Bone Cold (6 page)

Saturday, January 13
3:10 p.m.

S
aturday at three sneaked up on Ben, so much so that he missed the first ten minutes of the E! program, one about unsolved Hollywood mysteries. He sank back against the sofa cushions, exhausted. He'd fallen asleep at his research last night and, although he only had a vague recollection of doing so, he'd stumbled to his bed sometime during the night. He had awakened just before dawn, lying horizontally across the bed, completely dressed and feeling as if he had spent hours out howling at the moon instead of slumped over a desk.

The show cut to commercial break. As it did, the narrator urged viewers to stay tuned. Up next: Fairy Tale Turned Nightmare: The Harlow Anastasia Grail Kidnapping.

Ben leaned forward in his seat, instantly alert. The Grail kidnapping was one of those cases that resurfaced in the media every few years. It possessed all the elements to make its appeal timeless: beautiful people with Hollywood connections, wealth, children in danger, both a tragic and triumphant ending, an unsolved mystery.

The narrator returned, briefly recounting the tale of the little Hollywood princess and the day she and her friend had disappeared from the stable on the Grail's Beverly Hills estate. The show recounted the story in news clips from the time and in dramatic reenactments—including one of Harlow Grail's daring escape.

Ben hung on every word. He realized he was holding his breath and released it slowly. Whatever happened to her? he wondered. After enduring such an ordeal, what had she become? How had the horror of those three days affected the person she was today? The choices she'd made and the relationships she'd forged?

Even as the questions filtered through his brain, the show switched to a recent interview with Savannah Grail. Minutes later, the show's focus shifted to another mystery.

Ben flipped off the TV and sat back, intrigued. Harlow Grail's story would be an incredible addition to his book. She had survived an experience few did; that experience had no doubt shaped the rest of her life. Inclusion of her story would not only enrich his book, it would make it newsworthy.

He drew his eyebrows together, reviewing what he had learned from the program. Savannah Grail had indicated that her daughter lived in New Orleans, that she was a suspense novelist, published in hardcover by Cheshire House. She had revealed that her daughter wrote under a pseudonym and fiercely guarded her privacy.

Ben stood and crossed to his desk. There he found the book that had been left for him the day before. The spine listed the publisher as Cheshire House, the author as Anna North.

Of course.
North had been Savannah Grail's maiden
name, a fact he hadn't remembered until it had been mentioned on the show just now. Anna was a diminutive of both Anastasia and Savannah. Obviously then, Anna North the novelist was little Harlow Grail, the kidnapped Hollywood princess.

Ben frowned down at the novel in his hands, puzzled. Which of his patients had left the book for him? Why had they left it?

He would simply ask, he decided. Starting with the six patients he had seen the day before.

Saturday, January 13
4:00 p.m.

T
he sun finally made its promised appearance and cold, harsh light spilled across Anna's kitchen table. She sat, staring blindly across the room as the phone screamed to be answered.

She didn't make a move toward it and the machine finally picked up. She had turned the recorder's volume all the way down so she wouldn't know who was calling. She couldn't face another person's surprised disbelief.

She had already talked to her mother. And father. She had talked to a half-dozen friends. Her agent and editor. They had all been sent a copy of her latest book and a note urging them to tune into E! today at three. One after another they had expressed their disbelief over learning that she was Harlow Grail, the kidnapped Hollywood princess. Again and again she had been asked to explain why she hadn't told them.

Some, like her editor, had been delighted by the news. Now, the woman had gushed, they had the perfect promotional hook to send her upcoming book straight onto
the bestseller lists. Her agent, on the other hand, had been furious at her for having kept something so important from him. How could he adequately represent her when he didn't even know who she was?

Anna brought a hand to her mouth. Who had done this to her? Why had they done it?

A knock sounded on her front door, followed by Dalton's voice. “It's us,” he called out. “Dalton and Bill.”

Anna dragged herself to her feet, went to the door and opened it. Her friends stood on the other side, both grinning from ear to ear.

“We tried to call—”

“First the line was busy, busy, busy—”

“Then you didn't answer.”

“You saw,” she said. “The show on E!”

“Of course we did, you naughty, naughty girl.” Dalton wagged a finger at her. “And here Bill and I thought we knew you.”

“She's an open book,” Bill murmured, moving across the threshold. “That's what we thought. Then we got your note about the show today.”

Dalton closed the door behind them. “Cute, Anna. But you could have just told us.”

Anna couldn't speak. She couldn't form the words for the fear choking her. The despair.

