Heart of Ice

by Lis Wiehl; April Henry

  “But I don’t want to go a gym.” Lindsay took another sip of coffee.

  “Why not?” Allison felt a prickle of irritation. This was the first thing she had asked of Lindsay. What would it hurt her to say yes?

  “No one is going to want to see me in the dressing room. Trust me. I don’t even want to see me in the dressing room. Look at me, Allison. I mean, really look.” Lindsay lifted her puffy face. Her eyes were shiny with tears. “I used to be pretty. Now nobody is going to want to watch me take off my clothes. Take it from me. I got laughed out of the last strip club I tried out at. I’ve got that divot on my leg from when I fell off Chris’s motorcycle. I’ve got scars on my arms from when meth made me feel like bugs were crawling under my skin. I’m all lumps and bumps.”

  “But that’s why people go to the gym. To get in better shape.”

  Lindsay smiled wanly. “Yeah, and then maybe the other people can point me out to their kids as a cautionary tale. ‘See, honey, that’s what happens when you take drugs and end up living on the street.’”

  Inside, Allison winced. Lindsay sounded like she was ready to give up. Like her life was over at thirty.

  But Allison was her big sister. And big sisters didn’t take no for an answer.

  “How about this? We can put on our workout clothes before we go, and afterward come back and shower here. No dressing rooms.”

  Lindsay finally agreed, reluctantly. But once they were at the gym, she warmed up as one of the front desk employees toured them around and she saw all the options. It wasn’t the room full of exercise equipment, the basketball court, or the Olympic-sized pool and the smaller heated pool that made Lindsay’s eyes light up. Instead, she was interested in the sauna, the Jacuzzi, the massage rooms, and the café.

  Allison ending up spending only twenty minutes on the treadmill, while Lindsay flopped down on various pieces of equipment—moving only when someone actually wanted to use whatever she was sitting on—to watch one of the half dozen closed-captioned, large-screen TVs. Still, Allison thought, if they made coming here a regular habit, maybe Lindsay would start taking advantage.

  As they were leaving, they passed a line of framed photos of the various instructors.

  “Hey,” Lindsay said, pointing at a picture of a red-haired woman and then leaning forward to look at the gold nameplate screwed into the frame. “Elizabeth Avery. She looks familiar. Did she go to high school with us?”

  Elizabeth, the instructor that Cassidy admired so much. “I don’t think so. In fact, I’m sure she didn’t, or Cassidy would have brought it up. She really likes Elizabeth’s classes and talks about her all the time.”

  Lindsay shrugged. “Maybe I’ve just seen her downtown or something.”

  Allison had an uncomfortable image of a wasted Lindsay panhandling Elizabeth.

  Compared to that, she thought, today was an unqualified success.

  CHAPTER 27

  Nordstrom

  As they took the trolley to Nordstrom, Elizabeth said, “So, like I said, I’ve been watching Channel Four news lately.”

  Cassidy wanted to ask what she had thought of her but knew it would come across as needy. So she settled for humor. “You probably just doubled our number of viewers in the twenty-five to thirty-four age bracket.”

  Elizabeth grinned, a flash of white teeth. “I did notice the commercials were all for old people’s products.”

  “Yeah, it’s all bladder control drugs and electric scooters.” The joke—that wasn’t quite a joke—around Channel Four was that soon the news wouldn’t have any viewers because they all would have died. “If it weren’t for seniors and their maladies, we probably wouldn’t have any sponsors.” Cassidy sighed. “It’s all changing so fast. I got into this business to be a reporter. Now they want me to blog, answer viewers’ e-mails, Twitter, and do person-on-the-street interviews when half the time the average person doesn’t actually know anything. And I have to stand there holding the mike and nodding like they’re some genius. It’s starting to feel kind of desperate.”

  “I’ll tell you what one of the problems was. You were the only good one on the broadcast.” Elizabeth rolled her eyes. “I mean, take that Brad Buffet.”

  “What do you mean?” Cassidy straightened up, a grin already tugging at the corners of her lips.

