Colder Than Ice (2 page)

He leaned over the back seat. “We're clear, David. All clear.”

“God, you didn't even get stopped,” David said, pulling the blanket from over his head and staring up at Mordecai from the floor. “Are you sure?”

“I'm sure. You know how ineffective the police can be.”

David smiled and started to get up.

“Wait,” Mordecai said. “I've been very patient with you, David. Very patient. But my patience is wearing thin. Tell me what you know about Lizzie.”

David was sitting up now, but still on the floor. He nodded, sighing. “There was this picture in the newspaper, some kind of festival, late last fall. She was in the background of the shot, standing in the crowd watching a parade go by.” He shook his head. “I couldn't believe the coincidence.”

“Oh, it was no coincidence. It was the hand of Spirit. You were meant to see that photo, and I was meant to find my Lizzie.”

David nodded, licking his lips and looking a little nervous. “The town was some rural place in Vermont. Blackberry.”

“Blackberry, Vermont. God, it's almost too quaint.” He pictured her, the way she had been, long ago. Lost and alone, and so very needy. He'd been her hero, her savior, then. “I presume she's using an alias.”

“I don't know. I would imagine so. The government probably set her up with a whole new identity after—after what happened last year.” He shook his head. “I can't believe she actually shot you. If it wasn't for that vest—”

“We don't discuss that, David.”

David's eyes shot to Mordecai's, then lowered. “All right.”

“That's all you know? You've told me everything?”

He nodded. “That's all. I don't know if she's living in that town or was only there visiting. But I know it was her. I'm sure it was her. I saved the clipping for you.” He dug into a pocket as he spoke, tugged out a folded scrap of paper and held it up.

Mordecai took it. It was damp and worn. He unfolded it carefully, then turned on the overhead light so he could see it. The headline read “Harvest Time in Smalltown, USA.” The photo was three columns wide, and in color. Floats with giant pumpkins and small children. A high school marching band. A crowd of spectators. A backdrop of crimson and gold foliage. Despite the wet blotches and creased folds, Mordecai spotted her right away. She stood in the crowd, and yet alone. She wore blue jeans and a suede jacket. Her long blond hair was pulled back in a ponytail. He was irrationally glad she hadn't cut it.

“You're right,” he said to David. “It's her. It's Lizzie.”

“I knew it. Anyway, the article doesn't say anything about her. But it's something. It's more than you had before.”

Mordecai nodded. “Then I guess I'm finished with you now. You can get out.”

Blinking, frowning in confusion, David said, “You…want me to just…go? You're just going to leave me out here like a stray dog? Mordecai, I need a place to crash, some dry clothes, maybe a few dollars in my pocket. I've got to survive. After what I've done for you, I thought—”

Mordecai sighed. “You're right. I mustn't forget what I owe you, after all. I'm going to take care of you, David, the way you took care of me. Come on, get up now. Come with me.”

Mordecai opened his door and got out; then he opened the back door and took David's arm to help him out of the car. “You have taken good care of me, after all, haven't you, David?”

“I knew you'd want to know.”

“Oh, I don't mean this,” Mordecai said, shoving the clipping into his pocket. “This…this was good, David, but we both know it was self-serving. You did this for yourself, not for me.”

“No—”

“Yes. You wanted me to get you out of prison. You knew this information would ensure I did so. After all, you could have just enclosed the clipping with the letter.”

David broke the hold of Mordecai's eyes to look around. He was getting very nervous. “I could have. But I didn't want to risk losing it. It could have been found.”

Mordecai shrugged. “And what about last year, when you told them where to find me after I'd reclaimed my daughter from that bitch Julie Jones? Was that all for me, as well?”

David's gaze snapped back to Mordecai's. “I didn't—”

“David, David, don't lie to me. I know it was you. You were the only one, besides Lizzie and I, who knew about the mansion in Virginia. And even if you weren't, my guides told me who played Judas to my Christ.”

“Jesus, the guides again. Mordecai, you can't always trust those voices in your head. They aren't—”

“Aren't what? Aren't real? How have I survived, then? I could have been killed at the raid on my compound eighteen years ago. I could have been killed in Virginia last year, when the
woman who claimed to love me fired a bullet into my chest. Or later, when the police descended on me. But I wasn't. My daughter could have been killed, as well, by those bastards claiming to have come to rescue her. From her own father. They called it a kidnapping. Can you imagine?” He shook his head. “I survived. I always survive. The guides see to that. And they tell me all I need to know. Admit it, David. You betrayed me.”