She turned her back to her friends and brought her shaking hands to her mouth.
Whoever had done this not only knew where she lived but who all the important people in her life were. Dear God, who could know so much about her?

“Anna?” Dalton murmured. “What's wrong?”

“I didn't send you that note,” she managed to say, voice choked with tears. “I wish I had.”

“I don't understand. If not you, who?”

“I don't know.” She turned to face her friends once more. “But I think…I'm afraid—”

Kurt. He'd found her.

“I think I'd better sit down.”

She turned and crossed to the couch, then sank onto it. They followed her, each taking a seat beside her, Dalton on her right, Bill on her left. Neither pressed her to speak, which she appreciated. She hated losing control in front of others and struggled to regain it.

When she had, she told them about her past—her parents and her idyllic, star-kissed childhood, then about the kidnapping, the horror of Timmy's murder and her last-minute escape.

She rubbed her arms, at the gooseflesh that raced up them. “After the kidnapping my life changed,” she murmured, looking back, aching at the memories. “I changed. I didn't feel safe anymore. I wasn't so…open as I had been. I didn't trust. I was…afraid.”

Her friends were silent, no doubt digesting all that she had told them. After a moment, Dalton cleared his throat. “You mean he killed that little boy…in front of you?”

Her eyes filled with tears even as her head flooded with images—of Timmy struggling while Kurt held the pillow over his face, his arms flailing and body jerking. Then of him going deathly still.

A sound rose in her throat, and she choked it back. One of remembered horror. And pain. It still hurt, almost more than she could bear.

She found her voice. “And then he came after me.”

“Your finger.”

She nodded and Bill curled his hand around hers. “No wonder you're frightened, Anna. How awful.”

“You two weren't the only ones who received a note
about the E! program.” She drew in a deep, fortifying breath, acknowledging that she was afraid. “Nearly everyone in my life got one, my mother and father, friends, agent and editor.” She explained about coming home to find the package containing the tape of her mother's interview, the same one that had been incorporated into the story about the Hollywood mysteries. “The tape ended with a message urging me to watch the E! program.”

“You don't think your mother—”

“No.” Anna shook her head, acknowledging hurt at her mother's part in this. Acknowledging a feeling of betrayal. The truth was, neither her mother nor father fully understood her fear of exposure.

“About a year ago, my mother was contacted by an independent videographer. He was putting together a series he called
Screen Goddesses of the Fifties.
He wanted to include her. She gave the interview and never heard from him again. Until indirectly, today.”

Dalton bristled. “That doesn't explain how she could have revealed so much about you during that interview. Really!”

Anna glanced down at her hands, then back at her friends. “It's done now. And she's not the enemy. She's not the one who wishes me—”

She bit the word back, but it hung in the air between them.

Harm. Someone wished her harm.

For several moments they were silent, then Dalton hugged her. “My poor sweet Anna. You're being forced out.”

Bill drew his eyebrows together. “By any chance, does your mother remember the videographer's name?”

Anna shook her head. “But she took his card. She's going to look for it.”

“I tell you what,” Bill murmured. “I have a couple of friends in television production. How about I give them a call, see if one of them can find out who E! acquired the piece from. With a little luck, I can track down where they got the footage of your mother.”

“Thank you,” she said, reaching a hand across to his. “That would be so…it would really help.”

“Do you have any idea who could be behind this?”

“No, I—” Anna shifted her gaze to Dalton, struggling to form the words, knowing how ludicrous they would sound. “As you know, Kurt was never caught. But the FBI insisted he wasn't a threat—”

“You think that Kurt person is behind this, don't you?”

“I know it sounds crazy, but I…do you think it could be?”

Dalton pulled her closer, shooting a narrow-eyed glance at the other man. “It's highly improbable, I should think.”

“That's right,” Bill agreed. “Why would Kurt come after you now? So much time has passed.”

“Unfinished business,” she whispered. “To get even with me for screwing up his plans.”

Again her friends fell silent. This time, Bill spoke first. “Let's think this through, Anna. I understand your fears and why you would feel threatened by this man. But why would he want to force you out?”

“That's right,” Dalton spoke up. “If Kurt wanted some sort of revenge, why not just have it? Kidnap you again? Kill you?”

“Thanks a lot, Dalton.” She forced a weak smile. “Remind me to have burglar bars installed.”

Bill frowned. “Kurt coming after you simply doesn't make sense, Anna. Look at the facts. Twenty-three years
have passed. This Kurt has no doubt gone on to other crimes. He may be imprisoned. Or dead.”

