Heart of Ice (28 page)

“Can you watch Makayla for a little longer this evening? I’m going to meet with Cassidy and Allison for a quick dinner.”

“Of course,” Berenice said. “But I made peach cobbler, so be sure to save room.”

Nic was sure the peach cobbler—a decadent family tradition made with peaches canned in heavy syrup, and lots of butter and sugar, then topped with whipped cream—was meant to tempt her into lingering once she stopped by her parents’ house. Ever since she had found the lump, Nic had barely said two words to them.

Berenice had a sixth sense for when things were wrong with her kids. Even Nic’s game face—which she had been perfecting for years— could fail before her mother’s intense gaze. But as much as she wanted to collapse wailing into her mother’s arms, Nic planned to keep her cancer to herself for a little while longer. Peach cobbler or no peach cobbler.

As she drove to HUB—Hopworks Urban Brewery—Nic wondered what Cassidy wanted. She had almost turned her down. Cassidy’s idea of an emergency usually involved her pumping Allison and Nic for info on a story. But then Nic had realized how much she needed a distraction, any distraction. Tomorrow she was meeting with the surgeon to discuss the next steps in treating her cancer.

Cancer. The word filled Nic with dread. Far better to be at a noisy brewpub with friends than at home with her computer and its overwhelming amount of information, much of it depressing. The night before, Nic had spent thirty minutes reading the blog of a young black woman in Canada who had been diagnosed with the same kind of cancer as hers. A Google search for
invasive ductal carcinoma
had brought Nic to the beginning of the blog, where the woman had posted her diagnosis. Nic had read forward, scrolling through the months, and with each entry she read of the woman’s story, her feeling of kinship grew.

At some point Nic decided to skip to the main page for the blog, thinking to read the most recent entry, see how the young woman was doing, and maybe even send her a private e-mail.

But the last entry on the blog had been six months before. It reported the news that the woman’s cancer was back, and that she would be undergoing a new round of treatments. And then it just—stopped.

Nic shivered, thinking about it now. It didn’t take a genius to guess what had happened. Ghosts on the Internet.

At HUB she had to park in the back lot. Even on a Thursday night, the brewpub was hopping. Open and airy, it catered to Portland’s version of bikers—the non-motorized kind—with pizza, organic beer, a kids’ menu, and bikes and bike parts used as part of the decor.

She found Allison and Cassidy already seated in one of the wooden booths.

“I was so sorry to hear about Jenna,” Nic said as she slid in next to Allison.

Cassidy bit her lip. “Yeah, everyone at the station is pretty much in shock. We’re used to making the news, not being it. That’s one reason I wanted to get together with you guys. Jenna’s murder is now a federal crime, right?”

“Right. The body crossed state lines,” Nic said. “We don’t know if it floated over to the Washington side of the Columbia or got transported over there. They found abrasions on the shoulders and lower legs— looked like they had been made with some kind of rope. The working theory is that the body was wrapped in something and dumped in the water, but the current pulled it loose. It doesn’t matter what the killer’s intent was or where they put the body in the water. All that matters is that Jenna was killed in one state, and her body ended up in another.”

The waitress came up and asked if they were ready to order. Nic let Cassidy and Allison choose the pizza—she wasn’t even hungry— and while they ordered beer, she just asked for water. Some studies had linked alcohol to breast cancer. In a couple of months she would probably be guzzling wheatgrass juice and eating only raw foods.

After the waitress left, Cassidy said, “So could you guys just keep your ears open for any new angles about Jenna’s death? Right now, I’ve just got the same story as every other station. The family is in seclusion and not talking to me, even though they had agreed to before they found the body. I tried to pitch it to them as ‘You can help our viewers remember Jenna as she was, not just as a victim,’ but they were too torn up. And even though Jenna worked at our station, which you would think would give us an automatic angle, we’re coming up dry. We’ve already run the footage we have of her so many times that it doesn’t have much impact. Eric and Jerry are planning a half-hour tribute to her. But I’m the crime reporter, not the lifestyle reporter, and right now not a lot of info is coming out. Of course, I’ll keep you guys in the loop if I hear anything at work—but can you do the same for me?”