David blinked. He was shaking again, but not from the cold this time. “You're right, I did tell someone about the Virginia house. Not the authorities. Another prisoner. I had no choice in that, Mordecai. He had clout, a lot of respect. You don't know what it's like in prison. They would have killed me if I hadn't talked.”

“So again, your self-interests outweighed your concern for me.” Mordecai shrugged. “I suppose it's part of the human condition. Selfishness. Disloyalty.”

David couldn't hold his eyes, so he looked past him. And then the worry returned. “Mordecai, this looks like the same place where you picked me up. Isn't this right where we started?”

“Right where
you
started, perhaps. I'm miles ahead of where I was a short while ago. Goodbye, David.”

Mordecai lifted the gun, as the voices had been screaming at him to do for countless minutes now. It had come to him very clearly why the roadblocks would not be a problem tonight. It was because David wouldn't be cowering in the back seat when Mordecai's car was searched. David wasn't going anywhere—nowhere on this plane, at least. He pointed the gun's barrel at David's head, and even as the man flinched and cried out, Mordecai calmly squeezed the trigger.

David's body collapsed downward like a building when
well-placed demolition charges go off. He sank fast, landing in a heap at Mordecai's feet.

“I promised to free you from your prison, David. And now I have.”

Mordecai left the blanket where it was, twisted around David's body. It was wet, muddy now, and tainted with blood. He got back into the car, sliding the gun into the holder he had mounted under the driver's seat, and drove away.

It was time to find Lizzie. It was time to right the wrongs she had done, wash clean the sins she had committed—against him, against their daughter.

Against God.

Thursday

E
lizabeth Marcum was running again.

She was always running, it seemed.

One after the other, her powder-blue Nike cross trainers hit the winding road's soft shoulder, her steps cushioned by a thick, fragrant carpet of leaves. She sucked in the aroma of them with every harsh breath she drew. Sugar maples lined the roadsides, arching overhead like a vivid circus canopy of scarlet and purple and pumpkin orange. It crossed her mind that she loved it here, but she brushed the thought aside. There were a hundred other small towns with country lanes and breathtaking foliage where she could be just as comfortable. Comfort wasn't love. She could take Blackberry, Vermont, or leave it.

She hit the three-mile mark just as she rounded the curve that brought the old Bickham place into view. The once stately
Victorian's white paint was peeling. A few of the black shutters were crooked, others missing, like neglected teeth in an old man's mouth. On the porch, Maude waved from her wicker rocking chair. Elizabeth slowed to a walk, her heart rate slowing naturally as she veered off the road and onto the overgrown flagstone path. She preferred it to the driveway, despite its cracks and weeds. The sidewalk started at the tilting signpost, with its weather-worn sign and fading letters—you could hardly make out “The Blackberry Inn” anymore—and wound its way to the porch, forking off in one spot to twist around the old house to what had once been a garden in the back.

At the bottom of the porch steps, Beth leaned over, braced her hands on her knees and took a few breaths.

“Gettin' older, girl,” Maude called. “You might better walk, like you used to.”

Beth smiled. Every day, Maude began their morning visit with the same remarks. When Beth had first come here—God, had it really been a year ago?—she had started this ritual with a daily walk. It had scared the hell out of her to even leave her house, but that daily walk had been an act of defiance, a way of thumbing her nose at her own fears. It had evolved into a run.

“I like to run, Maude. It makes me strong.”

“And what does a thirty-five-year-old woman need with muscles, anyway?”

Beth grinned and trotted up the steps. “Thirty-six. And I need 'em to fight off all my suitors.”

Maude slapped her knee, chuckling to herself, and rose from the chair. “Tea is just off the burner. Still piping hot. You made good time this morning.” She leaned over the rickety tray table to pour from a china teapot into two matching cups.
Antiques, white with pink rosebuds and gold edges. There was an old silver tray with a cover, and an empty hypodermic needle beside it.

