Deep Freeze (31 page)

“Never,” Rinda predicted as she locked the dead bolt behind her and pulled on the door handles, double-checking that they were secure. “No end in sight, according to the weatherman at KBST.” They headed down the exterior steps. “Time to think of moving south
before
the play opens and we get panned by the local press.”

“Has anyone ever told you that the cup is half full some of the time?”

“Never,” Rinda said as they followed a cement path to the nearly empty parking lot where their two vehicles waited beneath a solitary lamppost. It shed a weak blue haze over the cars, making them shimmer under a thin glaze of ice. The wind swept through a back alley and rushed over the lot, cutting through Jenna’s heavy down jacket as if it were made of gossamer lace.

“Got time for a beer?” Rinda was fumbling with her key ring. “I’ll buy. The least I can do for your donation today,” she said, mentioning the clothes, shoes, and purses that Jenna had brought to the theater.

“Don’t worry about it. A tax deduction, you know. My C.P.A. will be thrilled.”

“Then
you
buy.”

Jenna giggled. “Better not tonight. I’ve got to report in,” she said, and with a gloved hand, pulled her walkie-talkie out of the pocket of her jacket. “Besides, I’m beat. Haven’t slept that well since I got that fun little missive from my ‘friend.’” Not sleeping well was an understatement. Ever since discovering that her bedroom had been violated, Jenna had been unable to relax. She’d been hearing things—strange noises, or footsteps, and she’d felt all the while that someone was watching her every move, that someone not being Jake Turnquist. Just knowing that someone had been in her home, sneaking through the corridors, pawing through her things, had made her jumpy and anxious.

“Hey, you’ve got the bodyguard now. Things should be better, right?”

“I know, that should help, but…” Jenna glanced up at the steeple rising high, piercing the low-hanging clouds. “…I’m still a little uptight.”

“All the more reason for a beer or glass of wine. Besides, I think we need to discuss the play. I’m sure you noticed that Madge hasn’t really grasped the role of Mary Bailey,” Rinda said. Her car door unlocked with a loud click.

Jenna agreed, but said, “She’s getting there.”

“And when is she going to arrive? In the
next
millennium?”

“It’s not
that
bad.”

“Oooh, I think it is. Face it, Jenna, Madge is hopeless! Terribly, horribly, indecently miscast.” She frowned in the eerie blue light. “My fault. I should have gone with someone else.”

“You’re exaggerating,” Jenna argued, though watching Madge try to emote as Mary Bailey had been painful.

“No, I’m not. I’ve got some ideas about the part.”

“If it involves me stepping in, forget it. Madge will get it right.” Jenna checked her watch. A glass of wine sounded like heaven. Coffee laced with Kahlua, even better. She needed to unwind, to forget about all the stresses in her life, but it was already late. “I’d really better take a rain check. We could discuss this over coffee in the morning, though.”

“Fine, spoilsport,” Rinda acquiesced. “Coffee it is…say, ten at the Canyon Café?”

“I’ll be there.”

“And you’re buying.”

“Right.” Jenna unlocked her Jeep and slid inside. Shivering, she started the engine; then with the doors locked, fired up the defrost, turned the fan on to its highest setting, and waited for the ice on her windshield to melt. Within five minutes there was a patch of visibility in the window. She drove out of the lot a few seconds after Rinda did, following the red taillights of her friend’s car, bothered slightly that the lights in the theater still blazed and Lynnetta was alone in the basement.

“Don’t worry about it,” she told herself, but worry had been her steady companion over the last few weeks. Everything in her life was eating at her, keeping sleep at bay. Driving through the snowy streets, she noticed that the town seemed inordinately quiet; few cars were traveling the narrow streets lined by storefronts proudly displaying holiday decor.

None of the lights, garlands, or wreaths brought Jenna any joy, nor any comfort. As was the case ever since Jill had died, Jenna dreaded the holidays, a time of year that felt empty and cold and riddled with guilt.

You should have died instead of Jill.

How many times had those words echoed through her skull?

A hundred?

A thousand?

Ten thousand?