  Elizabeth snorted. “He’s so stiff. It’s like they reanimated him and stuck him on camera. But when I listen to you, I feel like you’re talking right to me.”

  “Thank you. Thank you,” Cassidy repeated, as the words settled in and a glow spread through her.

  TV people were always thinking about themselves. It was a self-obsessed business. But the problem was that she hardly ever got any unbiased feedback.

  “That’s something I really work on. See, when you’re on TV or the radio, you don’t want people to be able to tell you’re reading. So some people, like Brad, make an arbitrary decision to stress every third word or maybe every noun or whatever. Listening to him just drives me crazy. Because he just ends up talking like this. Singsong.” Cassidy warmed to her topic. “You don’t want to rip and read your copy. Instead, you go through it beforehand and find the words that really count.”

  Elizabeth turned in her seat to face Cassidy. “What do you mean?”

  “When you get home tonight, go into your living room and switch on the TV. Then go into the kitchen and start dinner. You won’t be able to hear every word, but you should be able to hear the important words. Maybe you’ll hear accident and Northwest Portland and two killed, and that will be enough to pique your interest because you live in Northwest Portland, so you’ll go back into the living room to see what happened. But if you were listening to Brad, he might accent completely random words—and no one will ever leave their kitchen for that.”

  “So why aren’t you the anchor instead of Brad or that other girl, the one they said just came to Portland from—Delaware?”

  Cassidy suppressed a wince. “Connecticut. Her name’s Alissa Fontaine. And even though they’ve made a big deal about bringing her in, they still give Brad all the important stories. If it’s a political story or a natural disaster, they have a guy cover it. Women get the fluffy stuff. I had to fight for the crime beat. Sometimes I think TV is still a man’s business. Just because you’re young and pretty doesn’t mean you’re not a serious journalist.”

  “But since you’re the crime reporter,” Elizabeth said, “that must mean they believe in you.”

  “I made that beat. It wasn’t there before I came along.” Cassidy thought of Jenna. “And I still have to fight for it.”

  “You mean like with that intern you told me about?” Elizabeth asked. “Because she might try to get to a story before you?”

  Cassidy felt listened to. “Exactly. Instead of making her own beat, it’s like Jenna wants to take over from me.”

  “Like that’s going to happen.” Elizabeth shook her head. “You’re twice the reporter she could ever hope to be.”

  The train pulled up at the stop closest to Nordstrom. As soon as they walked through the glass doors, Elizabeth lit up, obviously in her element. She was so self-confident and strong.

  Cassidy felt a pang of envy. Why was she always filled with self doubt, hanging back, not committed enough? Why didn’t she go for it?

  Elizabeth chose a half dozen outfits—most of them not even on sale—and encouraged Cassidy to pick up this and that. She obviously thought Cassidy made a lot more than she really did.

  TV only looked glamorous. It was all fake. Up close, the studio carpet was stained, and the decal that showed the city skyline was peeling on the bottom corners. The chairs didn’t even have backs, so that if someone was off camera, the viewers didn’t see an empty chair.

  But that fake glamour attracted so many people who were willing to work for crummy wages. Even, as in Jenna’s case, for free.

  Cassidy picked up a few things, but Elizabeth’s arms were soon full. A saleslady hurried up to relieve her of her burden.
“Do you want to share a dressing room?”

  Cassidy most certainly did not. Elizabeth looked stunning in her clothes. How much better would she look out of them?

  But before she could say anything, Elizabeth smiled and said, “That’s a great idea!”

  As they tried things on, Cassidy used all her tricks to keep most of herself covered, while Elizabeth spent a good deal of her time wearing only a pair of panties.

  Shoot, Cassidy thought sourly as she surreptitiously eyed Elizabeth’s mile-long legs, if I looked that good, I would charge admission.

  And make a million bucks.

  Feeling short and stubby, Cassidy tried on the “vintage matchstick cords” that the saleslady had suggested and Elizabeth enthusiastically seconded. With both of them watching, Cassidy had been forced to pick a size smaller than the one she normally wore. The pants were so narrow it was hard to get her feet through them, let alone her thighs. Finally, she got them pulled up and—ugh—buttoned. With her stomach sucked in, she took a few experimental steps around the dressing room.

