Northwest: Deep Freeze Part 36

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Whatever you think it means."

"Oh, geez, Ca.s.s, not that again. I'm tellin' ya, I don't have a hard-on for your mom."

"Nice to know," she muttered under her breath.

"My folks aren't home." He offered her a kinder smile. "We could go there and have the place to ourselves."

Like s.e.x would fix everything. Suddenly she felt tired. She glanced at her watch. "I really can't. Jake's picking me up right after the last bell."

"Jake?" he repeated.

"The bodyguard."

"I thought he was guarding your mom."

"And me and my sister. He and Mom have this whole program worked out where he drives us around during the day and watches the place at night. I'd better be at the school when he shows up." She took a long sip of her drink and watched shadows play across Josh's face, as if he was just beginning to understand that she had other things to do-that, perhaps, she had other things she wanted to do other than just hang out with him.

"Come on, Ca.s.s-"

"Really, Josh. I can't mess up anymore. Mom was really, really ticked off about the last time I snuck out up to the mountain and the cops came."

"s.h.i.t." He didn't argue any further, just put on his best I'm-really-p.i.s.sed face, and drove recklessly back to the school. He dropped her off and didn't bother kissing her, just peeled out of the lot, music blaring, foul mood following after him like the smell of burnt rubber.

Oh, grow up! she thought, and wondered about her change in att.i.tude. It's as if ever since being caught at the crime scene, she'd seen Josh with new eyes. He claimed to love her, but she still didn't believe him. He was just a good-time, d.a.m.n-the-consequences country boy who would rather be racing cars or hunting, or watching near-p.o.r.n movies and drinking beer, than anything in the world. Josh Sykes was going nowhere fast in a cherried-out, old pickup with a cranked-up cab and extra-wide tires with mag wheels.

Big whoop.

Ca.s.sie had better things to do.

Lots better.

Carter skimmed BJ's lists for the twentieth time. Throughout the day, whenever he was in the office, between his other duties, he'd looked over the names of the people he'd known most of his life, but the one person on the report that kept running through his head was Scott Dalinsky. Rinda's kid. An oddball, but certainly harmless. Right? Or was he coloring his judgment because he was Scott's G.o.dfather? What about Harrison Brennan? The neighbor who seemed all-too-possessive of Jenna.

Shane drummed his fingers on the desk and perused the list, his gaze landing, not for the first time, upon Wes Allen. Carter's one-time friend. Carter knew from personal experience that Wes couldn't be trusted, but he tried not to let what happened with Carolyn color his judgment.

He forced his eyes to examine other possibilities. What about Ron Falletti, Jenna's personal trainer, or Lester Hatch.e.l.l. Les had purchased two of Jenna's flicks long before his own wife had gone missing. And he wasn't the only one, by far. Nearly everyone in the department, including Lanny Montinello and Amanda Pratt, had rented several of the movies and h.e.l.l, even good old Dr. Dean Randall, Ph.D., had bought Innocence Lost and Resurrection within the last two months.

It seemed as if the whole d.a.m.ned town had a little piece of Jenna Hughes in their homes.

Which wasn't such a surprise, considering what a splash it had made when she'd moved up here from Hollywood. Everyone for miles had taken a sudden interest in her and her work. A lot of the rentals and sales had occurred within the first six months of her move.

Even he had a few of her DVDs. Which was a joke. His entire collection consisted of Rocky, The Terminator, The G.o.dfather series, and three of Jenna Hughes's movies. He'd had more CDs and tapes at one time, but he'd donated them to the library when he'd cleaned out Carolyn's things after the accident.

Aside from a few pictures and the home movies, he'd pitched everything after her death, as if in so doing he could erase her from his life, wipe away the pain, pretend her betrayal hadn't existed. h.e.l.l...

His phone jangled and he picked up the receiver, but he kept one eye on the list. The stalker was on those pages, he was certain of it. Carter just had to figure out how to flush him out.

The rehearsal had been abysmal, Jenna thought, as she hiked the strap of her purse over her shoulder and walked toward the front doors of the theater. Tiffany, one of the girls in the cast, had come down with a case of laryngitis. Madge Quintanna, as Mary Bailey, had shown a range of emotion that vied with the animation of statues on Easter Island. The man playing Mary's husband, George, had hobbled across the stage on crutches and forgotten thirty percent of his lines. The lights had flickered eerily throughout the first act, and Rinda had snapped at Wes, who had blamed Scott.

