Cold Death

by Mary Stone

  Ellie used the forty-minute trip north to rehearse questions. They arrived before noon, with Shane pulling the SUV up to the curb in front of a simple, one-story home in an attractive but ungated retirement community. A little duck pond was located across the street, where two senior citizens lounged in camping chairs and cast fishing lines into one end.

  A welcome mat decorated with daisies sat beneath a cheery red door, but the woman in the baby blue track suit who opened the door was anything but. Her mouth was turned down into a permanent frown, and she glowered when Ellie introduced herself.

  “I don’t give a single hoot if you’re the president of the United States let alone some lady detective. I don’t have anything to say about Far Ridge or anyone who worked there.”

  Dorothy Hindman planted her sturdy legs wide and glared through maroon-rimmed bifocals. The top of her pink-tinted white head didn’t even reach Ellie’s shoulder, but what she lacked in inches, she more than made up for in attitude.

  “What about Lawrence Kingsley, then? Can you tell me about him or where I might be able to find him?”

  If Dorothy’s mouth turned down before, now it positively drooped. She threw her hands up in the air. “And now you’re asking about that poor boy? What is this?”

  “I’m sorry…poor boy? Why poor boy?” To the best of Ellie’s recollection, no one had ever referred to Kingsley like that before.

  The former secretary smacked her forehead and made a frustrated noise. “Why do you think? Because of the way Letitia abused him, of course. Isn’t that why you’re here?”

  “Letitia abused Kingsley? As in physically?”

  While Ellie tried to wrap her head around that revelation, the secretary scoffed. “I don’t know, you tell me. Is that what they’re calling child molestation these days?”

  The accusation dealt Ellie a stunning blow, leeching the oxygen from her lungs. Letitia had molested Kingsley? Was that possible? Hank Crawford hadn’t so much as eluded to that in his podcasts or during their in-person meeting.

  “Let me make sure I have this straight. You believe that Letitia Wiggins, the former headmaster’s wife of Far Ridge Boy’s Academy, had sexual relations with Lawrence Kingsley while he was a student there?”

  Dorothy harrumphed. “That’s right. I believe it, and so does just about everyone else who was at the academy at the time. It was the talk of the school.”

  “And Walter Wiggins? Did he know?”

  The older woman threw her hands up in the air. “Well, who can rightly say? But he sure didn’t let her keep that baby she whelped later on that year, did he?”

  Baby? A terrible suspicion poked at Ellie. No…surely not…

  “The baby was given up for adoption, right? Can you tell me more about that?”

  “No, I cannot, because, unlike some people,” the woman scowled at Ellie, “I know how to mind my own business.”

  “I understand. Can you—” Ringing from her jacket pocket interrupted her. Ellie waited until the noise stopped to finish the question, but a chirp followed the call. “Excuse me.”

  She pulled her phone out to read the text from Clay.

  Call me back ASAP. Important.

  Her gut clenched. “I’m so sorry, but I need to return this call quickly.”

  Leaving Dorothy to harrumph and glower from the doorway, Ellie turned and retreated a few steps back toward the curb while the line rang.

  “Clay? What is it?”

  “Katarina.” He sounded like he was running. “She’s escaped from the hospital.”

  22

  Ellie unlocked her apartment door to seventy pounds of exuberant, slobbering dog. Sam wiggled from head to toe with her tongue dangling out, threading between Ellie’s legs and whining until she stopped and patted her black, furry head. “What, did Jillian make you eat Kibbles ‘n Bits while she feasted on lobster and steak on your date night?”

  “Please! That dog probably ate more of my dinner than I did. We saved the Kibble ‘n Bits for you.” Jillian popped around the corner, already dressed for bed in a pair of pajamas covered in grinning sushi rolls. “Also, hi, honey. How was your trip?”

  Ellie dropped the laptop bag to the floor and arched her tight back, letting the warmth of the familiar surroundings and her best friend’s smile wash over her and ease some of the day’s tension away. “Longer than expected. I think I spent more time in the car than I did anywhere else.”

  Jillian pulled a sympathetic face and tucked a loose blonde strand behind her ear. “Sorry, those are the worst kind of road trips. Want something to drink? I’ve got a kettle on.”

