Deep Freeze (3 page)

“Maybe our guy is a dentist with a sick sense of humor.”

“The sick part is right.”

“Any ID?” he asked, but assumed the answer.

“Nothing yet.” She shook her head and flipped over a page of her clipboard. “No clothes or personal effects, either. But we’ll keep looking, under the snow, through the ice and into the soil. If there’s evidence, we’ll locate it.” She squinted up at Carter as gray clouds scudded overhead.

“What’s this?” Carter bent down and studied the skull with its grotesque teeth and gaping eye sockets. He indicated her hair. There was something clinging to the strands that were visible. A pinkish substance that he didn’t think was flesh. It reminded him of eraser residue.

“Don’t know. Yet. But some kind of manmade substance. We’ll have the lab check it out.”

“Good.” He straightened and noticed BJ talking with one of the photographers as Luke Messenger, the M.E. arrived. Tall and rangy, with curly red hair and freckles, he made his way to the crime scene and frowned at the body.

“Only a partial?” he asked Jacobosky.

“So far.” He knelt beside the bones as Amanda Pratt, the Assistant D.A. lucky enough to be assigned this frigid job, picked her way down the hillside. She was bundled in layers of down and wool and smelled of cigarette smoke.

“God, this is miserable weather,” she said, her pert nose wrinkling at the partial body. “Jesus, would you look at that? Found in a hollowed-out log?”

“So Charley says.”

“You can’t believe a word out of his mouth,” she said flatly, but eyed the scene.

“Maybe this time he’s telling the truth.”

Her eyes flashed behind thin, plastic-rimmed glasses. “Yeah, right. And I’m the friggin’ queen of England. No, make that Spain. England’s too damned cold. Jesus, we’ve got ourselves a regular party up here.” She scanned the vehicles. “Is Charley still around?”

“In one of the pickups—over there.” Jacobosky hitched her chin toward a white truck idling near the end of the road. Montinello was at the wheel. Charley Perry was huddled in the passenger seat. “He’s not too happy about being kept up here,” Jacobosky added. “Making a whole lotta noise about wanting to get home and warm up.”

“Don’t blame him. I’ll talk to him.”

“Good,” Amanda said. “Be sure to have your bullshit meter with you.”

Carter laughed, took another long look at the grid that was the crime scene, then said to the Medical Examiner, “Let me know what you find out.”

“Soon as we sort it all out,” Messenger replied. He was still crouched over the remains. Didn’t bother looking up. “You’ll be the first to know.”

“Thanks.” Carter headed up the hillside and found Charley as cranky as ever. He was cradling a cup of coffee someone had brought up, but he glared through the passenger window at Carter as if he held the sheriff personally responsible for ruining his day. Carter tapped on the glass, and Charley reluctantly lowered the window.

“Are you arrestin’ me?” he demanded, short, silvery beard covering a strong, jutted chin. Angry eyes peered from behind thick glasses.

“No.”

“Then have one of your boys take me home. I done my duty, didn’t I? No need to treat me like some kind of damned prisoner.” He spat a long stream of tobacco juice through the window to land on the snowy dirt and gravel. Fortunately for Charley, this area wasn’t considered part of the crime scene.

“I just want to ask you some questions.”

“I been answerin’ ’em all mornin’!”

Carter smiled. “Just a few more, then I’ll have Deputy Montinello take you home.”

“Great,” Charley muttered, folding his arms over a thin chest. He cooperated, if reluctantly, and was right; he didn’t have any more information. He told Carter that he’d been out hunting, lost his dog, and found her down in the gully near the hollow log. He’d lifted the log and a skull had rolled out, nearly scaring him to death. “…and that’s all I know,” he added petulantly. “I half-ran home and called your office. And don’t you give me no grief ’bout huntin’ with Tanzy. I needed a trackin’ dog to get me back home,” he said, as if he realized he could be in trouble for hunting with a dog. Hurriedly he added, “Two of your men hauled me back up here a few hours back and I’m still freezin’ my butt off.”

“We all are, Charley,” Carter said, and slapped the door of the department’s truck. “Take him back home,” he said to Lanny Montinello before looking at Charley’s grizzled face again. “If you think of anything else, you’ll call, right?”