Nic and Allison nodded. There were times that they could share tips with Cassidy, or vice versa. And there were times when they couldn’t. It was a fine line, and one they tried not to cross.

“I heard there wasn’t any trace evidence on the body,” Nic offered, “other than the ligature marks. The river washed it all away. And they traced that phone call—but it just led to a disposable cell phone bought at Target with cash. They’re seeing if they might still have video from the checkout, but it’s a long shot. So I’m afraid I’m not going to be much help.”

Cassidy’s hands went to the back of her short blonde bob. Nic didn’t even know if Cassidy was aware of her habit, but whenever she was stymied, she twisted strands of hair at the back of her head—a spot the camera never saw.

“Yeah. Everything just feels—stuck.” Cassidy picked up a new hank of hair and began to twist it around her finger. “So while I’ve been trying to figure out a new angle on Jenna, I’ve been concentrating on the other story of the day—that guy they found shot to death in Forest Park. What a crazy day! I mean, how often does this city have two murders in a single day?”

Since it was a city crime, Nic hadn’t heard anything about it. She refrained from pointing out that Jenna’s murder had probably taken place five days earlier.

Allison asked, “What is it with bodies and Forest Park?”

Ten years earlier, a serial killer had dumped the bodies of prostitutes in the park. And only a few months before, the three women had all been involved in a missing person’s case that came to a sad ending at the park.

“It’s accessible
and
isolated,” Nic pointed out. “What more could you ask for? Five thousand acres, right in the middle of the city, with well-used trails and places only the deer go. It’s a great place to dump a body.”

“This guy wasn’t dumped,” Cassidy said. “I’m hearing he was shot at close range with a rifle. Once in the head.”

Nic winced. Sometimes she wished her mind wouldn’t insist on supplying her with pictures. “Can’t be too much left to look at.”

“Not of his face, no. And they couldn’t get prints off his left hand because it had been badly burned a long time ago. But I heard they got prints off his right hand and were running them through IAFIS.”

Sara’s words echoed in Nic’s memory.
He has burn scars on his face, and his left hand . . . looked more like a claw
. She straightened up. “Wait—this guy had been burned? Are you sure?”

Cassidy’s brows pulled together. “I didn’t see him myself. I just heard he had old scars on one hand and what was left of his face.”

“Just a second.” Nic grabbed her cell phone and went outside, as Allison and Cassidy watched her curiously. She called Leif. “I think I just found our would-be hit man. Only somebody hit the hit man.” She explained what Cassidy had learned.

“I’m actually still at the office,” Leif said. “How about if I call Portland police and get an ID for this guy? I’ll call you back.”

When Nicole came back to the booth, Cassidy said, “So what was that all about?” Allison was also looking at her expectantly.

Nic gave them a truncated version of the story of Sara and Noah and the guy with the gun, with no names or distinguishing information. “But you have to keep this on the QT. Whoever ordered the hit thinks this lady and her son are dead. And if it gets shared prematurely, then they might still end up that way.” She gave Cassidy a warning look.

“Just stop it, Nicole.” Cassidy crossed her arms. “I don’t understand what is wrong with you lately. It’s like you don’t—you don’t trust me anymore.”

Well, she didn’t. She didn’t trust anyone.

But then Allison surprised her by adding, “And you’ve been awfully distant lately. Nic, what’s wrong? And don’t tell us it’s nothing.”

The long silence was finally broken by the waitress bustling over with their pizza and three heavy white plates. But once she left, no one made a move to take a slice. Instead, Allison and Cassidy simply regarded her. Waiting patiently.

And Nic’s resolve began to crumble. “Okay. You want to know the truth? The truth is that I’ve . . . I’ve got breast cancer. They think it’s in the early stages, and there are a lot of treatments available, and they say they think they can get it all. But the truth is that I’m so . . .”—the words caught in her throat—“. . . so scared.”

“Oh, honey,” Cassidy murmured. And then Cassidy did something that Nic had never thought she would witness. She pressed a button on her cell phone until it chirped off. Then she fastened her big teal eyes on Nic.

Allison followed suit.

