Colder Than Ice (16 page)

“You seem closer than that.”

She blinked at him. “What do you mean?”

“Well, let's see, you keep in touch with her, you worry about her, you sneak out, cut school and drive all the way out here to make sure she's okay, and you seem to know more about her than anyone I've met so far.”

“What makes you think I know anything about her?”

“You knew she was in trouble.”

She licked her lips.

“I like her, Dawn. I like you, too. You can trust me.”

Dawn drew a deep breath, swallowed, then nodded once. “She's my birth mother,” she said.

Bryan felt his eyes widen and just barely prevented his jaw from dropping.

“But you can't tell anyone. Not
anyone,
Bryan.”

“I won't, I promise. Jeez.”

Footsteps sounded on the porch. “Oh, crap,” Dawn muttered. “No way was that a half hour.”

“Go out the back door,” Bryan told her. “There's a path through the trees and a minipond out there at the end of it. I'll meet you there as soon as I can get away.”

She grabbed her bagel, yanked open the back door and ran. Bryan closed it behind her, even as the front door was swinging wide, and his dad and Beth were walking through it. Bry flipped the lock, spun around, looking at the table, at
the two coffee cups and the two plates, half a bagel still on one of them. The other bore only crumbs.

Beth and Josh were coming toward the kitchen. Bryan grabbed the extra plate, knife and cup of coffee, spun to the sink to empty the cup, yanked open the dishwasher, tossed the items into it, slammed it closed and lunged for his chair.

He was just sliding into it when they stepped into the kitchen.

“Hey, you two,” he said lightly. “So what did Chief Frankie have to say?”

M
ordecai stood on the bank of the glittering stream that writhed snakelike among the pines and sugar maples. A more picturesque scene, he couldn't have imagined. The last time he'd been here, Beth's little cottage had been a part of the picture. He'd waited, of course, until the ambulances had carried the old woman away and the cottage had been empty. Then he'd slipped inside and found the vial where he expected to—in Beth's refrigerator. The hypodermic had been in the wastebasket.

He'd been fairly certain today would be the day. He'd been careful, that night in the old woman's kitchen, but he couldn't use the first vial in the little row of them in her refrigerator, because it only had a small amount of insulin remaining. She might have noticed the added volume. He'd chosen the next one, the first full vial. Removed a little insulin with a hypodermic of his own, then injected the succinylcholine he'd
stolen from a veterinarian's office several weeks ago. He hadn't known, then, why he would need the drug. But the guides had told him to take it, and the guides were always right.

The old woman must have used the remaining insulin in the first vial during the course of the day. Then she took the special vial with her to Beth's, where she injected herself with the poison that had killed her.

And after the ambulances and Beth and the man and the boy and everyone else had cleared out, Mordecai had returned to the house to retrieve the evidence and, also, to rig the natural gas line. It wasn't difficult. The key was timing. He turned off the main breaker, which was in a box mounted to a pole near the roadside. Then he turned off the gas and drilled a hole in the pipe where it ran to the furnace. Turned the gas back on. Adjusted the thermostat to a low setting, so it wouldn't start instantly when he turned the power back on. After that, all he had to do was wait. The guides had surely protected him last night. No one had found the evidence before he had removed it.

The gas built up in the house, even as the temperature outside dropped during the night. When it got cold enough, the furnace came on. A spark was all it took.

Mordecai dipped into his coat pocket and closed his latex protected hand around the small glass vial of insulin-and-succinylcholine cocktail, and the spent hypodermic, lifting them out. The label on the vial bore Maude Bickham's name. But Maude wouldn't be needing it anymore. He put the vial into an empty onion bag, added the needle, then laid the bag on the rocky shore and hammered it with a stone, breaking the contents into smaller pieces. He filled the mesh bag with creek stones he plucked from the stream bed and knotted the top.
Then he tossed it into the stream. It landed in a deep swirling pool and sank beneath the crystalline water. He didn't think it would ever be found, and if it was, the water would have rinsed away all traces of the succinylcholine he'd added to Maude's insulin. He'd left no fingerprints. Nothing. It couldn't be connected to him. The rock on which he'd smashed the vial bore traces of liquid. He kicked it into the stream. He'd thought of everything.