Jenna was dead tired and already thinking about a long, hot bath and a paperback that was boring enough to put her to sleep as Blanche, carrying her satchel of sheet music, walked with Rinda and Jenna to the front door. As if reading the exasperated expression on Rinda's face, Blanche said, "What Tiffany's mother should do for that laryngitis is give her hot water with lemon and honey. It beats any of that over-the-counter stuff they sell at the pharmacy."

"Hot water?" Rinda said.

"With honey. And lemon. I've heard that you can add whiskey to it, but I never did with my kids, didn't believe in that. And they didn't need it. Would you like me to call Jane? I wouldn't mind. I know her pretty well, as Tiffany's been taking piano lessons from me for two...or is it three years?" she asked, seeming confused for a second. "Two, I think it is-anyway, it doesn't matter. I'd be glad to place the call."

"If you think it'll help, go for it." Rinda looked at Jenna as Blanche, beaming, bustled off. Once the front doors slammed behind her, Rinda said, "I doubt if anything other than divine intervention will help now."

"Things will get better," Jenna said, and wrapped a scarf around her neck.

"When h.e.l.l freezes over." Rinda glanced to the windows and snapped her fingers. "Well, maybe you're right. It's cold enough-I think h.e.l.l is freezing over as we speak."

"I didn't know Blanche had any kids," Jenna said, realizing how little she knew about her coworkers and friends.

"Scary thought, huh?" Rinda joked.

"Extremely," Jenna said with a chuckle as she and Rinda moved along the aisle between the row of pews to the front door.

At the front door Rinda paused. "We're the last to leave, right?"

"No-I think Lynnetta was still working on costumes in the dressing room."

"Geez, that's right. Lynnetta!" Rinda called, her voice echoing through the apse. "Lynnetta?"

"Yeah?" a soft voice called back.

"We're leaving now."

Which was a blessing, Jenna thought, after that G.o.d-awful, miserable, nerve-grating rehearsal.

"Okay." Lynnetta's soft voice floated up from downstairs.

"You coming?" Rinda called.

"In a minute. You go on ahead. I'll lock up."

Rinda shrugged and rolled her eyes. "Okay," she yelled back. "I'll lock the door behind us. You lock it again when you leave. And turn off the lights."

"Fine, fine," Lynnetta said loudly, her voice echoing against the high rafters.

"The acoustics in here leave a lot to be desired," Rinda muttered under her breath. "One more thing to fix."

"Let's wait." Jenna knotted her scarf around her throat. "I don't like leaving her here alone."

"She's not alone. Oliver's here."

"Oh, and a fine lotta protection he is."

Rinda wasn't listening to any of Jenna's arguments. "Lynnetta will be okay. I'll lock the dead bolt so no bogeyman can get in."

"It's serious-you know that two women are missing, another one found dead." Jenna didn't like it. "I think we should stay."

"Knowing Lynnetta, she could take another half-hour or so. Don't worry about her. She only lives a couple of blocks away, and she always calls her husband to come over and walk her home after dark. The reverend is quick to oblige and I think it's d.a.m.ned romantic."

"But this town isn't safe anymore."

"I'll lock the door, okay?" Rinda put a hand on Jenna's arm. "Really, it'll be all right. Relax."

"If only I could."

"Look, she'll call her hubby and Romeo will come escort her home."

Jenna had trouble thinking of Lynnetta's husband doing anything the least bit romantic. "Just let me double-check." She yelled toward the staircase near the stage. "Are you sure you're okay, Lynnetta?"

"Yes! Please. I'll be fine."

Rinda tossed Jenna an I-told-you-so look. She arched a knowing eyebrow and whispered, "Maybe she wants us to vamoose because her husband comes over here and they do it center-stage."

"You're awful," Jenna said, thinking of Reverend Derwin Swaggert, barely forty yet a serious, long-faced preacher with a full black beard, bushy eyebrows, and a voice that boomed as he delivered fire-and-brimstone sermons.

"This was a church not all that long ago, remember? s.e.x where the altar once stood would definitely have appeal."

"Come on. Let's get out of here before the conversation sinks to an even lower level."

"Is that possible?" Rinda's laugh was low and totally irreverent.

"Probably not." Jenna yanked open one of the twin double doors. A rush of brittle winter wind swept through the vestibule. Outside, she gazed up at the starless night and shivered. "G.o.d, when is it gonna warm up?"

"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 gla.s.s 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 gla.s.s 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 Cafe?"

"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 bas.e.m.e.nt.

"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 s.p.a.ce, you know, with all that other junk you were taking to the theater."