  Wiff, wiff, wiff.

  At the sound, Elizabeth stopped zipping up her dress and turned her head. With horror Cassidy realized the sound came from her thighs rubbing together. She sat down on the narrow bench and began to extricate herself from them, hiding her struggle whenever Elizabeth looked her way.

  By contrast, even things that looked terrible on the hanger looked great on Elizabeth. A short silver silk dress with a cascade of ruffles at the neckline showed off her long, slender legs. A delicate lavender cashmere cardigan exposed her elegant collarbone. A sea-foam zippered jacket from Nike emphasized her narrow waist. And this being Portland, it would fit in at the gym as well as at any Pearl District restaurant.

  The saleslady outdid herself, going to other floors and other departments and then knocking softly on the dressing room door to make yet another offering to Elizabeth. A brown skinny suede belt. A pink crystal necklace that tied with ribbons. A pair of gray high-heeled fringed moccasins that seemed ridiculous when the saleslady held them out, and which suddenly looked cutting-edge glamorous once they were on Elizabeth’s slender feet.

  Cassidy ended up with just a cardigan, twin to Elizabeth’s, only in a shade described as heather hydrangea. One hundred fifty-eight dollars she knew she shouldn’t be spending, but she couldn’t just go to the counter empty-handed. She would look cheap.

  Elizabeth had the saleslady ring up everything she had tried on. For a total of $1059.78.

  She opened her purse and began to rummage through it, leisurely at first, then with more agitation. “Oh no, I must have left my wallet at home.” She sighed. “I guess I’ll just have to come back. Although I don’t know when I’ll have time again. My schedule is packed.”

  “The sale ends tomorrow,” the clerk put in.

  Cassidy found herself taking out her Nordstrom card. “I’ll get it.”

  The saleswoman nodded and reached for the card just as Elizabeth put her hand over it.

  “You most certainly will not. That’s too much.”

  A nagging voice inside Cassidy agreed, but instead she said, “Don’t worry. Besides, I’ll be getting your double points. Anyway, I know you’re good for it. Don’t forget I see you pretty much every weekday.”

  CHAPTER 28

  Ruth’s Chris Steak House

  Elizabeth felt all eyes on her as she followed the waiter through Ruth’s Chris Steak House. She wore the silver silk dress, gray spike-heeled moccasins, and pink crystal necklace that tied with ribbons. The cashmere cardigan was loose around her shoulders. The admiring (from the men) or jealous (from the women) looks just confirmed what she had seen in her mirror earlier when she was getting ready. And she hadn’t paid a dime for any of it! Cassidy had even been eager to offer to pay.

  Elizabeth knew that Cassidy would eventually start hinting about getting her money back. And then she might switch to demands. But that was theoretical and in the future. And Elizabeth was all about right now. She had seen an opportunity and taken it.

  There were three types of people in the world, Elizabeth believed. Some, like Cassidy, were naïve and full of ridiculous scruples that held them back from ever enjoying life. Others, like that Allison and Nicole, were phonies who pretended to care about others. And some—only a few—were like her. Strong enough to take what they could. And smart enough not to get caught.

  Smart enough to play The Game.

  And Ian? Ian fell into his own special category. He looked good, and they looked good together. He had money and power and influence.

  He also wasn’t stupid. He had caught her in a few lies, luckily only minor ones. She had gotten out of them by lying some more, lies designed to cajole and flatter.

  To Elizabeth, lying came as easy as inhaling and exhaling. Just as she didn’t need to think about breathing, didn’t need to consciously slow her breathing down when she went to sleep or speed it up during boot camp class, the lies came out of her mouth as she needed them.

  There was often a lot of truth in Elizabeth’s lies, because those were the best kind. Once people heard something they knew to be true, they tended to believe the rest. Occasionally, she even found herself saying something bad about herself. Sometimes it was true, or sort of true. Sometimes the very warp and woof of it was spun from lies. But the listener thought that if Elizabeth “admitted” to something bad, she must be telling the truth about the rest.