“God, Maude, why don't you get an insulin pump so you can stop sticking yourself three times a day like your body's a pin cushion?”

Maude waved a hand at her. “I don't trust machines. And if you could see what they charge for one of those gadgets…”

“You have insurance.”

“That's no reason to throw good money away on nonsense. ‘The frivolous can waste more by the teaspoon than the frugal can bring home by the wheelbarrow.'”

“Is that one of your originals?”

She shrugged. “You'd have called the original sexist. So I put my own twist on it, just for you.”

“And I'll bet you've been waiting for the opportunity to use it.”

Maude sent her a wink. Then she reached to the tray table and poured from a dewy pitcher into a tall glass. “Here's a nice glass of cold water. Cool you down after all that ridiculous running.”

“Perfect.” Beth took the glass from the table and tipped it up, drinking half the refreshing, sweet water down before lowering herself into her customary seat, a second wicker chair that matched the first in age and wear, if not color or design.

“Cookie?” Maude offered.

“Chocolate chip?” Beth asked, leaning over the table to lift the tarnished silver lid from its platter.

“How did you know before you even looked?”

“I could smell them baking in my dreams last night.”

Maude chuckled, but then her smile died, and she shook
her head. “A young woman ought to have something to dream about besides cookies.”

Taking a big bite, Beth said, “What else is there?”

But Maude didn't join her in her teasing. “I'm serious, Beth. Life without friends is like pie without ice cream. You've lived in Blackberry for a year now, and yet you've barely made any friends at all.”

Beth tipped her head to one side, reminding herself that the old woman needed something to occupy her mind, and if worrying about her was the thing to do it, then fine. She would indulge her. Reaching across the table, she patted Maude's hand. “I've made one friend, Maude. One very good friend.”

That got a smile out of Maude. She actually had to blink a little moisture from her eyes. “Oh, you. Now you've gone and made me misty.”

“Well, I mean it. I'm so glad you called me over here that first time.”

“Saw you walking by, then running by, day after day. Any fool could see you were lonely. Besides, I was curious to ask what it was you were running away from.” She took a sip of her tea. “Not that I've managed to get an answer to that question.”

“‘A woman without secrets has led far too boring a life,'” Beth said, repeating one of Maude's own pearls of wisdom back to her.

“Score one for you.” Maude sighed, settling back in her chair. “You know, there are some nice people in Blackberry. You're missing out on a lot by keeping so much to yourself.”

Here it comes, Beth thought.

“Take Jeffrey Manheim. Owns the coffee shop down on Main Street. Nicest unmarried man you could ever want to—”

She broke off there, looking up as a shiny white pickup truck pulled into her driveway. Beth shielded her eyes to try
to make out who was inside, but already she was on guard. She didn't recognize the man who got out of the truck and glanced their way. A younger man—maybe eighteen—got out from the passenger side and came around the truck to join him. Strangers. New in town.

This couldn't be good.

Maude rose to her feet and stumbled a little as she started forward, so Beth got up as well, and grabbed hold of her forearm to steady her.

“Joshua?”

The man flashed a smile. “It's me, Gram. It's been way too long.” By the time he finished the sentence, he was mounting the steps, and then he swept Maude into his arms for a hug. Maude hesitated only slightly before returning it.

The man released her and stood back just a little to look her over. “You look wonderful, Gram. Just as pretty as ever.”

She smiled at him, and Beth could have sworn her cheeks went pink. “Well, I don't know about that.”

“Bryan, get up here and say hello to your great-grandma.”

The boy joined them on the porch. It was obvious now he was the man's son. He had the same milk-chocolate hair and the same jawline—as if it were etched in stone. But there was a brooding quality about him. He didn't stand quite straight, didn't meet his father's eyes—or Maude's, either, for that matter—and he didn't look happy to be there. He kept slanting sideways glances at Beth.

She really should leave, she thought, as the boy took his hands from his jeans pockets long enough to give the old woman a halfhearted hug. “Hello, Grandma.”

“My, my,” Maude said. “What a fine young man you have here, Joshua.”

“He sure is,” Joshua said. “Gram, aren't you going to introduce us to your friend?”

“Oh, of course. Where are my manners? Beth, this is my grandson, Joshua, and his boy Bryan. Boys, this is Beth Slocum. She's a good, good friend to me. You be sure you treat her right.”