Her friends gave Nic what she needed. They listened more than they talked. Even Cassidy. And when Nic couldn’t find the right words or found herself overwhelmed with emotion, they didn’t rush to fill the silence. Instead they waited, patting her hand, their own eyes filling with tears. They listened to her vent and handed her their napkins when she started to cry.

“Let me tell you something.” Nic decided to lay it all out for them. What she wanted—and what she didn’t. “I don’t want to hear about juice fasts or acupuncture. Let me figure those things out on my own. And I don’t want to hear that I’m strong. I don’t want to hear that I’m a survivor. I don’t want to hear that God never gives you a burden you can’t carry.”

Allison surprised her by nodding in agreement. “I’ve learned that sometimes the only way out is through. And just because you get through, it doesn’t automatically mean you’re strong. You might look like you just went a dozen rounds in the ring and lost every one of them. Just because you’re still standing doesn’t mean you feel like a winner. It just means that you weren’t given any alternative.”

“Except dying,” Nic said, “and I’ll never choose that. Not while Makayla is still so young.” She looked at her friends. “Can you guys promise me something? Will you still treat me like I’m me? Will you guys still be you? Not change?”

Cassidy and Allison nodded. Somewhere along the way, the three of them had started tearing into the pizza, eating as if they were famished.

No one was perfect, Nic realized. Her friends cared. They were doing their best. And that was all anyone could ask for.

“You guys know me. I’m a private person,” she said. “If there’s one thing I don’t want, it’s the look of pity you get when you tell someone you have cancer. And then that will be all anyone wants to talk about. Since cancer is the
last
thing I want to talk about, I’m going to keep this to myself as much as I can. Of course, I’m already losing a lot of my privacy whether I want to or not. In the last two weeks, I swear all I’ve done is show my boobs to strangers.”

“Too bad it’s not Mardi Gras.” Cassidy’s expression was deadpan. “You’d have a great collection of beads.”

First Nic started to laugh. Then Cassidy and Allison joined in. The three friends laughed harder than the joke warranted. Hard enough that Nic found herself blinking back more tears. Only these tears were healing.

“What about Leif?” Cassidy finally asked.

Nic wiped her eyes with her already sodden napkin. “I have too much on my plate right now. There’s no room for a man.”

“But we’re not talking about
a
man,” Cassidy protested. “We’re talking about Leif.”

Nic didn’t answer. Some things were too close, even for her friends. She was the only one who hadn’t turned off her phone. Now it buzzed on her hip. The display read
Leif Larson
, giving her a bit of a start. Speak of the devil. She took it out onto the front patio.

“They’ve identified the guy with the burn scars,” Leif told her. “It’s some guy named Joseph—Joey—Decicco. He has a history of setting fires that stretches back to when he was a teenager. He’s also got a string of psychiatric diagnoses behind him, plus stays in mental hospitals and the occasional prison. But no history other than arson.”

“Any links between him and McCloud?” Nic asked.

“None that show up in the computers. McCloud never defended him, which I thought might have been a possibility. I called Sara and ran his name past her, but she didn’t know it. I’m getting his photo to send to her cell phone, but I’m thinking it’s the right guy. They even found a handgun a few feet from his body, and I would bet it’s the gun he threatened her with. But all the pieces still don’t quite fit together.”

“One of the biggest pieces,” Nic told Leif, “is why.”

CHAPTER 49

Hopworks Urban Brewery

A
s soon as Nic went out on the patio with her cell, Cassidy grabbed Allison’s hand, her eyes wide.

“I can’t believe it! Cancer.
Cancer
. I didn’t know what to say.”

“Who would?” Allison rubbed the bridge of her nose with her free hand. “But I think we did okay.” She gave Cassidy’s hand another squeeze and then released it. “Right now, I think that all Nicole really needs from us is to listen to her. And how often does Nic
really
tell us what she’s feeling? How often does she even complain?”

“How often,” Cassidy added, “does she cry?”

The two women looked at each other, and Allison said what they both were thinking.

“Never. Nic never cries. Even when she told us about what those guys did to her ten years ago, she was dry-eyed.” She sighed, and her breath shook a little. “Right now, let’s just try to give her space to talk, like she said. If she wants to complain, let’s just listen. I mean, if anyone deserves some self-pity, it’s Nicole. And later we can help her put herself back together again.”