Deep Freeze (25 page)

Jenna didn’t wait for clearance from the secretary, just barged into Sheriff Shane Carter’s office and plopped into his chair. “I need your help,” Jenna said, adrenaline pumping through her blood. She had to do something. Now. “And if you can’t help me,” she added, “then you need to tell me who can and point me in their direction. I received another note.”

“What?” he said, dead serious.

“That’s right. My personal Wordsworth has struck again.” She tried to keep her voice light, but she couldn’t hide the fear that had nearly congealed her blood. To think that he’d actually been in her house. Her bedroom. Her flesh crawled as she pulled a plastic bag holding the horrible poem from her purse. She dropped it without ceremony onto Carter’s desk. “And last night someone tried to run me off the road, and there are more things missing, movie paraphernalia, from my house. Things keep breaking down and I don’t know whether someone’s trying to totally freak me out or I’m paranoid or-or…” She stopped suddenly, realizing that she was notching herself up, that she was sounding as scared as she felt. “Oh, God.” She pushed her hair from her eyes and forced herself to take a deep breath.

“You want to slow down and start over?” He was leaning back in his chair, staring at her over tented fingers. His expression was grim, his lips compressed, but for the first time since she’d been introduced to him, she thought she detected a bit of tenderness in his eyes. A tad of compassion. “Wait a sec.” Reaching toward the phone, he pressed an intercom button on the desk and said, “Jerri, if you don’t mind, would you bring Ms. Hughes a cup of coffee or a soda or…?” He lifted bushy eyebrows in her direction, hoping for her to choose, she supposed.

“I don’t care. Anything…”

Carter nodded as she wrapped her arms around her middle and tried to make sense of the note. Who would stalk her here—in lazy, little Falls Crossing, though it hadn’t been all that lazy in the past few weeks. Had someone followed her from L.A., or had she met her personal nutcase somewhere in this little town and hadn’t realized it?

“Decaf, Jerri,” Carter said and visibly winced at the reply. “I’ll remember it when you’re up for review. Oh—and hold all my calls…well, I know, but aren’t they
all
emergencies? Okay, fine, if they call, put through Sparks, Messenger, or anyone from the state crime lab—especially Merline Jacobosky. Anyone else I’ll call back…yeah, thanks.” Clicking off the intercom, he focused all of his attention on Jenna. Coffee-brown eyes scrutinized her. “Now, Ms. Hughes, let’s go through this again. Slowly.”

“Okay.” She did. Cognizant of the whirlwind of activity going on outside his office, knowing that he was responsible for a county that the governor was hoping the federal government would declare a disaster area, she told him everything she claimed she could remember. He read the note through the plastic and scowled, the lines near the corners of his eyes becoming deep creases.

“…I’d already decided to take your advice,” she said as her story wound down. “I’ve called several security companies, looking for a bodyguard and someone to replace my alarm system. Unfortunately, with the weather and red tape, it’ll take some time. But Wes Allen—you know him, I think—” Carter nodded, his jaw shifting to one side, his muscles bunching reflexively. “I work with Wes at the theater and he’s agreed to help with the existing system to try and make it functional until I can replace it.”

“Good idea.”

“You mentioned me getting a bodyguard earlier.”

He nodded.

“Do you have anyone who would be interested?” she asked. “You know a lot of people in the area. People who have been in law enforcement and might be looking for a job like this. Otherwise I’m stuck with the Yellow Pages and the Internet.” She managed a thin smile. “That’s a little like jumping from the frying pan into the fire.”

His eyebrows rose and he grinned. “Well, we don’t want that. You’ve got enough trouble with this.” He tapped the bag on his desk. “I’ll ask around. I’ve got some friends that might consider the job.”

“Good.” Though she wasn’t certain having a stranger on the premises “protecting” her would make her feel any better.

“There’s a studio apartment off the garage or an old bunkhouse that I use for storage right now.”

He made a note and said, “In the meantime, I’d like to check out your house and anyone who has access to it.” He thumbed through a stack of files on his desk, pulled out one with her name written on it, then flipped it open. Spying the page he was looking for, he twirled the file on his desk so she could read it. “This is a list of the people who have had access to your house in the last sixty days, or so you claimed the last time you were in. Any changes? Additions?”