Joshua turned to face her fully for the first time, extending a hand to close it around hers. He met her eyes, and then something changed in his face. The smile seemed to freeze in place, and he looked into her eyes so intently it made her squirm. He looked stunned, shocked, and maybe there was a hint of recognition amid all the other things swimming in his eyes. It worried her.

Swallowing hard, she tugged her hand, but he didn't let it go. “Um…It's nice to meet you,” she said, wishing like hell that she could read his mind as she tugged her hand a little harder.

He blinked, glanced down at their hands, and let go quickly. “Sorry about that. You…remind me of someone.”

“Really? Who?”

His eyes were still dancing over her face. My God, she thought they might even be dampening. What the hell was with this guy? “Never mind,” he said. “It's not important.” He tore his gaze from hers and looked at his son. “Bryan, say hello to Miss Slocum.”

Bryan looked at her. “Hi.” Then he turned to his father. “I'm going to get my MP3 player out of the truck.” He turned on his heel and marched back down the steps to the truck, where he took a few suitcases and duffels from the back.

“He's not happy to be here,” Beth said.

“He's had a tough year,” the stranger explained. “His mother and stepfather were killed over the summer. Plane
crash. Then I had to uproot him from the West Coast and move him to Manhattan. He's not dealing well.”

Those words wrapped themselves around Beth's heart and squeezed. “His entire life has been stripped away from him,” she said, her throat tightening. “There's no way to deal well with something like that.”

Josh was looking at her again. “Sounds like the voice of experience.”

She shrugged and lowered her eyes. His were too intense. Too filled with something she couldn't name, and too intent on probing, on digging into her soul.

To change the subject, she said, “Maude, I always assumed you and Sam didn't have any children.”

“Now why would you assume that?” Maude asked, fussing with the sleeve of her blouse.

“I don't know. You never mentioned any kids, and there were no pictures around the house.”

“I really do need to get some photos put up,” she said, as if that explained everything perfectly.

Beth glanced at Josh, saw the way he was watching Maude, watching her responses to Maude's explanations. He looked a little nervous.

“There was a death in your family over the summer, and you never said a word?” Beth asked.

Maude blinked. “Well, the family's so estranged, you know, I never even heard about Bryan's mother until a week ago, when Josh phoned me.”

“Kathy kind of cut my side of the family off after the divorce,” Joshua said.

Beth nodded as if it made perfect sense, when in fact it made none.

“Honestly, none of that matters,” Maude said. “All that matters is that they're here now. Come from Manhattan to spend some time with me.”

“That's nice, Maude.” Beth watched the boy, felt the pain coming off him in waves. She loved kids and felt an empathy for this one. Maybe because she, too, had been stripped of everything in her life. “Is he still in high school?” she asked.

“This is his senior year.” Joshua looked guilty now. “But I could barely get him to go when the semester started. He hated everything about Manhattan, but especially going to school there.”

“So what are you going to do?”

He shrugged, then faced her. “This parenting thing is like rocket science to me. I'm damned if I know what to do with him.”

“Beth can help with that,” Maude said. “She's a teacher. You two sit down and chat. I'm going to get more cookies.” She went through the door and into the house without another word. The screen door banged.

Josh said, “So you're a teacher?”

“I used to be.”

Josh sat in one of the wicker chairs, waving her to the other one. She glanced toward the young man, but he was sitting on the tailgate now, with headphones on.

“So why did you stop?”

She sent him a quick look. Was he a little too interested in her past? Or just being polite? “Needed a break. I still tutor, though.”

“Really?”

She nodded. “So how long are you going to be here?” she asked, turning the tables by asking questions rather than answering them. It was a skill she'd perfected over the past year.

“To be honest, I don't know. It depends on a lot of things.”

He had a way of answering a question without revealing a thing. She recognized the tactic, because it was another one she'd grown deft at employing.

“Why is it Maude's never mentioned you?”

He shrugged. “There's been a rift in the family.” Then he met her eyes. “It's kind of personal.”

“Sorry.”

“It's not a problem.” He looked toward his son again. “I wish I knew what to do about Bryan.”

“I could talk to him…if you want.”

He looked at her as if surprised. “Do you have kids, Beth?”