“’Course,” Charley said, though he didn’t meet Carter’s eyes and the sheriff suspected that the loner was stretching the truth. They’d never gotten along, not since Carter had debunked Charley’s Bigfoot story and had once threatened to call the game warden about Charley poaching deer. No, Charley Perry wasn’t likely to call again, not if he had to speak to the sheriff. Carter glanced at Montinello and said, “Take him home.” The interview was over.

“Will do.” Montinello slid the pickup into gear, and Carter slapped the door a couple of times as Charley rolled up the window. Within seconds the truck disappeared around a stand of old growth that was as dense as it was tall. The firs loomed high, seeming to scrape the steel-colored bellies of the clouds just as the first drops of icy rain began to fall.

Carter shoved his hands deep into the pockets of his parka and looked down the hillside to the crime scene crawling with investigators. The unknown woman’s partial skeleton was stretched out on the plastic sheet. Amanda Pratt was standing a few yards off, smoking a cigarette and hashing it out with Luke Messenger. In the midst of it all was the corpse, with her filed teeth and bits of pink gunk in her hair.

Who was she and what the hell was she doing up in this isolated part of no-damned-where?

Click!

The French doors opened.

A gust of wind, cold as all of winter, swept inside the darkened house. Near-dead embers in the fireplace glowed a brighter red. The old dog lying on the rug near Jenna’s chair lifted his head and let out a low, warning growl.

“Shh!” the intruder hissed.

Jenna’s eyes narrowed as she squinted at the silhouette easing into the large great room. As dark as it was, she recognized her oldest daughter slinking toward the stairs. Just as she’d expected. Great. One more teenager sneaking home in the middle of the night.

“Hush, Critter!” Cassie whispered angrily, her voice sharp as she tiptoed to the stairs.

Jenna snapped on a nearby lamp.

Instantly the log house was illuminated. Cassie froze at the first step. “Damn,” she muttered, her shoulders sagging as she slowly turned and faced her mother.

“You are
so
grounded,” Jenna said from her favorite leather chair.

Instantly, Cassie was on the offensive. “What’re you doing up?”

“Waiting for you.” Jenna unfolded herself from the chair and met her daughter’s sullen expression. Cassie, who so many people said was a carbon-copy of Jenna as a younger woman. Cassie was taller by an inch, but her high cheekbones, dark lashes and brows, and pointed chin were nearly identical to Jenna’s. “Where were you?”

“Out.” She tossed her streaked hair over her shoulder.

“I
know
that. You were supposed to be in bed. As a matter of fact, I remember you saying something like ‘Night, Mom’ around eleven.”

Jenna was rewarded with an exaggerated roll of Cassie’s green eyes. “So who were you with? No, forget that—I figure you were with Josh.”

Cassie didn’t offer any information, but in Jenna’s estimation, Josh Sykes was a foregone conclusion. Ever since Cassie had started dating the nineteen-year-old, she’d become secretive, sullen, and mutinous.

“So where did you go? Precisely.”

Cassie folded her arms over her chest and leaned a shoulder against the yellowed log wall. Her makeup was smeared, her hair mussed, her clothes rumpled. Jenna didn’t have to guess what her daughter had been doing, and it scared her to death. “We were just out driving around,” Cassie said.

“At three in the morning?”

“Yeah.” Cassie lifted a shoulder and yawned.

“It’s freezing outside.”

“So?”

“Look, Cassie, don’t start with the attitude. I’m not in the mood.”

“I don’t see why you care.”

“Don’t you?” Jenna was standing now, advancing on her rebellious daughter, getting her first whiff of cigarette smoke and maybe something else. “Let’s just start with I love you and I don’t want to see you mess up your life.”

“Like you did?” Cassie arched one brow cattily. “When you got pregnant with me?”

The barb hit its intended mark, but Jenna ignored it. “That was a little different. I was almost twenty-two. An adult. On my own. And we’re not talking about me. You’re the one who’s been lying and sneaking out.”

“I can take care of myself.”

“You’re sixteen, for crying out loud.” And a woman. Cassie’s figure was already enviable by Hollywood standards.

“I was just out with friends.”

“‘Driving around.’”

“Yeah.”

“Right.” Jenna wasn’t buying it for a minute. “Haven’t you heard the old axiom that ‘nothing good happens after midnight?’”