  “Herbal tea sounds great, please.” Ellie trailed Jillian into the kitchen, ignoring the stools to lean against the granite countertop. She’d had more than enough sitting over the past twenty-four hours. “Any updates yet?”

  Jillian shook her head as she grabbed the kettle off the stove and poured water into a Sherlock Holmes mug. “Not really. Everyone’s still out searching high and low for Bethany, but there hasn’t been any sign of her yet.”

  Not good, in terms of Bethany’s chances. Every passing hour in a kidnapping case reduced the probability that a child would be recovered alive. If she gave Charli Cross a call, the Savannah detective could undoubtedly rattle off the likelihood of finding Bethany in time within two seconds flat. Tempting, if Ellie wanted to sink into a pit of despair.

  So maybe not.

  Jillian set the mug on the counter. Ellie warmed her hands around the porcelain and blew on the fragrant, citrusy steam while Jillian returned to the sink.

  She turned on the faucet, splashing water over the plates. “I’m just washing up from dinner. Did you eat yet? I made a pasta salad. Leftovers are in the fridge.”

  Despite the worry squeezing her temples, Ellie’s gaze softened on her roommate’s back. Jillian was always fussing over Ellie and feeding her. “Thanks, I had a burrito.” No sense kicking those mother hen instincts into overdrive by telling her it was a breakfast burrito purchased from a drive-through over twelve hours ago.

  Once Jillian loaded the dishwasher, she dried her hands on a sunny yellow towel and joined Ellie at the counter, stifling a yawn. “I printed all that stuff out that you asked for about Kingsley and the Far Ridge Boy’s Academy, and whatever I could find on those student deaths. Oh, and I went ahead and reprinted your case file, on the chance it might come in handy.”

  Ellie finished a sip of tea and pushed the mug aside, overwhelmed by a cascade of emotion. “What would I do without you?”

  “Oh, I don’t know. Spend less time lint-rolling black hairs off your ass, for one.”

  At Jillian’s snicker, Ellie shook her head. “No, I mean it.”

  Unlike most people, Ellie didn’t have many friends. Not growing up, and not as an adult. That was okay, though, because Jillian was one of the best friends anyone could ever ask for. “One of the luckiest days of my life was the day I met you.”

  Her friend pretended to frown, leaning across the counter to press the back of her hand to Ellie’s forehead. “You sure you’re feeling okay? Oh god, please tell me this isn’t leading to a big reveal of a cancer diagnosis or something?”

  Ellie batted Jillian away. “Stop! I promise I’m not about to spring a Nicholas Sparks twist on you, okay?” She rubbed her eyes with her fists. “The long drive and stress from the case must be making me sentimental, that’s all. Now, thanks for waiting up, but shoo! Go to bed and take that hairy beast with you.”

  “I already have one hairy beast in my bed.”

  Ellie smiled. “Are you talking about Jacob or Duke?”

  That earned her a laugh. “Correction. I already have two hairy beasts in my bed, so this one will make three.”

  Ellie wished that Jacob was awake because she barely got to see him anymore since they worked opposite shifts. “Tell both Jacob and Duke that they aren’t supposed to be sleeping on the job.”

  Jillian rolled her eyes. “I don’t need a bodyguard, man or canine, thank yo
u very much.”

  Ellie wished that was true. “Sleep well.”

  Jillian yawned. “You too.” She snapped her fingers. “Come along, hairy beast.”

  Sam trotted at Jillian’s heels as her roommate wandered toward her bedroom. Right before she rounded the corner, she paused and grinned over her shoulder. “I think I’m pretty lucky too. Night.”

  “Night.”

  Once the door clicked shut, Ellie stretched again and headed for the fridge. After staring at the contents for over a minute without a single item tempting her, she shut the door again. Selection wasn’t the problem. Jillian’s pasta salad was to die for, and the fridge was packed with an assortment of easy-prep meals and snacks. Ellie just wasn’t hungry.

  The shock of Dorothy Hindman’s gruesome accusation concerning Letitia Wiggins and Kingsley when he’d been a student had stolen her appetite.

