A Cold Day in Hell

by Stella Cameron

  Her grandchildren would inherit whatever was left after she’d gotten through spending it, but not till each of them reached twenty-five. Betty loved them a whole lot and it was the right thing to try to help them when they were just getting started. Very soon she’d be showing the will to her son and daughter-in-law. They wouldn’t like it but they wouldn’t want to risk an inheritance for their children by mistreating Betty. They also wouldn’t like it when they read that she had to be tested by two disinterested but qualified experts appointed by the court if any attempt was made to declare her incompetent.

  Enough about them. Even if she didn’t like buses, she went to some real nice places and she enjoyed most of them.

  It was pretty here, she’d give them that. Tomorrow would be Christmas Eve and she had begun to feel in the mood with all the colored lights and wandering elves giving out candy canes. She’d snagged a dozen of those to take back and keep in her basement room. The grandchildren would like them when they came downstairs to visit. Which didn’t happen often if the bitch had her way.

  They’d put white lights way up high in the trees all around the central building, with spiky colored balls on low branches. Each path into the place was lined with illuminated snowmen looped together by strands of unlikely-sized foam popcorn. A semi-circle of men and women dressed in Victorian style sang Christmas carols and one of those contraptions blew artificial snow over them.

  It really was ever so lovely.

  Betty was grateful she’d already taken several trips to the bus with packages. She had gotten a haul at that Poke Around shop and everything was unusual, which meant the bitch wouldn’t like it. Fine, that way Betty would gradually get it in the basement. At a shop inside the mansion she had found an antique ship’s clock for her son and some lovely old children’s books for the kids. The pastry shop had been her undoing. She ate a plate of hot apple fritters all herself with plenty of tea. Then she had bought some of just about everything to take home.

  The place was starting to empty. People flowed toward the parking lot.

  That nasty whistle blew again.

  Betty continued to trudge onward, a heavy bag of candy dragging at her on one side. She liked getting away from the crush and being on her own. The far side of the building was a bit dark for her taste but she’d be back at the bus in no time.

  To her left, where a fence closed the property off from whatever lay beyond, someone started to cry out, but the noise cut off real sudden.

  Betty pulled back against the wall. Now she wished she had one of those cell things so she could call for help. She looked right and left and didn’t see a soul.

  Slowly—she was getting more and more stiff—she stepped off the sidewalk and went toward the fence. It was quite a long way.

  The whistle blasted several times. The driver was getting desperate.

  But a good woman couldn’t just walk away if she thought someone else might be in trouble.

  The closer Betty got to the fence, the more definite the thumping and struggling noises became. She wasn’t afraid of people, never had been. She had her stick and wouldn’t hesitate to use it.

  A gate stood open with a padlock and chain hanging from a hasp. Betty gathered herself, held the stick firmly, like a club. Tall grass grew on the other side. It was a big piece of land with trees and brush here and there but no buildings.

  She limped along slowly, careful not to trip. The light failed fast and a dark gray shroud settled wherever she looked. There was another thump and she turned quickly, almost losing her balance.

  Someone was there.

  Betty saw the shape of a man struggling with someone he held by the back of the neck. Betty put a hand over her mouth. The person being held stopped fighting and hung limp, as if they were…dead.

  She turned and shuffled through the grass as fast as she could, heading for the fence again. Night had crowded in, thrusting the last of the day aside.

  Too soon she heard a man’s voice yell from behind her, “Stop. You’ll hurt yourself in here, hurrying like that. Let me get to you and I’ll help you out.”

  Fierce banging started in Betty’s head. She’d worn an old but warm coat because these evenings were cold, but she was too hot now and sweat made her feel slimy.

  Driving her cane in to steady her steps, she pushed through the grass. She could hear the rapid flop of her heart, which wasn’t so good anyway. The worn-out membranes in there would be doing a shimmy. She felt how they speeded up and her head started to buzz.

  “Hold up, lady. You’re not in any danger.”

  She surely was. Betty got closer to the gate.