Cassie just glared at her.

“Look, this isn’t getting us anywhere now, so go on up to bed and we’ll talk in the morning.”

“There’s nothing to talk about.”

“Sure there is. We’ll start with sneaking out and cruise right into the pitfalls of teen pregnancy and STDs. And that’s just for starters.”

“I can’t wait,” Cassie said, reminding Jenna of herself at the same age. “You just don’t like Josh.”

“I don’t like that he seems to have some kind of control over you, that you’d do anything to be with him. That he talks you into lying to me.”

“I don’t—”

“Ah-ah. If I were you, Cassie, I’d quit while you’re ahead, or at least while you’re not too far behind.”

But Cassie’s temper had sparked and she was suddenly defiant. “You don’t like any of my friends,” she accused, “not since we moved up here, so it’s your fault. I never wanted to come.”

That much was true. Both of her daughters had had fits about her decision to leave L.A. behind and seek out some kind of peace and normalcy in this quiet little town perched on the rocky shores of the Columbia River in Oregon. Jenna had heard the complaints for a year and a half. “That’s old news. We’re here, Cassie, and we’re all going to make the best of it.”

“I’m trying.”

“With Josh.”

“Yeah. With Josh.” Rebellion flashed in Cassie’s eyes.

“To punish me.”

“No,” Cassie said slowly, her jaw setting. “Believe it or not, this isn’t about you, for once. Okay? If I wanted to ‘punish’ you, I’d go back to California and live with Dad.”

“Is that what you want?” Jenna felt as if she’d been sucker-punched, but she didn’t show any emotion, didn’t want to let Cassie know that she’d hit a very strong and painful nerve.

“I just want someone to trust me, okay?”

“Trust is earned, Cassie,” she said, and inwardly cringed as she realized she was echoing words she’d heard from her own mother years before.

Jenna bit her tongue rather than start in on that one. “We’ll talk about it tomorrow.” She snapped off the lamp and heard Cassie’s footsteps trudge up the stairs.
I’m turning into my mother,
she thought, and refused to let her mind wander too far in that frightening direction. “Come on, Critter,” she said to the dog as she relocked the door and started up the flight of stairs to the second story. Her bedroom was halfway up the stairs, just off the landing, the girls’ another half a flight higher. “Let’s go to bed.” The old dog padded behind, his gait slowed by arthritis. Jenna waited for him at the landing and heard Cassie’s door shut with a quiet thud. “We’re finally all safe and sound.”
And you have to get up in two and a half hours.
Inwardly groaning at the thought, she turned the final set of stairs, but from the corner of her eye, through the landing’s stained-glass window, she caught a glimpse of something.

Movement?

Her own pale reflection?

Critter growled softly, and Jenna’s muscles went rigid. “Shh,” she said, but squinted through the colored glass, searching the distorted image of the yard and outbuildings of her ranch—“the compound,” as Cassie referred to it. Security lamps glowed an eerie blue, casting pools of light on the barn, stable, and sheds. The old windmill creaked, its blades turning slowly as it stood, a wooden skeleton, near the lane. The main gate gaped open, the result of the lock freezing and snow piling up around the gateposts. The lane leading to the gate was empty—no rumble of a car or truck engine cutting through the night.

Still, the forested hills and craggy banks of the river were dark and shrouded, the cloudy night a perfect cover…

For whom?

Don’t be silly.

Surely no one was lurking in the wintry shadows.

Of course not.

The worst-case scenario would be that Josh Sykes was still hanging around, hiding behind the corner of the barn, maybe hoping to follow Cassie inside.

Right?

Nothing more sinister than a horny boyfriend hiding near the barn.

The old dog growled again.

“Hush,” Jenna said as she turned into the double doors that opened to her master suite, a cozy set of rooms that she shared with no one.

She’d moved to this isolated spot on the Columbia River for peace of mind, so she’d ignore the knot of dread in her stomach. She was just edgy and out of sorts because her teenager was giving her fits. That’s all.

And yet as she stepped into her darkened bedroom, she couldn’t shake the sensation that something was about to happen.

Something she wouldn’t like.

Something intimately evil.