“Stop it!” she said out loud. She was overreacting to the coming of Christmas. The disturbing letters she’d received and the missing women only added to the tension she felt as the holidays approached. She turned on the radio and, as if the DJ had sensed her mood, the strains of
Blue Christmas
wafted through the speakers. Elvis Presley was warbling about a sad holiday. Just what she needed.

“Great,” she said to herself, clicked off the radio, and reached for her cell phone. She dialed home and Allie answered before the second ring.

“Mom?”

“Yeah.”

“You’ve got my backpack, right? I mean, I left it in the car and forgot it and I didn’t have it all day and I need it for my homework and—”

“Hey, whoa! Slow down, honey.” While trying to keep the SUV on the road, Jenna turned on the dome light and hazarded a quick look into the backseat. “I don’t think it’s here.”

“It was in the way back. Remember? Critter jumped into the backseat with me yesterday and I threw my backpack into the cargo space, you know, with all that other junk you were taking to the theater.”

Jenna’s heart sank. “You mean with the bags of clothes and purses I was donating?” Jenna flashed back to her arrival in the parking lot. Wes Allen had just been getting out of his truck and had offered to help her unload the back. She’d been grateful for the help at the time. “It’s probably at the theater, then.”

“I have to have it,” Allie whined.

“Tonight?” Jenna asked, trying to think of some way to avoid a return trip into town. “You want me to go get it?”

“Pleeeeaaaase, Mom. If I don’t do my algebra assignment, Mrs. Hopfinger will
kill
me.”

“I doubt that the situation’s that dire.”

“It’s dire-er!” From the sound of it, Allie was on her way to a mega-meltdown, the last thing Jenna needed to deal with tonight.

“Life and death?” Jenna teased.

“Yes!” Allie wasn’t in the mood for any jokes.

“Okay, okay,” Jenna said, resigned to her fate, her eyes already narrowing as she searched through the misty windshield for a place to turn around. “Relax, honey. I’ll go get it.”

“Thank you, thank you, thank you!”

“You’re welcome,” she said, a few flakes of new snow swirling and dancing in the path of her headlights. “Is Jake there?”

“Um-hmm.”

“Why don’t you put him on?”

“Kay.”

There was a second of dead air. Jenna spied a wide spot in the road and slowed as a deep male voice said, “Turnquist.”

Jenna launched into what was happening. “Look, here’s the deal with Allie’s backpack.” She explained what she thought had happened and said, “I’m going back for it now.”

“Wait a minute.” Concern edged his voice. “I don’t like you going back there. No one’s at the theater. Let me handle this.”

“It’ll take too much time, Jake, and it’s safe. The theater’s locked up tighter than a drum, and I’ve got one of the few keys. I probably won’t even be alone. Lynnetta Swaggert was there when I left ten minutes ago. Rinda locked her in, and her husband comes over to walk her home, so I think I’ll be okay. Besides, I don’t want you leaving the girls alone out at the house. I’m only ten minutes out of town. I’ll turn around and pick up the backpack and have my walkie-talkie, mace, and cell phone with me. If I’m not home in forty minutes, send in the cavalry.”

She could tell that he wanted to argue, but thankfully he didn’t and she hung up, promising to call him if she sensed that anything was wrong.

What a joke. The problem was that everything was wrong right now. Nothing was right.

“Damn it all to hell,” she whispered, then, despite her own trepidations, she pulled a quick one-eighty and headed back to Falls Crossing.

If she was lucky, Lynnetta would still be in the theater.

If not, she’d make this a very short trip.

It was probably her case of nerves, but the town seemed more deserted than when Jenna had driven through it a few minutes earlier. The parking lot of the theater was empty and ice-glazed. The old church-cum-theater stood like a lonely sentinel, dark, cold, and foreboding, its spire knifing upward through the falling snow.

As she stared through the rapidly fogging windshield, Jenna felt a cold tickle on the back of her neck, a warning not to go any farther.

It’s just your imagination. You were inside less than half an hour ago! Get this over with, for God’s sake!