She picked up the file and mentally ticked off each of the names. Friends, family, workmen, delivery people, even a couple who had come door-to-door, selling religion. “This looks pretty complete,” she said.

“When do you think this note was delivered?”

“I don’t know. I never look in that drawer. It could have been yesterday, or three months ago…maybe longer.”

“Your house cleaner, does she…look in the drawer?”

“I doubt it—just dusts on top.”

“What about the kids? Sometimes they nose around where they shouldn’t.”

“I asked the girls before I left. Neither one of them had opened it.”

“Are they alone now?”

“No. I won’t do that anymore, even though my oldest is sixteen…” Her voice trailed off and her gaze clashed with Carter’s. He knew about Cassie already; he’d dragged her home the last time she’d snuck out. “Well, you’ve met Cassie. She thinks I’m treating her like a baby, but that’s too bad.”

“Isn’t that the mantra of most sixteen-year-olds?”

“Unfortunately.”

He read the note again. “Our poet repeats himself.”

“Limited vocabulary,” she cracked, but the joke fell flat.

“I’ll have the lab check this out,” he said. “I’ll send a deputy right now with a fingerprint kit, and I’ll be out later. We’ll talk to your neighbors and anyone who’s been at your place recently, see if anyone saw anything suspicious.”

“Wouldn’t they have said something already?”

“It could be they didn’t recognize it as suspicious. I’ll try to jog some memories.” His smile was hard, barely twitching the lips beneath his moustache. “As I said, I’ll stop by and hopefully have a couple of names of potential bodyguards.” He leaned back in the chair.

“Thanks,” she said, and feeling only slightly better, left the sheriff’s office and headed for the sporting goods store. She didn’t believe in guns, hated the thought of having a loaded one in the house, but now that her family was threatened, she decided she needed protection. She’d considered getting shotgun shells earlier and had been too busy. Now was the time.

You’ve never shot anything other than paper targets in your life.

“Yeah, well, there’s a first time for everything,” she muttered as she walked down the steps of the courthouse and tightened her wool scarf around her neck.

Carter watched her leave. She was scared and he didn’t blame her. She disappeared down the stairs and he stood and stretched, walking to the window and staring outside through the frosty panes to the parking lot below. Blazers, an Explorer, a truck, and two Crown Victorias were in the lot along with a few pedestrians, heads bent against the wind as they walked past. Across the street, at Danby’s, there was yet another sale, the advertising for this one including Santa painted on the storefront windows.

Small Town, U.S.A.,
he thought.

Small Town, U.S.A., with one missing woman and another woman found dead.
Carter didn’t like it. He didn’t like it at all.

Lieutenant Sparks had called earlier. The dental records for Mavis Gette were hard to match because of the filed teeth, so now they were waiting for DNA. That would take some time, but Gette’s cousin had confirmed that Mavis had once broken her collarbone—the clavicle that they’d found near the body had, according to the Medical Examiner, once been fractured. In Carter’s estimation, Jane Doe was Mavis Gette. The FBI agreed, according to Sparks, as he was dealing with the local field agents. So why had her teeth been filed down? Why the alginate in her hair? Was this guy some kind of weird, psychotic dentist? How did a woman who was last heard from in Medford end up at Catwalk Point?

He moved his head around, releasing the tension in the back of his neck and, from his vantage point, saw Jenna Hughes hurry across the parking lot. Her boots slid a bit and she had to catch herself on the fender of one of the Crown Vics.

It was funny how he felt about her. He’d assumed she was a Hollywood princess, pampered, used to the good life. But he’d been wrong. At least here, in Falls Crossing, she wasn’t a star—no, far from it. Here she was a single mother who was scared out of her wits. Mentally he considered all the ex-cops he knew who might be willing to come to her aid and hire on as a bodyguard. He rejected them all, and then gave himself a swift mental kick as he realized the reason. An unlikely spurt of envy that sped through his blood.

He didn’t like the idea of one of the people he knew looking after her.

However, the thought of her being unprotected was worse.

He couldn’t accept the job.

He had more than he could handle as it was.

His gaze followed her as she slid behind the wheel of her Jeep and eased out of the lot. The pathetic dog was sitting in the passenger seat.