“Cassie!” Jenna yelled up the stairwell. “Allie! Breakfast. Get a move on! We have to be out of here in half an hour!” Listening for sounds of life coming from upstairs, she walked into the kitchen and glanced at the clock mounted over the stove. They were going to be late. There was just no two ways about it. They really should be at Allie’s school in forty-five minutes and it would take at least twenty to get to the junior high. She flipped on the television, slammed two English muffins into the toaster, and yelled, “Come on, girls!”

She heard the thud and shuffle of footsteps overhead.
Thank God.

She swallowed her second cup of coffee, nearly tripping over Critter, who was hovering near the counter, dropped her empty cup in the sink, and yanked open the refrigerator door. Still no sound of water running. Cassie was usually in the shower by this time. Yanking open the refrigerator door, she found a carton of orange juice and poured two glasses as the muffins popped up. From the television, the local weatherman was predicting the worst snow of the season so far, as temperatures had dropped far below freezing.

Slathering the first set of muffins with butter, she heard footsteps on the stairs. A few seconds later, Cassie appeared.

“There’s no water,” she said glumly.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean there’s no friggin’ water. I turned on the faucet and nothing!” To prove her point, she walked to the sink and twisted on the faucet. Nothing happened.

“No hot water?” Jenna said, hating the thoughts running through her mind. Better a problem with the water heater than the pipes.

“No cold, either.” Cassie looked over at the coffeepot. “How did you…?”

“Got it ready last night. It’s on a timer.” She was at the sink, trying to get the water to flow and failing miserably. “Damn. I guess you’ll just have to get dressed without a shower.”

“Are you out of your mind? I
can’t
go to school without washing my hair.”

“You’ll survive. So will the school.”

“But, Mom—”

“Just eat your breakfast and then change into something clean.”

“No way. I’m not going to school.” Cassie slumped into a chair in the nook. Dark smudges surrounded her eyes, and she couldn’t keep from yawning from her tryst the night before.

“You’re going. Remember the old saying, ‘If you fly with the eagles, you have to rise with the sparrows?’”

“I don’t get it.”

“Sure you do.”

“Well, it’s dumb.”

“Maybe so, but it’s our credo for the morning.”

Cassie rolled her eyes and took a swallow of her juice, but let the muffin sit untouched on her plate. Critter planted himself under the table, his head resting on Cassie’s knee. She didn’t seem to notice or care.

“You and I still need to talk. Last night isn’t going to happen again. I don’t want you sneaking out. Ever. It’s just not safe.”

“You just don’t like Josh.”

“We went over this last night. Josh is fine.”
Even if his IQ was smaller than his shoe size.
“But I don’t like him manipulating you.”

“He doesn’t.”

“And, if you two are having sex—”

“Oh God. Save me.”

“—I need to know about it.”

“It’s none of your business.”

“Of course it is. You’re a minor.”

“Can we talk about this later? Or never?” She glared at her mom as if Jenna was soooo out of it, which, Jenna supposed, she was. But she had to tread softly or she’d do exactly the opposite of what she wanted and send Cassie reeling into Josh Sykes’s ready and randy arms. Jenna glimpsed the kitchen clock counting off the seconds of her life. “Okay, later. After school, when we have more time.”

“Great. Just what we need.
More
time,” Cassie mumbled as Jenna, telling herself that timing is everything in life, stepped out of the kitchen and away from the confrontation they’d have this evening. She walked down a short hallway to the bottom of the stairs. “Allie? Are you up?”

She heard the shuffle of feet and Allie, still wearing her pajamas, inched her way into the kitchen. Her red-blond hair was a disaster, her pixie-like face pulled into a pained expression worthy of an Oscar. “I don’t feel good.”

“What’s wrong?” Jenna said, though she suspected it was nothing. This was one of her twelve-year-old’s favorite tricks these days. Allie had never liked school, still didn’t. She was smart, but one of those kids who was a dreamer, the proverbial square peg that could no more fit into the round hole of student life than fly to the moon. But she had to try.

“Sore throat,” Allie complained, doing her best to look miserable.

“Let me see.”

Obediently, Allie opened her mouth and Jenna peered down what appeared to be a perfectly healthy throat. “Looks okay to me.”

“But it hurts,” Allie whined pathetically.

“It’ll get better. Eat some breakfast.”