He turned toward the road, moving past the remains of Beth's house before he made it to his car. He was making progress. Her best friend was dead, and her home and possessions were destroyed.

But there was still so much more to be done. He had to strip her of everything. And he had to make inroads with the boy, his heir. He had to make sure.

Even now, he wasn't sure exactly how he was supposed to proceed with the heir. He assumed he had to teach the child about the scriptures and about the guides, how to listen to them, how to hear them. They had whispered about leaving his gift behind when he moved on from this world. He didn't know exactly how he was supposed to do that, because his gift wasn't something that could really be taught. But he trusted them. They would tell him—when the time came.

 

Josh knew damn well Beth was waiting to get a word alone with him. He'd been stalling for time all the way home, running several steps ahead of her, keeping the pace so fast she was too breathless to talk.

And then they were in the kitchen, with Bryan sitting nearby. She wouldn't bring her questions up in front of the boy. Bryan, though, seemed edgy, eager to get away from
them both. And none of Josh's efforts to keep him around worked. Beth was putting her bowl of rolled oats and water into the microwave and hitting the power button when Bryan left.

She turned around, leaned back against the counter and crossed her arms over her chest. “Alone at last,” she said.

Josh lifted his brows. “That sounds interesting. Should I lock the door and clear off the table?” Flirting might help. She was attracted to him. In fact, the only time he felt he was getting anywhere with her was when he was playing up the romance angle. The rest of the time she was as wary and distrustful as a wounded doe during hunting season.

“No,” she said. “But you should be prepared to answer a few tough questions.”

“That's not going to be nearly as much fun.”

“Josh, some things about you just don't add up. I need to know why you—”

She broke off there, interrupted by the ringing of his cell phone. Josh yanked it out of his pocket, glanced at the panel. It was Arthur Stanton. “I have to take this,” he said.

“You can't dodge my questions forever, Josh.”

“I don't want to dodge any part of you, Beth.” He hit the button and brought the phone to his ear, hurrying out of the room as he did. “Art, it's me? What's up?”

“A lot. How are you holding up?”

“Fine. I'm fine. I'm not so sure about Beth, though.” He glanced back toward the kitchen to be sure she was still out of earshot. “I assume the local police chief has called you by now?”

“Not yet. Should he have?”

“She. Her name's Parker, and she's on to me. She'll be phoning you to verify who I am. Tell her, Art.”

“Will do. We're still working on the cause of that explosion, Joshua, but we have a result from the postmortem.”

“And?”

“It's Marcia Black's opinion that Maude Bickham didn't die of natural causes. She believes Maude was poisoned. Death by succinylcholine.”

“Jesus.” He closed his eyes, racking his brain. “She found proof?”

“Her report says that a relatively new test, a liquid chromatography-tandem mass spectrometry procedure, showed—”

“In English, Art.”

Arthur cleared his throat. Papers rattled. “There's evidence of the drug in Maude's urine. Barely. Maude died before more than a trace worked through her system. Black said that a few years ago, this drug was completely undetectable. This test is still controversial. Sometimes the process of decomposition can leave traces of the same chemical. But given the circumstances…”

“What is it, anyway?”

“It's curare based.”

“Curare? You're shitting me.”

“No, it's for real. Every hospital has the stuff. It's used in surgery, paralyzes the patient's muscles. They have to be on a respirator until it wears off, because the lungs are paralyzed along with everything else. Maude was basically frozen, conscious and aware, but unable to move or breathe. She suffocated, Joshua.”

Josh closed his eyes slowly. He couldn't imagine a more horrible way to die, and it burned in his gut to remember Maude, how she'd looked, and to know she'd been conscious, aware, and helpless. God. Beth had been right; she'd seen the life, the awareness, in Maude's eyes during those final minutes. It was like something out of a horror movie.

“Black said it had to be injected?” he asked.

“Yeah. She suspects someone mixed it with Maude's insulin sometime prior.”

Which meant, Josh reasoned, that someone must have had access to Maude's insulin. Somehow, someone had been in Maude's house. On his watch.

And then it hit him—that night, when the neighbor's cat had gotten inside! It flashed again in his mind's eye. Maude opening the fridge for the cream, straightening her insulin vials. As if they were out of place. As if something had disturbed them.