Briefly, she considered calling Jake again and keeping him on the phone as she searched for the backpack, then discarded the idea. It seemed foolish, would make her appear a helpless female.

What kind of a baby are you? Just get the damned pack and go home.

Before she could change her mind, she climbed out of her Jeep, locked it behind her, and felt icy pellets of snow rain down her neck. She dashed across the slippery parking lot, then hurried up the stairs. A block away she heard traffic, told herself she wasn’t really alone, and rammed her key into the lock. She twisted, but the bolt didn’t slide. “Come on, come on,” she urged, wondering if this was some kind of omen when suddenly the lock sprang open. “Thank God.”

Inside, the theater was cold and still. Weird plays of light seeped through the stained-glass windows in strange, shifting patterns. She felt a tremor of fear. Even the few remaining religious images tacked to the walls took on a demonic rather than heavenly guise in the shadows.

“Get a grip,” she mumbled under her breath and snapped on the lights. Immediately the old nave was awash with light and her trip-hammering heart slowed a bit. She hastened down the main aisle, her footsteps clicking loudly. “Lynnetta?” she called, more for the sound of her own voice than anything else. “Are you still here? It’s Jenna.” She paused, listening, but, as she expected, there was no response, just the creaking of old rafters and the rush of wind against the steeple. No doubt Lynnetta had already gone home, probably on her husband’s arm.

Jenna hurried down the few stairs past Rinda’s office, then took the rest of the flight downward to the basement and costuming area where the hint of Lynnetta’s perfume still lingered. She reached for the light switch but her hand paused in midair.

Again she sensed a tickle of cold breath against her skin, a hint that something was wrong. Out of place. She braced herself against the wall. “Lynnetta?” she called, certain she felt someone in the building, sensed someone breathing. She held her breath, straining to listen.

Nothing.

“Jesus,” she whispered, her nerves strung tight as piano wire. Once again, her heart was beating a wild tattoo as she flipped on the lights and the warren of dressing rooms, makeup stations, and closets was suddenly awash with bright, near-blinding fluorescence.

The sacks of clothes were where they’d been dropped near the closets. Jenna wasted no time pawing through the bags. No backpack. A small pile of purses and shoes had been left on an ancient, battle-scarred bureau, but Allie’s pink-and-purple camouflage pack was again missing in action. “Terrific,” Jenna whispered sarcastically, searching again and trying not to hear the moaning of the wind in the rafters or the creak of old timbers as they continued to settle.

She flung up her hands in surrender, figuring Allie had been mistaken about leaving the backpack in her car, when she heard it.

The soft scrape of a boot against hardwood…or was it? The hairs on her nape raised. Her skin prickled. “Is anyone there?” she shouted, reaching into her purse for her can of mace. “Hello?”

Quiet.

Unearthly silence.

And yet…she felt as if she wasn’t alone…
knew
there was another presence nearby.

Her diaphragm slammed hard against her lungs.

She shouldn’t have said a word. Now, if someone evil was lurking in the shadows, he’d know exactly where she was and she’d be trapped in the basement. Unless she took the stairs to the exterior exit near the kitchens. But that was too far, down a long, winding, dark hallway. She was better off using the main stairs.

Nervous sweat broke out on her skin and a chilling fear took hold of her throat.

To hell with the damned backpack.
Clutching her can of mace as if it were a silver cross and she was about to face a vampire, she slowly eased up the stairs. She reached into her pocket for her cell phone and flipped it open. It beeped.
Oh, God, how did she mute the damned thing so whoever was in the theater with her couldn’t hear it?
Her heartbeat pounded in her ears. Her breathing was nonexistent, the spit in her mouth dried. She swallowed hard. Hit the cell’s autodial key for her house and heard the phone try to connect.
Please answer. Please.
Carefully, she turned at the landing, her ears straining.

Crash!

“Oh, God!” Jenna whirled, her finger on the mace can’s button. She dropped her cell and it clattered noisily to the floor.

Something brushed against the back of her legs.