  Cast in deep shadow, the man appeared in front of the open gate. He reached behind to pull it shut. It closed and she couldn’t see a thing anymore.

  Betty cried out. She staggered, barely keeping her balance. “Help!”

  It was so quiet, except for the sounds of grass riffled by the breeze. She looked ahead, searching for the end of the fence, or another way through it, but saw no way out.

  Before she could turn, her cane was wrenched from her and the crook, hooked around one of her ankles, jerked her from the ground and she fell, hard. Betty had to grit her teeth not to scream.

  “I’m trying to get to my bus,” she said. “I got lost.” She could only make out a bulky person in clothes that blended into the background. “Could you help me?”

  The handle of the cane, smashed into her glasses, embedded pieces of wire and plastic in her face. It ground into her eyes, the pain so huge she couldn’t cry out.

  “It’s too bad when old people wander off and hurt themselves,” he said.

  Betty could only mumble.

  The stick came down again, this time crushing her nose and breaking her teeth. When she screamed, the only noise was a gurgle. Blood filled her mouth. Pretend you’re dead. Flopping into the grass felt better, despite her pain.

  She swallowed blood, tried not to make a sound. Her face pounded and the stabbing, burning sensation rolled over her again and again.

  “Silly old bag,” the man muttered. “You’ll be glad I put you out of your misery.”

  Betty’s eyes hurt, but she could still screw them up and see. But she couldn’t make out anything familiar about him.

  While this pig gasped to catch his breath, the full moon got higher. The silver gleam hovered behind him, burying him in an even deeper shadow.

  An awful howl, high and horrible, came out of the deepening darkness. A death howl. Betty closed her eyes, then slit them open again. Blood on her lashes, already gummy, almost prevented her. She’d known a whole lot of pain and she forced her lids until she could see. The man stood beside her. He’d raised her cane again and she flinched, braced for the next blow.

  He didn’t move because he saw what also caught her attention. Leaping so high and long it seemed to fly, an animal approached, silent now but for the solid thumps of its feet briefly hitting the ground between bounds.

  The animal leaped again, his great breaths rasping. Betty made herself watch. If this was her end, she wanted to see it come.

  A wolf. Betty couldn’t believe it. The biggest wolf imaginable, so long he seemed endless. Over her he soared, and he landed on the attacker just as the man realized what was about to happen and tried to run.

  The next howl came from the man, and with it the harsh sound of fabric ripping. Betty saw his neck stretch as he tried to turn his face away.

  Then the wolf was gone, and the man, hunched over, staggered away.

  Betty let her eyes close.

  35

  Lights shone in every window of the single-story clinic.

  It wasn’t much past dawn. Eileen joined Angel in front of the truck and he put an arm around her shoulders.

  “Frances is going to be okay,” he said. “Matt said she’s got some broken bones and she’s banged up, but she’ll recover just fine.”

  “You don’t know that,” Eileen said, shivering.

  Frances had been ser
iously beaten and left in a field behind the Oakdale Mansion complex. She would still be there if Lynette hadn’t noticed her car was still in front of the salon and she couldn’t find Frances. They looked for her for hours.

  Roused from sleep before five in the morning, by Matt calling her cell phone, using the flattest voice she’d ever heard from him, she felt unsteady. “I’m not ready for this,” she said.

  “No. But we need to be there for Frances.”

  “I know. Matt called my cell and asked the two of us to come here. He was fishing to see if we were together.”

  “That, or he just expected to find us that way,” Angel said. “Feels good to me.”

  Eileen gave him a very tight smile, then the smile relaxed. “Well, he didn’t embarrass me, so he can forget any little triumph he expected to get.” Eileen meant it. What sane woman would be ashamed to be with Angel?

  At five forty-five, there was a definite hint of frost on bowed-over plants and grasses. When they walked over a strip of grass between rows of parked vehicles, the ground scrunched under their feet.

  “Feels like Christmas Eve,” Angel said.

  Eileen held him tightly around the waist. “I’d forgotten it was. I hope tomorrow’s a better day. I want to call Sonny and Aaron quickly.”

