“I couldn’t let her go,” she said. “I mean, if it weren’t for that picture, me holding a gun on her... I couldn’t let her show that to the police, and she would have, I knew she would have. There I was, just trying to do right by my father, and she turns the tables, makes me the villain.”
“So you tried to shoot her,” I said, “and ended up chasing her onto the lake.”
“She kept zigzagging. I couldn’t get a clear shot.”
“Did you know the ice was too thin to support her?” I asked.
“No, that was a... fortunate development. It solved my problem. At least I thought so at the time.”
“When she fell in,” I said, “you assumed she had this camera with her.”
“I only saw her from the back,” she said. “I thought it was still around her neck. I figured the water would destroy it, obliterate any images on it. Then yesterday when you told me they never found the camera and didn’t think it was in the lake, I knew I had to get to it before anyone else did.”
I pictured Brenda standing at the edge of the lake, watching Allison fall through the ice, watching her struggle to save herself, and making no effort to help her.
She said, “At first, after she died, I was glad. I thought she’d gotten what she deserved. But now... now I’ll have her death on my conscience for the rest of my life. And it’s all her fault.”
“Allison’s?”
“Skye’s! If she hadn’t made up that awful story about Allison killing Dad... She was so convincing. If Skye hadn’t been such a horrible, conniving bitch, none of this would have happened.”
What Skye had done, trying to convict an innocent woman of murder, was indeed horrible. And yet it wasn’t Skye who’d phoned Allison on Christmas Day to suggest a walk in the woods. It wasn’t Skye who’d brought a gun along on that walk.
Allison had had such high hopes for her stroll in the woods with her late husband’s daughter. Maybe this means we’ll be able to clear the air and move on.
Brenda was watching me intently. I schooled my expression, too late. She said, “You have no intention of keeping your mouth shut.”
“What, are you kidding? And forfeit four hundred grand?” I almost said I’d kill for that kind of money. “My mouth is shut, and shut it’s going to stay.”
She produced the gun once more and pointed it at my chest. “Who else knows you’re here?”
“No one. I swear.” I started to remove the camera from around my neck, a show of solidarity with my new partner. “Here, don’t you want this—”
“Leave that on,” she said. “I don’t believe you. I think you told those detective friends of yours where you were going. And I think you’re going to run right to them as soon as you drive away from here.”
“Brenda, I—”
“Move.” She jerked her head in the direction of the lake, out of sight now behind the dense trees.
“This is crazy, you know that, right?” I said, as I began to retrace my steps through the woods. “We have a good arrangement. It’s a win-win. Don’t blow it by doing something stup—” I yelped as she jabbed the gun barrel into my back, prodding me to walk faster.
“You thought you were so smart,” she sneered. “How smart do you feel now?”
“I’m telling you, you have it wrong,” I insisted. “Let’s just stick to the plan.”
“Jane was too nosy. That’s what people will say. She was obsessed with Allison, got herself all worked up, convinced herself it wasn’t an accident. She took the whole thing too far, and look where it got her.”
“You know what?” I said as the snow-covered lake came into view through the trees. “You’re right, I did tell the detectives where I was going. Howie and Cookie know where I am right now. They’re waiting to hear from me.”
“Then they’ll be very sad when you go missing and they come here looking for you. It’ll be too late then for their nosy friend.”
Fear pitched my voice higher. “They’ll know it was you, Brenda. They know you were the one here with Allison that day.”
“Oh, really? She told her mother she was meeting someone, but not who. You said so yourself. No one knows I was here that day and no one knows I’m here now. I made sure of that.”
“Our footprints.” I gestured behind us.
“It’s supposed to warm up today. All this snow will melt, or enough to erase the footprints.” We were at the edge of the lake. She shoved me. “Keep walking.”
“What? Out there?”
“You can take a bullet right here or you can take your chances on the ice,” she said. “Your choice.”
Naturally she preferred the latter. It all came back to that bloody-body thing. Why take a risk like that when she could make it look like I’d died the same way Allison had, a victim of my own self-destructive obsession?