“I
can’t.”
She slumped into a chair and folded her arms over the table, burying her head in the crook of one elbow.
“Dad
wouldn’t make me go to school if I was sick.”

Neither would I,
Jenna thought, but didn’t take the bait and give a quick retort about Robert Kramer and his less-than-stellar performance as a father. Allie scowled at her mother and determinedly ignored her breakfast.

Perfect
. Jenna glanced at the clock. The morning was disintegrating from bad to worse and it wasn’t even eight yet. She hated to think what the rest of the day would bring.

Leaving the girls at the table, she tried the faucets in the rest of the house and realized that Cassie was right. Water was nonexistent. By the time she reached the kitchen, Allie had come to life, and, ignoring the English muffin Jenna had toasted, had found a box of frozen waffles and dropped two into the toaster. Apparently her sore throat hadn’t gotten the better of her appetite.

Cassie, finishing her juice, was staring at the television. On the screen a woman reporter was standing in the darkened woods somewhere, in front of a crime scene if the yellow tape could be believed.

“What’s this?” Jenna asked.

“They found some woman up at Catwalk Point,” Cassie said, her gaze transfixed on the television. “I heard it on the radio.”

“Who is it?”

“They’re not saying.”

As if to answer Jenna’s question, the perky, red-haired reporter, wearing a coat and scarf, was saying, “…no word yet from the sheriff’s department as to the identity of the woman who was found yesterday morning by Charley Perry, a man who lives not far from the crime scene.” The screen flashed to an elderly man whom Jenna thought she’d seen in the local café, though she’d never met him. He was talking about discovering the body while hunting.

“Catwalk Point isn’t very far from here,” Allie said as her waffle popped up and she slid it onto the plate with her muffin. “That’s kinda creepy.”

“Real creepy,” Jenna said, then changed her tune quickly. “The police are handling it. No need to worry.”

Cassie sighed loudly, as if she couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Allie found the syrup bottle and squeezed a puddle large enough to cover ten pancakes. Her two small waffles were saturated and then some.

Jenna didn’t comment. She was too busy staring at the small screen, watching as the image changed and the reporter was talking to Sheriff Carter, a tall, broad-shouldered man who dwarfed the woman. “It’s too early to determine the cause of death,” he was saying cautiously, his voice having the hint of a drawl. He was a rugged-looking man with chiseled features, suspicious deep-set eyes, and a dark brush moustache. His hair was straight, coffee-brown, and trimmed neatly. “We’re still trying to identify the body.”

“Are you treating this as a murder investigation?”

“We’re leaving our options open. It’s still too early to tell,” he said firmly, ending the taped interview.

“Thank you, Sheriff Carter,” the reporter said, rotating to face the camera again. “Karen Tyler reporting from Catwalk Point.” The screen flipped to the anchor desk, where a clean-shaven man with receding hair said, “Thank you, Karen,” then, with a smile, turned to the sports report.

Jenna snapped off the set. “Let’s go,” she said.

Cassie stared at her mother as if Jenna were out of her mind. “I told you I can’t go to school like this.”

“And you were wrong. Move it. I don’t have time to argue.”

Muttering under her breath, Cassie shoved her uneaten breakfast aside and banged up the stairs.

“You, too,” Jenna said, pointing a finger at her youngest daughter. The waffles were nearly gone.

“My throat really, really hurts.”

This was just Allie’s most recent ploy to avoid going to Harrington Junior High. Jenna wasn’t buying it. Especially when she saw how easily Allie swallowed her juice. “I think you’ll live…but I’ll call the school later and see how you’re doing. Now, let’s go.”

Seeming to decide that her current strategy wasn’t working, Allie crammed the last piece of waffle into her mouth and flew up the stairs while Jenna dialed Hans Dvorak, a retired horse trainer and now part-time foreman of her small ranch. Hans, like Critter, had come with the property. He picked up on the third ring, his voice deep and rattling from too many years of cigarettes. “Hello?”

“Hans, it’s Jenna.”

“Just on my way over,” the older man said quickly, as if he were late.

“And I’m taking the kids to school now, but we’ve got a little problem here.” As she heard one of her girls clomping down the stairs, she explained about the lack of water.

“Probably the pump,” he said. “It’s had an electrical problem. Happened before, ’bout five years back.”