“Don’t tell me.” BJ’s voice brought him up cold.

He turned to find her in the doorway, one shoulder braced against the jamb. “What?”

“You know what,” she chided. “You and every red-blooded male in this county—no, make that this country—have a hard-on for Jenna Hughes.”

He snorted.

“How about that? You don’t even deny it.” Her smile stretched wide. “I never thought I’d see the day.”

He sighed. “I think we have work to do.”

“You’re in love, Carter. Admit it. Or at least you’re in lust.”

“You’ve got an overactive imagination.”

“You son of a bitch,” she said, but she was smiling. “I thought you were above this sort of thing.”

None of us is immune,
he thought, and walked back to his desk. “The lady’s got a problem,” he said, showing BJ the second note. “Someone’s definitely stalking her, and I thought you could work some of your computer/Internet magic and help me find the son of a bitch.”

“Gladly,” BJ agreed. “I’m still working on a list of people who rent her movies, but I can check the Web as well.”

“Good,” he said, before realizing she’d dropped by his office unsummoned. “Was there something you wanted?”

“Not me. It’s the press. They’re clamoring for a statement.”

“They can take it up with the OSP.”

“Yeah, that’s what they’ve been told, but a few aren’t taking ‘no’ for an answer. The most stubborn one is Roxie Olmstead, the local reporter for the
Banner
. She wants an interview with you. Caught up with me on the street, knows I work with you, and blah, blah, blah, could she have an exclusive interview.”

He remembered her from an earlier case. Pretty. Petite. Persistent. Pain in the butt. “You told her to get in line, right?”

“I told her I had absolutely no influence over you. She’d have to try and reach you herself.”

“Thanks a lot.”

“Just wanted to give you a heads-up.”

“Thanks.” He reached for his phone.

“It’s hell to be popular,” BJ said, and started to leave.

You got that right,
he thought, but held his tongue as he called Montinello and sent him over to Jenna Hughes’s ranch. He doubted they’d find any fingerprints, but then again, who knew? Maybe they’d get lucky. Nonetheless, BJ’s observations hit too close to home. What the devil was he doing fantasizing about Jenna Hughes? Christ Jesus, he was more of a fool than he’d ever admit.

“A bodyguard? Are you serious?” Cassie stopped opening the boxes labeled
Christmas Decorations
and stared at her mother in horror. “You’re going to have some stranger come live with us? No way. No friggin’ way.”

“He’ll stay in the studio behind the garage.” Jenna was adamant. Ever since finding the second note, she’d been on edge. Jumpy. Out of her mind with fear. The usual noises of the house bothered her, and she was forever double-checking the locks. She’d picked up shotgun shells from the sporting goods store, but hadn’t yet loaded the old gun.

Allie unwrapped a crystal ornament in the shape of a snowman. “You could hire Mr. Settler.”

“Save me,” Cassie whispered.

“No, really. He sometimes does detective work.”

“Is that right?” Jenna asked.

“Mm-hmm.” Allie set the ornament on the table, where it reflected the reddish glow from the fire burning on the other side of the room.

“Did he tell you that?” Cassie demanded.

“Dani did.”

“Dani tells stories to anyone gullible enough to listen.”

“It’s true. I saw his gun.”

“What?” Jenna was slitting open the plastic tape on another box, but she looked up sharply. “What were you doing snooping through Mr. Settler’s things?”

“I wasn’t. He was wearing it. In a shoulder holster. I saw it under his jacket.”

“Weird.” Cassie wadded up a layer of newspaper before pulling out a string of lights. “Did you know he was a P.I.?” she asked her mother.

“No. He never mentioned it.”

“Even weirder.”

“I don’t think we’ll hire Mr. Settler.”

“Thank God,” Cassie muttered under her breath.

“But it would be cool.”

“You just want Dani to come live with us,” Cassie accused, and Allie’s face darkened.

“He could do it. He was in the Army. In the Special Forces, or something like that.”

“Another tall tale. God, Allie, grow up, would you?”

“It’s true!”

“Yeah, right.” Cassie plugged in the string of lights and they winked on, shining bright and reflecting in little spots of color on the floor.

“Enough. We don’t know anything about Mr. Settler.”