I happened to know something she didn’t, which is that the ice on this lake was now plenty thick enough to support my weight. Hadn’t the padre and I skated on it less than three weeks earlier? It was true that temperatures had been mild since then, but mild enough to weaken seven inches of ice? I was no expert on the subject, but if I had to bet, I’d bet it was still safe.
Once I got out there, however, and Brenda realized her mistake, what then? I’d be totally exposed, a ridiculously easy target in that unbroken expanse of white.
I flinched as she tapped the back of my head with the tip of the gun barrel. “What’ll it be, Jane?”
“Okay, okay.” I commenced my trek onto the lake, hurriedly slogging through several inches of wind-riffled snow, trying to put as much distance as I could between my back and Brenda’s gun. At any moment I expected her to realize her mistake and pull the trigger.
I was about fifteen yards out when I dared a peek behind me. Brenda’s expression was a mixture of bafflement and alarm. She raised the gun and I ran.
Or tried to. It was slow-motion running, like those frustrating dreams where you’re expending all this effort but making little headway. I tripped and fell, which is the only thing that saved me as the first bullet zinged past my right ear. She was a decent shot, at least at this range.
I got my feet under me and barreled on, stumble-running, hunched over, trying to make myself a smaller target. A bullet tore through my left sleeve at the shoulder.
Reflexively I glanced back and saw that Brenda had followed me onto the ice and was swiftly closing the distance between us. She stopped to aim and I flattened myself to the snow as two more bullets ripped through the space I’d just vacated.
How many shots did a gun like that hold? This was something else I knew little about. I did know that a revolver holds fewer bullets than a semiautomatic, which was good news unless she’d come prepared to reload.
Brenda was close enough now that I doubted she’d miss again. As I struggled to my feet, I recalled what she’d said about Allison—she kept zigzagging—and abruptly lunged to the right. Something punched the side of my left butt cheek, throwing me off balance and collapsing my legs.
I tumbled into a gentle depression in the snow and lay there panting, trying to orient myself, trying to think. I was shot, but how seriously? And how many bullets did she have left? She only needed one to finish the job.
I struggled to roll onto my side so I could get up and keep running, if that was even possible. I had no idea how far the bullet had penetrated. Could it reach a major organ through my fanny?
I’d managed to get my knees under me when I heard Brenda’s boots approaching in a leisurely fashion. Looking up, squinting against the blinding sunlight, I watched her halt a few feet away. I watched her raise her gun and take careful aim at my head.
The solid surface under me suddenly shifted, with an audible crack. Wildly I looked around and realized the slight depression I’d rolled into was the place where Allison had been cut out of the ice. It hadn’t been cold enough since then for a stable layer to re-form in this spot. Before I could react, the thin ice I’d been lying on imploded, plunging me
into the glacially cold lake.
I sank with startling speed, dragged down by the weight of my clothing, fighting with all my strength against the overpowering urge to gasp. My boots were anchors, as was the heavy camera hanging around my neck, the strap now twisted tight as a noose.
The camera would be useless now, the incriminating image destroyed—which, I belatedly realized, is why Brenda had made me hold on to it. Once I was dead, and that single piece of evidence obliterated, she could never be brought to justice.
My gunshot wound burned like a brand, competing with the knifelike pain of the cold water. I was disoriented, starved for air, flailing in terror. I had no idea which way was up.
A tiny, calm, self-protective part of my brain rose up to smack some sense into the big, passive, panic-stricken part that was insisting it would be a swell idea to inhale lake water. Get a grip! tiny, calm Jane ordered. Find the hole you fell through.
Looking all around as my air-starved lungs burned and I continued to sink, I spied rays of morning sunlight streaming through a patch of blue sky, vivid against the opaque expanse of pale, snow-covered ice. Without pausing to appreciate the National Geographic moment, I swam with all my might, my uncoordinated limbs frantically shoving at the frigid water, making such sluggish progress I expected my lungs to burst at any moment.