“Can you fix it?”

“I’m not sure, but I’ll give it a try. You might need an electrician, though, or some kind of handyman who knows more about wiring than I do—possibly a plumber as well.”

Jenna inwardly groaned at the thought, though she did know Wes Allen, an electrician and sometime artist who did work at Columbia Theater in the Gorge, the local theater where she volunteered. Then there was Scott Dalinsky, who, too, helped out with the lights and audio equipment at the theater, though Jenna wouldn’t trust him with work at her house. Even though he was Wes’s nephew and her friend Rinda’s son, Jenna felt uncomfortable around Scott. She’d caught him staring at her one too many times to feel at ease with him.

“I’ll be there in half an hour,” Hans said.

“Thanks.”

Hans was a godsend. At seventy-three, he still helped with the livestock and kept the place running. He’d been the caretaker for the previous owners and when Jenna had moved into the house, she’d nearly begged him to stay on. He’d agreed and she’d never regretted the decision for a second. Today was no exception. If Hans couldn’t fix what was wrong, he’d find someone who could.

Allie, her wild hair somewhat tamed, walked into the room. She was already wearing a fleece jacket and had the strap of her backpack slung over one shoulder.

“Did you brush your teeth?” Jenna asked, then realized what she was saying. “I know this isn’t what the Dental Association would suggest, but chew some gum on the way to school if your teeth feel fuzzy.”

“They’re fine,” Allie said in a weak voice, gently reminding her mother that she wasn’t well.

“You’ve got a math test today, right? Ready for it?”

Frown lines drew Allie’s eyebrows together, and for an instant she was the spitting image of her father. “I hate math.”

“You’ve always been good at math.”

“But it’s pre-algebra.” Allie’s nose wrinkled in disgust.

“Yeah, well, we all suffered through it,” Jenna said, then heard herself and thought better of her response. She pulled her jacket off a peg near the back door and slipped her arms through its sleeves. “Look, I’ll try to help you with it tonight and if I can’t, maybe Mr. Brennan can. He was an engineer and in the Air Force and—”

“No!” Allie said quickly, and Jenna backed off. Neither of her daughters was comfortable with their mother dating, even though since the divorce Robert had remarried twice. A record even by Hollywood standards. Harrison Brennan was their neighbor, ex-military, and a widower. He’d shown more than a passing interest in Jenna since she moved in and yet hadn’t treated her with the kid gloves and awestruck attitude of many of the townspeople when she’d first moved to Falls Crossing.

“Okay, I’ll see what I can do,” she said, marching to the bottom of the stairs as she tugged on a pair of leather gloves. “Cassie, get a move on! We’ll be in the car!”

“I’m coming, okay?”

“Yeah, right.” Back in the kitchen, she said to Allie, “Let’s go warm up the car,” and was out the back door in a heartbeat. Outside, the air was cold as ice and just as brittle. It swept over the covered walkway and caught in her hair. As she unlocked the garage door, she caught a glimpse of the sky. Low, gunmetal gray clouds skimmed the surrounding hills and threatened snow, just as the weatherman had predicted. “Brrr,” Jenna muttered, shivering and promising herself that next summer she would enclose this breezeway with triple-paned, insulated windows and add heat.

Critter and Allie followed her into the garage—another building that could use thick insulation and a new roof. They all piled into her Jeep, and Jenna rammed her key into the ignition.

Pumping the gas, she flicked her wrist.

The engine ground.

Didn’t catch.

“Oh, come on,” Jenna urged the SUV, then glanced at Allie, who was buckling her seat belt. “It’s just cold,” she said, as much to herself as her daughter. Determined, Jenna tried again. And again. And yet again, but the damned thing wouldn’t start and she didn’t have time to try to figure out what was wrong with it. Frustrated, she glanced to the next bay of the garage where an old Ford pickup that had come with the ranch was parked. “We’ll take the truck.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. Come on.” Jenna was already out of the SUV and headed for the driver’s side of the truck when Cassie, cell phone pressed to her ear, hurried into the garage.

She took one look at what was happening and stopped short. “I’ll call you back,” she said, and snapped her cell phone shut. Dropping the phone into her purse, she said to her mother, “You’re kidding, right?”