  “While you were getting dressed, I did that,” Angel told her. “They’re having a ball. I got the impression that, much as they love Chuzah, they hope he won’t come home too quickly. I also talked to my contact operative and he said there’s been no suspicious activity, except for Locum lying on the top step with his paws hooked over his ears.”

  Eileen turned her face toward his.

  “I don’t think he’s big on rap,” Angel said. “I didn’t know Aaron and Sonny were into that now.”

  They reached the front doors of the clinic and walked in. Eileen stopped at once and Angel crowded up against her back.

  “Lobelia’s over there,” Eileen said.

  He propelled her far enough inside to let the doors close.

  “Lynette, Delia, Gracie and Ona,” Angel said. “Could we get back out before they see us, and find another way in?”

  “You poor darling,” Delia said in ringing tones. She had spotted Eileen and came over, arms akimbo in the drapy sleeves of a citrus-yellow and green-silk knit dress.

  “Hi, Delia,” Eileen said, bracing for impact.

  Delia swept in and folded over Eileen like a brilliant bat. “Just let me hold you a moment. I need to feel how real you are. What a shock you gave everyone. We thought you must be dead.”

  “My head still hurts a bit.” Gently, Eileen made herself bigger, lifted her shoulders and, when she’d made enough space, patted Delia’s slender sides.

  Delia pulled away just far enough to look closely at Eileen’s forehead. “It’s an ugly color, but really, darling, it looks remarkably better than I expected. People do blow things out of proportion, don’t they?”

  “Morning, Delia,” Angel said, and Eileen caught a glimpse of his amused smile. “What are you ladies doing up to so early?”

  Delia straightened to a considerable height in her high-heeled yellow sandals, held on by a web of impossibly skinny straps across her toes. She said, “Good morning, Angel,” without looking at him. “We were getting together for an early meeting before these girls have to work—to finish arranging the Christmas party for the kids and dinner for the families in need. Lynette called and told us to come here, instead.”

  “Let me know what I can do to help with the kids,” Angel said.

  Delia gave him a measured look. “You can be Santa Claus. A few pillows in front, a wig and beard and you’ll be perfect. Thanks, that’s one less thing to worry about.”

  Before he could protest, Delia returned her attention to Eileen. Her voice dropped, “Did you see him, dear? You know who I mean, that beast who tried to kill you.”

  “No,” Eileen said promptly, wishing Angel would bail her out. “Have you seen Matt or Mitch?”

  “Did Mitch Halpern put in those stitches?”

  “Yes. He’s very good.”

  “He certainly is,” Delia said. “And I hope he doesn’t get stolen away from us by a town that can pay more.” She looked momentarily dreamy. “Hmm, yes, we’ll have to make sure he doesn’t want to go anywhere else.”

  “Once that wound heals completely, you’ll hardly know anything ever happened. I always liked Chuzah. He’s…interesting, a true individualist. He has such style.”

  “But?” Angel said behind her, his voice dangerously soft.

  “Lobelia let us know he’s safely in jail now—and why—and I must say, it’s a relief in a lot of ways. But I’m still sad about Chuzah.”

  Lobelia must have heard her name, not that she wouldn’t already have been straining to listen to the conversation, but she stood, a floor light beside her raising an orange aura around her tight, dyed curls.

  Eileen smiled at her and looked determinedly away again.

  “Matt’s done a good job,” Lobelia said. “Putting that crazy monster away in the jailhouse. They’ll have the experiments done today.”

  “She means the DNA matches,” Delia said. “I guess I hope they’ve got the right man so we can all start sleeping at night again.”

  “They don’t,” Angel said, and compressed his mouth. “They’ve made a mistake and while they’re congratulating themselves on having someone locked up, the real threat is still out there, planning his next moves.”

  Delia stared at him.

  “We think Matt came to an obvious conclusion,” Eileen said quickly. “But it couldn’t have been Chuzah.”

  “Nicely done,” Angel said. He gazed into the distance. “You’re a loyal woman.”