At last, miraculously, my head breached the surface. My noisy gasps rang in my ears as I grabbed hold of the edge of the ice, only to have it break off in my hands. A shadow fell over me as I struggled to tread water. I squinted up at Brenda, her gun hand hanging relaxed by her side.
“Brenda!” I gasped. “Help me!” I tried to move toward her as the thin ice splintered beneath my grasping hands. She stared down at me, a passive observer.
Too soon, my strength gave out and I went under once more. My body seemed even weightier than before, pulling me down. I had nothing left to fight with. Why battle the inevitable when it would be so easy, so natural, to simply let go?
An image came to me then. Martin’s stricken face looking down at me, at my dead body under the ice.
Like hell!
Adrenaline kicked my heart and threw my muscles into overdrive. I swam hard, pushing the water away, aiming for the patch of blue overhead.
I broke the surface once more, thinking, This is when I get a bullet to the brain. At least it’ll be fast. But Brenda was nowhere to be seen. She’d taken off, apparently confident I’d die here just like Allison had. After all, if strong, fit Allison Zaleski couldn’t save herself, what chance did lazy, exercise-averse, junk-food-loving Jane Delaney have?
I’d be lying if I told you I wasn’t asking myself the same depressing question. But even as I asked it, I commenced bashing my way through the thin, recently formed ice, aiming for the shelf of solid ice beyond it.
By the time I reached it, I just hung on, exhausted, gasping for air. I knew better than to rest for too long. That lovely surge of adrenaline was ebbing. It wouldn’t take long for shock to set in, with hypothermia not far behind. I had to keep moving.
Knowing I had to hoist myself onto the solid ice was one thing. Accomplishing the feat? Not exactly a given, considering my current depleted, wounded state. The ice was slippery and covered with snow, and that damn camera kept getting in the way. Finally I paused, holding on to the ice with one hand while untwisting the neck strap with the other. I pulled the camera off and tossed it onto the frozen lake.
That’s when it occurred to me that I had an advantage Allison had lacked: reliably solid ice. The day she’d died, the entire lake was covered in thin ice. She’d managed to run this far before it gave way under her, but any attempt to extricate herself would have meant relying on an unstable surface that cracked beneath her weight. It was little wonder she’d perished.
I made another attempt to pull myself onto the ice, and actually managed to dig one elbow into the snow before sliding off again.
This isn’t working, calm Jane said.
Yeah, no kidding, panic-stricken Jane answered. Got any bright ideas?
If only I had something I could jab into the ice to help me gain purchase. My keys wouldn’t be much help, they were too small. I needed something like an icepick or a screwdriver or—
Or that stupid self-defense spike Dom had given me, and which, humoring him, I’d obediently attached to my key ring. I shoved my numb fingers into my jacket pocket, extracted the key ring, fumbled and dropped it, but managed to grab it again before it drifted to the bottom of the lake.
The purple, five-inch spike had finger grooves all down its length. I got a fierce grip on it, raised my arm over the ice, and jammed it down as hard as I could, keys jangling. It penetrated a short distance, providing the leverage I needed to hoist myself a few inches.
Once I had both forearms and elbows on the ice, I pried the spike free and aimed for a spot a few inches away, heaving my body up a bit more. I got my legs into the act now, stretching them out behind me in the water and kicking, helping to propel myself forward.
In this way I managed gradually to inch my torso onto the ice, then my hips. Finally I dragged my legs out and rolled away from the hole, hollering as pain lanced my wounded caboose.
I lay there panting, staring up at the brilliant blue sky. I wasn’t out of trouble yet. I was wet and weak, and shivering violently. Plus I was, you know, lying in snow.
Automatically I groped in my jacket, looking for my cell phone, praying that, like Allison’s phone, it would be functional after its icy dunking.
I pushed the button and, don’t you know, the darn thing lit up, displaying my home-screen icons. I actually chuckled as I tapped 9-1-1.
I still hate technology. Except when... well, you know.