  With Jillian’s printouts in hand, Ellie headed for her own bedroom, frustrated when that little niggle in the back of her head returned, telling her she was missing something. But what?

  She flipped on her light and went straight for the bed, kicking off her shoes before flopping onto the thick, squishy comforter. Names and faces circled through her brain, round and round without stopping.

  Letitia. Kingsley. The three dead boys. Bethany.

  Why did she sense a connection there? How did that even make sense? She concentrated, searching for common threads, but each time she came close to grasping one, the thought slipped away like a shadow in the night.

  “Ugh.” Ellie flung an arm over her eyes, but sleep was a joke when her mind buzzed like this. After lying there a few minutes, she sat up, grabbed her case file, and flipped to the first page.

  Maybe sheer boredom would help lull her to sleep. She’d gone over all the information before, on multiple occasions. The time and date of her kidnapping, her confused mental state when she was found, the victim statement the officer had taken at the hospital. Nothing new there.

  As Ellie scanned through the file, her mind wandered to the psychiatrist who was once employed by the department. Dr. Ernest Powell. During mandated sessions, Dr. Powell had worked with Ellie on recovering lost memories around her kidnapping, and though the visits were tough and often painful, she’d been grateful at the time.

  Right up until she discovered Dr. Powell was one of Kingsley’s lackeys, planted in the department to keep tabs on her.

  She rubbed her neck, frowning at the pages without really seeing them. Why was she so stuck on this? As awful and invasive as the revelation about Dr. Powell had been, she’d processed that trauma already. But her brain refused to drop it. Psychiatrist. Her psychiatrist had been crooked. Why was that ringing a bell?

  Ellie stiffened. Another psychiatrist had come up in the past couple of days. Back in the Savannah PD, Charli had pointed out a section of Letitia Wiggins’s trial transcript, where an eloquent psychiatrist spoke on her behalf. His conclusion that Wiggins suffered from Battered Women’s Syndrome had likely gone a long way toward procuring her the light sentence.

  She dialed Charli’s number.

  “Did you arrive home safely?”

  Ellie blinked. No hello, just straight to the point. No one could accuse Charli Cross of beating around the bush. “I did, thanks. I was wondering if you could send me copies of those transcripts we went over? Pictures are fine. You can text them if that’s easiest.”

  “Yes. I’m in the middle of something, but I should be able to get those to you first thing in the morning.”

  “Thank you, that’s perfect.”

  “Good.”

  Once again, the line clicked without Charli saying goodbye. Ellie shrugged, already growing accustomed to the Savannah detective’s abrupt send-off. She gathered the papers into a pile and set them on the bedside table, then went to her dresser and pulled a t-shirt and a pair of soft-knit pajama pants from the drawer and carried both into the bathroom.

  She was about to twist on the faucet to wash her face when the doorbell rang. Who the hell?

  When the bell rang again and again, she hurried to the front entrance, a hold your horses on the tip of her tongue.

  Ellie peered through the peephole and gasped. Fumbling for the lock, she twisted the knob and swung open the door.

  Katarina stood in the hall, illuminated by the soft glow of an overhead light. The woman’s hair was mussed and a little oily, like it was in need of a good wash, but her ridiculous, very un-Katarina outfit of pink beanie and matching sweatpants paired with slippers stood out more.

  As silly as she looked, nothing was more prominent than the navy-blue baby carrier strapped to her chest.

  Ellie gaped at the woman, wishing she’d thought to grab her gun. “For the love of god, please tell me there’s not an actual baby in there.”

  Katarina removed the thin pink blanket draped across the top of the carrier. Nestled inside was a plastic doll. “But shh, don’t tell little Suzy. She thinks she’s real. All the better to go with my sweatpants.”

  She stuck out a leg so Ellie could read the white letters running up the side. New Mommy. “Why are you wearing…that?” Ellie waved her hand to encompass the entire ensemble. “Better yet, what the hell are you doing here?”

  Katarina nudged her shoulder with her chin, drawing Ellie’s attention to where the gray sweatshirt was stained red with blood.

  “I was hoping you had some clothes I could borrow.”