  Moments like these made her wish she didn’t get those feelings every time she looked at him. Darn it, she didn’t even have to see him, thinking about him started a heated fizz where a person shouldn’t fizz at all.

  “You’re wrong,” Delia said and turned at the squeaky sound of Ona’s approaching feet. “We shouldn’t discuss this subject anymore. Ona’s really suffered because that man got fried in her kitchen.”

  “He died of a heart attack,” Ona said, sounding weary. “I told you that before. At the autopsy the medical examiner said there had definitely been a heart attack.”

  “After he fried?” Lobelia suggested helpfully.

  “No,” Gracie Loder said, and Eileen appreciated the woman’s firm tone. “It happened before his head went in the fat. It’s perfectly possible he had the attack then fell over the fryer.”

  “Don’t you bother about it, Ona,” Sabine said. This morning her many braids, the thickness of fine yarn, were looped back from her face with candy-cane clips, the long ends wrapped together in a tail that fell between her shoulder blades.

  Ona seemed frozen in place.

  Sabine came to her, rubbed her back. “It’s all been too much. People are unkind because they’re silly. They just don’t think.”

  “They found all sorts of stuff under Bucky’s nails,” Lobelia announced triumphantly. “I bet they’ve had those results for days. They’ll tell a story when there’s something to match them against.”

  “Are you thinking there’s something there to tie all this to Chuzah?” Gracie asked. “You’ll be disappointed if it doesn’t because I figure that’ll put everyone back where they started. Too bad they’ve stopped looking for other possibilities.”

  “You’ve got that one right,” Sabine agreed. “The real killer could be out of the state by now. Out of the country, even.” Even at this ungodly hour, Sabine’s skin glowed deep bronze and her eyes were alert—as, evidently, was her mind.

  “I can’t see Matt putting all his eggs in one basket,” Angel said and took a look at his watch. Irritation showed in the tightened muscles of his face.

  Eileen saw how Lynette slumped in a chair and hurried over. “Frances had a bad experience,” she said. “But we’ve been told she’ll get well again.”

>   “I should have realized she was missing earlier,” Lynette said. “She was in that cold, wet field a long time.”

  “Why don’t you all find a chair?” Angel said. “Mitch is bound to be along soon. Better yet, it’s going to be a while before Frances can see anyone. Why don’t you go to Ona’s or somewhere you can be comfortable and we’ll call when we’re told Frances can have visitors.”

  With obvious disappointment and muffled grumbling, Lobelia and the group did as he suggested and straggled toward the front doors.

  Eileen excused herself and went to the bathroom.

  She left the stall to wash her hands and Lynette stood there, or rather leaned against a wall.

  “Hey,” Eileen said. “You following me?”

  “Sure am,” Lynette said with a wan smile. “Did anyone tell you how Frances left the salon to run over and drop some money at the bank in the mansion? I don’t like it that she does that. She shouldn’t go alone.”

  “No,” Eileen said, thinking about how many times she’d done the same thing herself. She gripped the edge of the basin with slippery hands.

  Lynette’s eyes seemed to sink back. “I’ve never been so scared. Trouble is, she often takes a long time because she talks to everyone. You know how she is. The sweetest woman.”

  “I do know,” Eileen said with fervor. She loved Frances. “Please say what you’re going to say. I can’t take this.” She held her dripping hands over the sink and watched Lynette in the mirror. She felt incapable of moving.

  “She’s going to be all right. But she’s so beaten up.”

  Ignoring the water that ran down her face, Eileen slapped a hand over her mouth. She wanted to scream.

  “She said she heard a dog barking back in that field and you know how she is about animals.” Lynette closed her eyes. “He started to strangle her, but stopped. Just stopped when she was losing consciousness. Then he beat her head into a tree. He was so vicious. He dropped her and kicked anything he could reach until she passed out.”

  “My God, what are we going to do here? You saw her, though, and she’s going to be fine?”

  “So they say,” Lynette said, fixing her gaze on a corner of the room.