She jumped, nearly squealing in fright before spying Oliver. The cat was staring up at her with big green eyes, an old umbrella stand tipped over and rolling against the floor. “For the love of God, Oliver, you scared the hell out of me!”

He meowed plaintively up at her and she instantly forgave him, relief rushing through her bloodstream as she petted his soft head and righted the umbrella stand. “I’m sorry,” she cooed as he purred as loudly as the rumble of a single-plane’s engine. “And am I glad to see you. If you only knew.”

She found her cell phone and pocketed it. “It’s pretty obvious that I’m a little on edge these days, isn’t it?”

The truth of the matter was that her nerves were stretched so thin they were about to shatter, and she’d forgotten all about the cat.

As if proud of himself for scaring her witless, Oliver rubbed up against her legs as she, calmer, put away her mace. “You stay here and guard the place,” she ordered, before he trotted off to Rinda’s office, hopped onto her desk, and began washing himself. “Good. That’s real good. No bad guy will get past that defense,” she told him.

Bam! Bam! Bam!

A loud knocking rattled the windows and echoed through the theater.

Jenna nearly jumped out of her skin.

“Jenna? It’s Shane Carter,” the sheriff’s voice boomed through the door.

Her knees turned to water. Carter? Here? Relieved, she raced along the main aisle and unlocked the dead bolt.

His expression as dark as the night, he was standing beneath the overhang of the roof.

Tears of relief sprang to her eyes as he stepped inside the theater.

“Are you all right?”

No! Are you crazy? I haven’t been all right since I got that first note!
She swallowed hard and lied through her teeth. “Yeah—I guess.”

“Sure?”

“Oh. I’m…I will be fine.” She felt like a fool and forced the tears away before he could see how near she was to falling into a million pieces. “But I am relieved. And glad you’re here.”

He wrapped an arm around her and she wanted to burrow deeply against him, to let the tears rain from her eyes, to let go and fall apart right there in the vestibule. “Everything’s all right,” he said softly, and her heart nearly broke as his lips brushed against her forehead. “You’re fine.”

She laughed. “How can you say that?” She was anything but fine, and things were definitely
not
all right.

He stared past her, his gaze searching the interior. “Anyone else inside?”

“Just Oliver.”

“Who? Oh. Rinda’s cat.”

“Yeah, he nearly gave me a heart attack. Considering my state of mind, I’m afraid that’s not very hard to do these days.”

Carter gave her shoulders a squeeze before letting go. “Let’s lock up and get you home. Safe.”

“Sounds good.” In truth, it sounded like heaven. In her mind’s eye she saw herself with a glass of wine as she soaked in the hot tub, her fears and tension dissipating in the warm water and mist that would rise into the cold air. The trouble was, she saw Carter in the Jacuzzi with her…ridiculous. Before her fantasy got out of hand, she shut off the lights and the theater was suddenly dark as death.

She stepped over the threshold and into the frigid night. Again she had trouble with her key; then, finally, the tricky dead bolt slid into place.

Carter tested the doors and they held. “Let’s go.”

“How did you know I was inside?” They walked, bodies close, breaths misting and mingling in the air, to the parking lot where Carter’s Blazer was parked next to her Jeep.

“Turnquist called,” Carter said. “He explained what was happening and that he wasn’t comfortable with you being out alone at night, so he called and asked if someone could check on you.” Carter’s eyes found hers. “I volunteered.”

Her heart fluttered stupidly. “Sense of duty?”

He lifted a dark eyebrow. “I was on my way home anyway.”

She felt a little jab of disappointment, and she told herself she was the worst kind of fool. What had she hoped? That Carter had eagerly come to her rescue out of some need to see her? Because he cared about her?
Get real, Jenna.

Carter was saying, “Turnquist was right to phone. You shouldn’t be out alone. I’d feel a lot better if you had someone with you all the time, preferably Turnquist. But anyone is better than no one. I don’t like the idea of you being by yourself, not until we nail this guy.”

“I think I was pretty safe tonight. Oliver didn’t really attack me.”