  23

  Katarina sat behind the table in the fancy dining room, keeping her hands in plain sight and doing her best to seem as nonthreatening as possible. Not the easiest job when Ellie’s roommate scrutinized every move she made with the gun in her right hand held at the ready. That’d be rich, if, after her wild and crazy life, Katarina ended up getting taken out by a tiny blonde in cartoon sushi pajamas.

  She surveyed the room, pausing on the wide-legged stance of Ellie’s bodyguard. Definitely not her biggest fan. The death stare he drilled into Katarina from across the room was unnerving, and in her opinion, a little misplaced. She’d stooped to begging and pleading to prevent Ellie from calling the cops, not a loaded gun.

  The rest of the apartment was roomy and elegant, decorated in that tasteful sort of way that rich people used to mask the fact that they were rolling in dough. Please. Katarina bet the carpet was some top-of-the-line, premium crap, created in limited supplies and handcrafted from the wool of prize-winning sheep that were only fed organic wheat, or whatever the hell sheep ate.

  “Here.”

  Ellie tossed a pizza box onto the table near Katarina, next to a massive bowl of pasta salad. When she opened the cardboard lid, Katarina almost moaned out loud at the heavenly scent that wafted free.

  Cheese. Pepperoni. Sausage. So much deliciousness in one package. After the cardboard flavor of the hospital food and endless containers of Jell-O, fresh pizza was a miracle.

  She lurched for the box but drew up short when movement caught her eye. The roommate’s gun arm had twitched. That woman was too jumpy by half.

  Meanwhile, the red-haired detective was also keeping close tabs on her from across the table, even though she acted more nonchalant. No obvious gun, but Katarina had zero doubts she was armed too. Goody. Stuck between a trigger-happy runt in kid’s jammies and a stuck-up detective with an ax to grind. She could sense the indigestion setting in already.

  Her mouth watering, Katarina made a big show of inching her hand toward the box. Torture, when all she wanted to do was cram a slice into her mouth, but no pizza was worth a bullet in the skull. No matter how delicious it smelled.

  She retrieved a piece with equal care, and finally, sank her teeth in. Tomatoes and cheese and spicy meat swarmed her taste buds, and her eyes fluttered shut as she savored the experience. So, so damn good.

  Katarina polished off half the slice before opening her eyes to find the two other occupants both sitting at the table now, acting a little more relaxed, like her obvious hunger had eased their overactive nerve
s. Good. She had too much to do to afford getting tackled by Carrot Top and Sushi Girl.

  Bodyguard man, though, looked like he would spring at her at any second.

  After plopping another piece on her plate, Katarina zeroed in on Ellie. “Where’s my daughter?”

  “That’s what I’d like to know too.”

  “You’re telling me you’ve got nothing yet?” Katarina scoffed. “So much for Charleston PD going all out when needed or appointing the best and brightest.”

  Ellie stopped sipping her water and smacked the bottom of the glass on the table. “I’m about two seconds away from putting that criticism to test by calling your presence in. Which is exactly what I should have done the moment I saw you outside my front door.”

  Uh oh, she’d hit a nerve with that one. Usually, nothing would give Katarina more delight than ruffling the redhead’s feathers, but for now, she needed the detective’s aid. She lifted both hands as a peace offering. “Hey, it’s not like I’m doing anything illegal by being here. Sure, I left AMA, but I wasn’t under arrest.”

  Ellie’s eyes narrowed. “Leaving a hospital against medical advice isn’t a crime, but the last time I checked, breaking and entering a locked building was absolutely illegal. How’d you get in? Wait, never mind, I can guess. The same way you got past Shane over there,” she gestured toward the grumpy bodyguard, “with your mom disguise.”

  Katarina only shrugged. Turned out, a new mommy outfit was almost as good as having a key to the door. Katarina had remained hidden from view until one of Ellie’s female neighbors approached the building. She’d fallen in beside her long before the bodyguard ever glanced in their direction.

  With the baby carrier, outfit, and blanket conveniently covering her bloody shoulder, no one had come close to second-guessing her ruse. By the time they’d reached the locked door, Katarina had sold the woman on her frazzled new mom act. The middle-aged brunette had expressed nothing but sympathy when Katarina shared that she was visiting her cousin Ellie’s apartment, but silly, sleep-deprived her had locked her keys inside.