He had found a basement window, open just a little. Jesus, he'd screwed up yet again.

“It also means she gave herself the injection while she was at Beth's,” Arthur went on. “The reaction is too fast otherwise.”

“What about the team that was going over Beth's cottage before it blew up? Did they find the vial? The needle? Anything at all?” Josh asked.

“No. They'd barely gotten inside when you called to warn them she was on her way, and then the place blew up. Your call probably saved their lives, you know.”

Josh sighed. Seemed he only managed to save lives by accident. “So the spent hypodermic, and any other evidence, was in the cottage when it was blown to bits,” Josh said. His voice dropped. “Or maybe not. God knows he had time to go back for it if he wanted to, while we were all at the hospital with Maude. Perfect.”

“What is?” Beth asked.

Josh spun around, wondered how long she'd been listening, then spoke to Arthur. “I've gotta go.”

“If someone murdered Beth's best friend, Joshua, it was probably Mordecai Young. We've run Maude Bickham's back
ground. She didn't have an enemy in the world. No one with a motive. Young must be there, in that town, somewhere.”

“I know.”

“Be careful. He's deadly.”

“I know that, too. Thanks.” Josh hung up the phone, schooled his expression into something he hoped was casual and turned to face Beth.

She tipped her head to one side. “I take it that was your friend the ghoul, telling you what her inspection of Maude's body turned up.”

“I have no idea what you're talking about.”

“I heard something about a hypodermic that blew up with my cottage.”

He frowned and felt his heartbeat speed up.

“Maude was murdered, wasn't she, Josh?”

“Look, you're nervous. Given what you've told me about your past, I don't blame you. But you're projecting, Beth.”

She stared at him, her eyes seeming to pierce his skin, to see inside his mind.

“Okay,” he said softly. “Okay, I admit I asked a friend of mine to take a look at Maude's body.” That was good, he thought, give her a little of the truth. Just enough. “I wanted it done discreetly, so as not to upset you or all her friends in this town, and yeah, to avoid having to go through formally requesting it. I just wanted to know what killed her. I loved her. Surely that's understandable.”

She blinked slowly. “Who are you really, Josh?”

“I'm exactly who I say I am, Beth.”

She licked her lips, lowered her eyes. He didn't think he'd sold her on that, not entirely, at least. But she was uncertain. “What did your…friend find out?”

He knew without question she would leave if he told her the truth. She would bolt, and he would have failed in his job. “There was some question about the needle tracks in her arms. I told them she was diabetic.” Then it occurred to him. “They wondered if she might have missed a dose of insulin or mistakenly taken two. Asked if I could get the vial or needle she used last so they could try to determine anything from those, but I told them they were probably in the cottage when it blew.”

Beth shook her head slowly. “She hardly ever forgot. She'd been living with diabetes for a long time, Josh. It was like remembering to brush her teeth.”

He nodded.

“Besides, we'd have noticed symptoms. And the doctor said it was respiratory arrest.”

“I know.”

She tipped her head slightly to one side as she studied him so closely it made him feel like squirming. “So are you ready to answer the rest of my questions now, Josh?”

He shrugged. “I'll do anything you want, if it'll take that suspicion out of your eyes. It hurts to see it there, Beth.”

She averted her gaze, pacing toward the fireplace. “I don't want to hurt your feelings. It's…it's been a long time since I've trusted a man, Joshua. And every time I start to trust you, something comes along to fill me with doubts.”

“It's your past causing those doubts. Not me. You're judging me by what someone else did to you. But it's okay. I'm willing to deal with your baggage if that's what it takes.”

She thinned her lips. He thought she felt a little guilty, but not guilty enough to let it go. “Why didn't you tell me she wasn't really your grandmother?”

“Are you kidding?” He shook his head as if the idea were ridiculous. “If she found out, she'd have been crushed. I introduced myself as her ‘honorary' grandson once, and she actually cried, she was so hurt.” He sighed. “Until he was six, Bryan didn't know the difference between his real grandparents and his unofficial one.”

“So you've been close for a long time?”

He shrugged, trying to think ahead, to anticipate her questions, not let her trip him up. Beth was sharp, and damned if she wasn't the most suspicious woman he'd ever met. “Yeah. Until the falling out.”