“This time. I don’t know how much you can trust that cat,” he deadpanned, and she chuckled, relieved. They reached her SUV and he touched her on the arm. “Seriously. Be careful. I wouldn’t want anything to happen to you. Especially on my watch.” Again, he squeezed her and it felt good to have his strength surround her. “You know, it wouldn’t be too good for my reelection campaign if I lost the county’s most famous citizen.”

So he did have a sense of humor, she thought, and for a split second the ice and frost covering the ground seemed less threatening. “I wouldn’t want to tarnish your stellar reputation,” she teased, and felt herself blush. Like a schoolgirl! What was wrong with her?

“Now, that’s the attitude I like.”

She turned toward him and, for just a second, in the cool blue glow of the street lamp, thought he might kiss her. The intensity in his gaze said he wanted to fold her into his arms and kiss the breath from her lungs. She sensed that spark of electricity in the air, the sizzle of seduction, and trembled inside. He stuffed his hands into his pockets as if he suddenly couldn’t trust them. He cleared his throat. “Seriously,” he said, his voice a little deeper, “take care of yourself.”

Tears sprang unbidden to the back of her eyes. “I try to.”

“Try as hard as you can.” The barest of smiles from the tall man. “And I will, too.”

She felt as if she was breaking inside. Tenderness from this taciturn lawman? “Thanks,” she said, a trifle breathlessly. “I will.” Then, impulsively, before she could second-guess herself, she stood on her tiptoes and brushed her lips across the beard shadow on his cheek. “Thanks, Sheriff. I don’t think I’ve ever been more glad to see anyone in my life as I was tonight to find you on the other side of that door.” She hitched her chin toward the theater’s covered porch. “You take care, too.” Pausing, before climbing inside her Jeep, she cocked her head to one side as if evaluating him and felt the cold of winter brush her face. “I’m sure you don’t want to hear this, but beneath that tough-as-old-leather facade lurks a damned nice guy.”

“Not so nice.” Again, his eyes darkened with desire.

“Oh, I think so.” She caught a glint of white teeth beneath his thick moustache.

“Well, don’t let it get around. It would ruin my reputation.”

Pressing a gloved finger to her lips, she assured him, “Your secret’s safe with me.”

“Good. Now, go home before we both freeze. I’ll follow you.”

“You don’t have to—”

“Of course I do.” The speck of lightheartedness of the past few minutes fled into the frozen night, but there was still that sensation of want in the air, the ache of newfound desire existing between them, as flakes of snow whirled and fell to the ground. Her throat dry, Jenna climbed into her truck and tried to ignore the wayward beating of her heart.
This is crazy, Jenna. Nuts! You don’t have time for any kind of fantasies or infatuation. And with Carter? Oh, my God, get real.
Scrabbling in her purse, she found her key ring and jabbed the Jeep’s key into the ignition. Her hands were quaking in her gloves.
Get hold of yourself,
she admonished, then jumped when he tapped against the driver’s window, his face pressed to the chilled glass.

She pressed a button, the window descended, and his face was only inches from hers, warm in the cold night.

“For the record,” he said, “the name’s Shane.”

“But everyone calls you Carter, right?” Dear God, what was this tiny rush she felt, the sense of intimacy tonight? She caught a hint of aftershave. “Or Sheriff?”

“Oh, they probably call me a lot of things behind my back, none of them worth repeating. But you can call me Shane.”

“Fair enough, Carter,” she teased.

An eyebrow quirked. “That’ll work, too.” His gaze held hers for a second as snowflakes collected on his dark hair and broad shoulders and again she thought he might kiss her. Again she was disappointed. “Later.” He slapped the Jeep’s fender twice and turned toward his rig.

“Take a deep breath,” she whispered to herself as she rolled up her window to watch him fold his big frame into the driver’s side of his Blazer. What had she been thinking, flirting and bussing him on the cheek?

“Nerves,” she told herself as she threw the Jeep into gear. “It’s just that I’ve got a real bad case of nerves.” He represented safety, that was all. It wasn’t that he was sexy as all get-out, or that his smile, beneath warm, dark eyes, could melt the ice around her heart.