She rubbed her fingers over her deformed hand. “I want to believe it, but…I have this awful feeling he's found me.”

“You have to go to the police.” Dalton looked at Bill for affirmation. He got it and returned his gaze to Anna's. “The sooner the better.”

“The police,” she repeated. “And what do I tell them? That someone is sending cryptic notes and copies of my novels to my friends? Come on, I'd be laughed out of the place.”

“No, you go to them with your suspicions. With your past and the recent turn of events, I hardly think they'll laugh.”

“I agree,” Bill said. “If nothing else, it'll serve as a kind of heads-up. What do you have to lose?”

Truth was, she didn't have a lot of confidence in the police—or in the FBI. If not for their bumbling, she believed Timmy would be alive today.

But Anna didn't tell them that. Instead, she murmured, “I'll think about it. Okay?”

“Promise me,” Dalton said, tone fierce. “I don't want anything to happen to you.”

“All right, I'll think about it. I promise.”

They talked a while more, then after Anna assured them she would be fine alone, they stood to leave.

On his way out the door, Bill stopped and looked over his shoulder at her. “How did Jaye take the news?” he asked. “She can be so sensitive.”

Anna froze. Amazingly, until that moment, she hadn't thought of Jaye. And from the calls she'd received, it seemed all the important people in her life had been contacted. Had Jaye?

She swallowed hard, a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach. Jaye, whose trust had been so hard to win. Jaye, who had been lied to by everyone she had ever loved or trusted. Jaye, who would perceive Anna's secret as a lie and yet another betrayal in a life filled with them.

Anna said goodbye to her friends and ran for the phone. She checked the answering machine, found her young friend had not called and quickly dialed her number.

Jaye refused to come to the phone.

Devastated, Anna told Jaye's foster mother that she was coming over. It was imperative that she speak with the girl as soon as possible.

Anna flew to Jaye's, making it to her mid-city neighborhood in record time. The entire way she gripped the steering wheel tightly and repeated a prayer in her head that it was going to be okay, that she could make Jaye understand why she had kept her past a secret from her.

But she saw right away that she couldn't make Jaye understand, that she couldn't make it okay. “I can explain, Jaye.”

“There's nothing to explain.” Jaye hiked up her chin. “I trusted you and you lied to me.”

“I didn't.” At the girl's disgusted snort, Anna reached a hand out. The sun had begun to set and dusk closed around them as they stood on the porch. “Please, listen to me, Jaye. That person, Harlow Grail, that's not who I am. She doesn't exist anymore. I left her behind when I moved down here. I told you who I am, Anna North.”

Jaye hugged herself against the cold. “That's…bullshit! Anna North is only a part of who you are.”

“I changed my name, I moved. I left behind everybody but my parents—”

“Adults always do that, don't they? Justify what they do even when it's wrong. Insist that it's the
juvenile
who's not thinking clearly.”

“That's not what's going on here. I'm trying to tell you, trying to make you see why—”

“Why you lied to me. I'm only fifteen and I know how screwed up that is.” Her disdain made Anna cringe. “
‘You've got to face the past to overcome it.'
How many times have I heard that? How many times did I hear
you
say it?”

“I didn't lie.” Anna shook her head. “I'm Anna North now. Harlow Grail only exists in people's memories. I left her—”

“You haven't left her behind!” Jaye cried. “You can't. I know because a day doesn't go by that I don't think about my dad and the things he did.” She tipped her chin up, struggling, Anna saw, not to cry. “If you had really left Harlow Grail behind, you wouldn't be working so hard to hide from her.”

She was right, dammit. How did someone so young know so much?
Even as Anna wondered, she knew.
With pain came insight.

“Our situations aren't the same.”

Jaye stiffened, spots of bright color dotting her cheeks. “Oh, I see. My opinion and feelings don't matter. Because I'm just a stupid kid.”

“No, they're different because your dad's in jail. She held up her mutilated hand. “The man who did this to me was never caught. I'm not hiding from my past. I'm hiding from him. I'm afraid.”

Jaye's expression softened and for a moment Anna thought she may have convinced her friend. The moment passed and Jaye shook her head. “Real friends are one
hundred percent honest with each other. I have been. But you…I don't even know who you are.”

“I'm sorry, Jaye. Forgive me.” She reached a hand out to the girl. “Please.”

“No.” Jaye's eyes flooded with tears and she took a step backward. “You lied to me. I can't be your friend anymore. I won't.”

She turned and ran inside, slamming the door behind her. The sound reverberated through Anna, final and heartbreaking.