  As they walked through the restaurant, Ian was a half step behind her, his hand on the small of her back. By the way heads turned to follow them, she knew they made the perfect couple. Even when Elizabeth wore heels, Ian had two inches on her. Tonight he was dressed in a charcoal two-button suit and an ivory shirt, open at the throat. With his dark hair going silver at the temples and a tan face that set off his pale blue eyes, he had the kind of looks that made women look twice.

  And now he was all hers. Or he would be, as soon as Joey took care of Ian’s moneygrubbing ex.

  Elizabeth had called Joey while the girl’s body was still in the trunk.

  “Hello?”

  Joey sounded nervous, Elizabeth had thought. Well, he was about to get a lot more nervous.

  “I took care of your stupid girl.” She was driving on a narrow road somewhere next to the Columbia River. Somewhere out in the boonies. “The one you told about me.” She couldn’t believe that she had gone out of her way to make Joey some of her famous pasta salad. Tried to butter him up.

  “What?” Joey’s voice cracked.

  “Don’t tell me you didn’t know about it.”

  In her ear, silence. She turned onto an even less used road.

  Finally Joey said, “What did you do to her?”

  A laugh spurted from Elizabeth’s mouth. “What do you think? She’s dead.”

  “But Jenna was only a kid!”

  “You’re the one who brought her into this. Not me. Does anyone else know?”

  “No! No! I swear it! I just wanted a little insurance.” He hesitated. “I just don’t know if I can kill anyone.”

  “Don’t give me that. Remember your whole family?”

  “You know that was an accident. I never meant for it to happen. But this—this is looking someone in the face and pulling the trigger. And what if her kid is there? I just don’t know if I can do it.”

  “But I can.” The car jounced over the road, which by this point was nothing but potholes and gravel. As soon as she had taken care of the body, Elizabeth was going to have to go to the car wash, clean the car inside and out. It was one hassle after another. And she would have to hurry if she wanted to be back in time to meet Cassidy for their shopping trip to Nordstrom. “And you know what? If you don’t take care of this problem, then I will.”

  “You’ll shoot her?” Joey’s voice was filled with something like relief.

  “No, dummy. I’ll shoot you. So you had better take care of business.” Elizabeth would gladly kill Sara herself, and take pleasure in doing it, but only an
amateur would think that the police wouldn’t figure that out in a minute. But no one would tie Elizabeth to Joey. On paper, the girl who had gone to school with him a decade and a half ago didn’t even exist.

  “Okay, okay.” Joey’s voice rose in panic. “I will. I promise.”

  By this time, Elizabeth was next to the river, and there was no one in sight. She pulled over, getting as close as she could. After killing Jenna, she had stopped at A-Boy hardware and bought some cement blocks and rope.

  Now she leaned into the car and trussed the body, in its bedspread wrapper, into a neat package, tying the ropes around the body’s feet and shoulders. Then she carried the blocks one at a time to the edge of the riverbank. She had to haul and drag on the ropes to pull the body to the lip of the trunk. She let it tumble to the ground, and then, muttering curses under her breath, dragged it to the edge of the steep bank. After tying the blocks to the ropes—now a little looser from being tugged and pulled on—she rolled and shoved the whole thing until it fell into the river with a splash. Sure, the girl would probably be found sometime. But the only person who could tie Elizabeth to Jenna was Joey.

  And she would take care of Joey soon. As soon as he did what she was paying him to do.

  The rest of the day had gone more or less as planned. Elizabeth acquired a new wardrobe without paying a cent. And she sowed enough hints in Cassidy’s fertile imagination that the silly twit was sure to begin doubting her friends. It had been so fun to mess with her head.

  And after she parted ways with Cassidy, she had found a pay phone a few blocks away and looked up Channel Four’s number.

  “This is Jenna?” Elizabeth told the woman who answered, trying to imitate the girl’s annoying way of making even a statement sound like a question. “I’m really sick? Some kind of flu? Can you tell them I won’t be in this week?”