16
The Ice Queen Cometh
“WHY ISN’T SHE still in the hospital?” Dom asked.
“Because she wanted to come home.” Sophie gestured at our surroundings, at my huge, richly appointed master bedroom, designed and furnished by its previous owner, Irene McAuliffe. “You telling me this doesn’t beat some crappy hospital room?”
His worried gaze settled on yours truly, propped up in the middle of my king-size bed, tucked beneath Irene’s exquisite silk-and-linen bedspread, hand woven in shades of coral, pale green, and ivory. Well, of course I’d kept it, since the alternative would have been to replace it with whatever cheap thing I could afford. Sexy Beast lay curled against my side, his dark little gaze darting between my ex and the town’s irascible mayor as they stood there bickering.
He said, “She needs professional medical attention. She could take a turn for the worse at any moment.”
“From a grazing wound?” Sophie crossed her arms and stared Dom down. “It’s been stitched. She’s got her antibiotics. She’s got her painkillers. She’s got me. And I’m not leaving till she jumps up from that bed and chases me out of this house with a stick.”
“She almost drowned!” he said.
I spoke up. “May I say something?”
“She didn’t drown,” Sophie said. “Her lungs are clear. Hospitals suck. They have germs. You’re being an ass, Dom.”
“Why, because I’m concerned?” he said. “Because I want the best possible care for my— for Janey? When the EMTs reached her, she was already in hypothermia.”
“Yeah, and she got treated at the hospital and now she’s not.”
Sexy Beast emitted a long-suffering sigh.
“Um, guys?” I said.
Dom pulled out his cell phone and started tapping the screen. “I’m going to hire round-the-clock nurses to stay with her. Why take a chance?”
Sophie tossed her hands up. “She’s fine! You’re overreact—”
“Guys!” I shouted. They both turned to me. “She is capable of making her own decisions.”
Sophie smacked Dom’s shoulder. “Isn’t that what I’ve been telling you?”
He raised his palms placatingly. “Of course you are, Janey, I know that. It’s just that the hypothermia affected you
more than you might realize. In terms of your judgment. Your decision making. You were pretty confused in the hospital, didn’t even know where you were.”
“Only until they got me warmed up and everything,” I said. “That was hours ago. I’m a hundred percent now.” Okay, maybe seventy-nine percent. Getting a full charge might take a while.
Dom had been there in the hospital with me the whole time. So had Sophie. And before you ask, no, Martin had not made an appearance there. I wasn’t sure how I felt about that.
Oh, who am I kidding? I knew precisely how I felt about it.
It was close to six p.m., more than ten hours since the first responders had descended on that frozen lake. By that time, I’d been pretty out of it. I remembered little of the rescue itself, a blur of people and activity. I don’t want to think about what would have happened if my cell phone hadn’t worked. Turns out those gadgets are more resilient than I’d assumed.
He said, “Janey—”
“If you’re going to keep this up, I’m gonna have to ask you to leave,” I said. “But I’m keeping the soup.”
Dom had brought me a gallon of homemade chicken noodle soup, conveniently divided into serving-size Janey’s Place takeout containers, currently crowding my fridge. Well, except for the bowlful I’d wolfed down as soon as he’d arrived, despite the filling dinner Sophie had made me, plus the guacamole and chips her housekeeper, Maria, had sent along. SB turned out to be a big fan of the soup too. I drew the line at sharing the guac with him. Suffice it to say, I was grateful for the forgiving drawstring waist of my jammie bottoms.
What’s that? You recall my informing you my ex is a vegetarian? Right you are. Apparently he still cared enough about me to set aside his personal dietary convictions and make me a batch of chicken noodle soup with his own two hands. His Janey needed some of the proverbial Jewish penicillin, and he was going to make sure she got it, using the very same recipe she herself had used during their brief, ill-fated marriage. It was an involved recipe and I hadn’t made it once during the intervening years. Even the mouthwatering smell of that soup brought back bittersweet memories of our time together.
Icing Allison Page 20