing over by the salon, pretending to play with his phone.

  She took two steps and cupped her hands to her mouth. “Aunt Letitia!”

  The woman’s shoulders stiffened. She turned, and Ellie waved and flashed her badge.

  “I’m Detective Kline, and I need a few minutes of your time.”

  Letitia Wiggins’s forehead remained smooth and unflustered at the announcement. Ellie couldn’t tell if that was because she had ice water in her veins or her aesthetician had gone a little overboard with the anti-wrinkle treatments.

  The tap of the woman’s silver kitten-heeled shoe against the pavement displayed her impatience, though. “I’m afraid that won’t be possible. I have an appointment, and besides, unless I’m under arrest, I have no legal obligation to speak to you.”

  Ellie strolled forward with an easy shrug. “You’re right. Go ahead inside. I can’t stop you. I was trying to spare you the embarrassment of asking questions about the Far Ridge Boy’s Academy as well as your husband Walter and Lawrence Kingsley in front of all the stylists, but you do you.”

  When Ellie first started speaking, Letitia was reaching for the door, but that last name made her hand fall to her side. She sighed before pivoting to face Ellie with her arms crossed over her chest.

  Those icy blue eyes traveled over Ellie’s outfit, hair, face, inspecting and dismissing her as unworthy in less than five seconds. Her toe resumed its rhythmic tap.

  None of her antics fazed Ellie in the least. She’d attended hundreds of dinner parties with women far more imperious than Letitia Wiggins and had always managed to stand her ground during interactions ranging from disinterested to snobby to downright rude. Without fail, all those individuals suffered from the same mistaken belief that their lives were oh-so-important compared to others’ and loathed having anyone waste their valuable time.

  When Letitia cast a pointed glare at the diamond-encrusted watch on her wrist, Ellie lifted the white takeout cup to her lips and pretended to savor a sip of old coffee. She made Letitia wait through two more sips, the other woman’s seething annoyance over her unhurried pace worth every cold, bitter drop. “I’m looking for information that might help lead us to Kingsley’s whereabouts.”

  No change in Letitia’s expression, but the silver shoe stopped moving. The woman cast a furtive glance at the sidewalk, as if worried someone might overhear. “My boarding school days ended long ago, Detective. I haven’t been in contact with Mr. Kingsley for many years now.”

  “I find that surprising, Ms. Wiggins. I was under the impression that the two of you were…very close once.”

  Her lips flattened, and her green-gold eyes turned glacial. “I take it you’ve been listening to that boy.”

  Ellie leaned her shoulders against the decorative streetlamp and crossed her ankles. “I’m sorry, I’m not allowed to discuss my sources outside of the department. I’d be curious to know which boy you’re referring to, though.” Setting her cup down on a nearby bench, she fished a small, unused notebook and pen from her blazer pocket and flipped open to the first page.

  Letitia’s uneasy gaze remained on the notebook a beat too long. “You coming here and harassing me like this is a form of abuse. I was a victim of my husband’s horrifying behavior. Scared half to death. Did you know I was pregnant at the time all that nonsense happened?”

  The quivering lower lip was a nice touch. Ellie pretended to buy the story, projecting sympathy into her voice. “I imagine that was a very difficult situation for you.”

  Letitia nodded, blinking in rapid succession. “It was.”

  “So, how is your child doing these days? Well, I hope.”

  The woman hitched her shoulders up and looked down her nose. “I’m afraid I wouldn’t know because I gave her up for adoption. After that ordeal, I could hardly be expected to keep the child now, could I?”

  Her arrogant bearing and calculated delivery tugged at Ellie’s memory.

  Kingsley. This woman held herself and spoke almost exactly like Kingsley.

  The realization triggered a memory, and Ellie was transported back to the cold, damp warehouse where the battered woman with the short, dark hai
r was tied to the chair opposite her. The other prisoner’s face was clearer this time, allowing Ellie to glimpse the Cupid’s bow mouth and wary, wide-set eyes. Strip off the thick layers of makeup, and the woman became a girl. Three, maybe only four years older than Ellie had been.

  Combined with the skimpy clothes and caked-on eyeshadow, her jutting collarbones and skinny arms and legs pegged the girl as living on the streets.

  Ellie recalled one particular moment when Kingsley had sneered down his nose at the woman after she’d called him a sick fuck who probably got off on torturing women. Kingsley had looked at her in almost the exact same manner as Letitia and said, “You can’t expect me to give credence to the opinions of a slut like you.”

  Spoken in the exact same derisive tone that Letitia Wiggins had used to describe her own child.

  Not an endearing quality in someone whose past job was tending to other people’s children.

  By the time Ellie cleared her head, Letitia Wiggins was turning away. “If you have anything else to ask, you’ll have to speak with my lawyer.” The bell jingled as she swept into the salon.

  Ellie stood her ground outside the door long enough to wiggle her fingers at the aggravating woman through the glass wall when she peered out. Once Letitia whirled away, Ellie dumped the nasty coffee into a trash can and returned to the waiting SUV.

  The usually taciturn Shane caught up with her and spared her a glance as she climbed into the passenger seat, his eyes hidden behind a pair of aviator-style sunglasses. “She’s not your favorite person.”

  “Whatever gave you that impression?” At his grunt, Ellie shook her head and strapped the seat belt across her chest. “You’re right. She’s not. She reminds me too much of a monster.”

  Shane knew better than to pry. “Where to now?”

  Ellie scrolled through her phone until she located the necessary information. “Next, we’re going to pay Dorothy Hindman a visit.”

  She rattled off the address, staring out the windshield while her bodyguard programmed the details into the GPS. Minutes later, the Explorer was cruising down the interstate toward the residence of the former Far Ridge Academy’s secretary.