Tess Gerritsen - Ice Cold

“You argued?”

“No. But I disappointed her. I know that.”

“That could make her not return your calls.”

“Still, it’s not like her to be unreachable.”

On that point he was right. Maura was too conscientious to be out of touch for long. “I’ll give her a call,” Jane said, and hung up, grateful that her own life was so settled. No tears, no drama, no crazy highs and lows. Just the happy assurance that at that moment, her husband and daughter were at home waiting for her. All around her, it seemed, romantic turmoil was destroying people’s lives. Her father had left her mother for another woman. Barry Frost’s marriage had recently collapsed. No one was behaving the way they used to, the way they should. As she dialed Maura’s cell phone, she wondered: Am I the only one around here who’s still sane?

It rang four times, then she heard the recording: “This is Dr. Isles. I’m not available right now, but if you leave a message, I’ll return your call as soon as possible.”

“Hey, Doc, we’re wondering where you are,” said Jane. “Give me a call, okay?” She disconnected and stared down at her cell phone, thinking of all the reasons why Maura hadn’t answered. Out of range. Dead battery. Or maybe she was having too good a time in Wyoming, away from Daniel Brophy. Away from her job, with all the reminders of death and decay.

“Everything okay?” Frost called out.

Jane slipped the phone in her pocket and looked at him. “Yeah,” she said. “I’m sure it’s fine.”

SO WHAT DO YOU THINK HAPPENED HERE?” SAID ELAINE, HER VOICE faintly slurred from drinking too much whiskey. “Where did this family go?”

They sat huddled around the fireplace, swaddled in blankets that they’d pulled from the cold upstairs bedrooms, the remains of their dinner littering the floor around them. They’d eaten canned pork and beans and macaroni and cheese, saltine crackers and peanut butter. A high-sodium feast, washed down with a bottle of cheap whiskey, which they’d found stashed at the very back of the pantry, hidden behind the sacks of flour and sugar.

It had to be her whiskey, Maura thought, remembering the woman in the photograph with the dull eyes and the blank expression. The pantry was where a woman would hoard a secret supply of liquor, a place where her husband would never bother to explore, not if he considered cooking to be a woman’s job. Maura took a sip, and as the whiskey burned its way down her throat, she wondered what would drive a woman to secret drinking, what misery would make her seek liquor’s numbing solace.

“Okay,” said Arlo. “I can come up with one logical explanation for where these people went.”

Elaine refreshed her glass and added only a splash of water.

“Let’s hear it.”

“It’s dinnertime. The wife with the bad hairdo puts food on the table, and they’re all about to sit down and say grace, or whatever these people do. And the husband suddenly clutches his chest and says, ‘I’m having a heart attack!’ So they all pile into the car and rush off to the hospital.”

“Leaving the front door unlocked?”

“Why bother to lock it? What’s in here that anyone could possibly want to steal?” Arlo waved dismissively at the furniture. “Besides, there’s no one around for miles who’d bother to break in here.” He paused and raised his glass of whiskey in a wry toast. “Present company excepted.”

“It looks to me like they’ve been gone for days. Why haven’t they come back?”

“The roads,” said Maura. She pulled out the newspaper that she had bought at Grubb’s Gas Station and General Store earlier that day. A lifetime ago, it seemed. Spreading it flat, she slid it into the firelight so they could read the headline, which she’d noticed when she paid for the newspaper.

COLD WEATHER RETURNS

After a week of unseasonably warm weather, with temperatures peaking in the high 60s, a blast of wintry weather appears headed our way. Forecasters predict that two to four inches of snow could start falling Tuesday night. A far more powerful winter storm is right on its heels, with the potential of even heavier snowfall on Saturday.

“Maybe they couldn’t get back here,” said Maura. “Maybe they left before the Tuesday storm, while the road was still clear.”

“It would explain why the windows were open,” said Doug. “It’s because the weather was still warm when they left. And then the storm came in.” He tipped his head to Maura. “Didn’t I tell you all that she was brilliant? Dr. Isles always comes up with a logical explanation.”

“It means these people must be planning to return,” said Arlo. “After the road gets cleared.”

“Unless they change their minds,” said Elaine.

“They left the house unlocked and all their windows open. They’ve got to come back.”

“To this? No electricity, no neighbors around? What woman in her right mind would put up with it? And where are all the neigbors, anyway?”

“This is a bad place,” said Grace softly. “I wouldn’t come back.”

They all looked at her. The girl sat by herself, wrapped so tightly in a blanket that she looked like a mummy in the shadows. She had been silent, lost in whatever music was playing on her iPod, but now the ear buds were out and she sat hugging herself, looking around the room with wide eyes.

“I looked in their closet,” said Grace. “The room where the mom and dad slept. Do you know he has sixteen belts? Sixteen leather belts, each one hanging on its own hook. And there’s rope there, too. Why would you keep rope in your closet?”

Arlo gave a nervous chuckle. “No G-rated purpose I can think of.” Elaine gave him a light slap.

“I don’t think he was a nice man.” Grace stared at the darkness lurking beyond the firelight. “Maybe his wife and kids escaped. Maybe they saw a chance and ran.” She paused. “If they were lucky. If he didn’t kill them first.”

Maura shivered inside her wool blanket. Even the whiskey could not dispel the chill that had suddenly settled over the room.

Arlo reached for the bottle. “Gee, if we’re going to tell scary stories, we’d better get some sedation on board.”

“You already have enough on board,” said Elaine.

“Who else has a scary story for the campfire?” Arlo looked at Maura. “With your job, you must have a ton of them.”

Maura glanced at Grace, who had retreated into silence. If I’m spooked by the situation, she thought, how frightening must it be for a mere thirteen-year-old girl? “I don’t think this is the time to be telling any scary stories,” she said.

“Well, how about funny stories then? Don’t pathologists have a reputation for morgue humor?”

Maura knew he was merely hoping for entertainment to help pass the long and chilly night, but she was not in the mood to be amusing. “There’s nothing funny about what I do,” she said. “Trust me.”

A long silence passed. Grace moved closer to the hearth and stared into the fire. “I wish we’d stayed at the hotel. I don’t like this place.”

“Well, I’m with you, sweetie,” said Elaine. “This house gives me the creeps.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Doug said, as usual offering the sunny appraisal. “This is a good, solidly built house. It tells us what kind of people might live here.”

Elaine gave a disparaging laugh. “People with really bad taste in furniture.”

“Not to mention their taste in food,” said Arlo, pointing at the empty can of pork and beans.

“You ate it fast enough.”

“These are survival conditions, Elaine. One does what one must to stay alive.”

“And did you see the clothes in the closets? Nothing but gingham and high collars. Pioneer dresses.”