Tess Gerritsen - Ice Cold

“I’m just tired. You snored half the night. I may have to insist on my own room.”

“Aw, come on. I’ll buy you some earplugs.” Arlo slung an arm around Elaine and pulled her close against him. “Honeybun. Baby. Don’t make me sleep alone.”

Elaine extricated herself. “You’re giving me a crick in the neck.”

“Hey, people, will you look at this gorgeous snow!” said Doug. “It’s a winter wonderland!”

An hour out of Jackson, they saw a sign: LAST CHANCE FOR FUEL. Doug pulled in to Grubb’s Gas Station and General Store, and they all piled out of the vehicle to use the restrooms and cruise the narrow aisles, scanning the snacks and dusty magazines and windshield ice scrapers.

Arlo stood in front of a display of plastic-wrapped beef sticks and laughed. “Who eats these things, anyway? They’re like ninety percent sodium nitrite, and the rest is red dye number two.”

“They have Cadbury chocolates,” said Elaine. “Shall we get some?”

“Probably ten years old. Oh, yuck, they’ve got licorice whips. I got sick on those when I was a kid. It’s like we’re back in the 1950s.”

As Arlo and Elaine stood sniggering over the snack selection, Maura picked up a newspaper and headed to the cash register to pay for it.

“You know that’s a week old, don’t you?” said Grace.

Maura turned, surprised that the girl had spoken to her. For once, Grace wasn’t wearing her ear buds, but her iPod was still playing, the music issuing out a tinny whine.

“It’s last week’s paper,” Grace pointed out. “Everything in this store is expired. The potato chips are, like, a year old. I bet even the petrol is bad.”

“Thanks for pointing it out. But I need something to read, and this will have to do.” Maura pulled out her wallet, wondering how the word petrol ended up in an American teenager’s vocabulary. But that was just one more detail about Grace that puzzled her. The girl walked out the door, skinny hips swaying slightly in skintight jeans, oblivious to her effect on others. The old man standing behind the cash register gaped after her, as though he’d never seen such an exotic creature saunter through his store.

By the time Maura stepped outside again, Grace was already in the Suburban, but this time she was in the backseat. “The princess finally relinquished her throne,” Doug whispered to Maura as he opened the door for her. “You get to sit up front with me.”

“I didn’t mind sitting in back.”

“Well, I minded. I had a chat with her, and she’s cool with it now.”

Elaine and Arlo came out of the store, laughing, and climbed into their seats.

“That,” said Arlo, “was like a time capsule. Did you see those Pez dispensers? They had to be twenty years old. And that old guy behind the counter was like some character out of The Twilight Zone.”

“Yeah, he was strange,” said Doug, starting the engine.

“Creepy is the word I’d use. He said he hoped we weren’t headed to Kingdom Come.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You people are sinners!” Arlo boomed out in his best televangelist voice. “And you are on the road to Hay-ell!”

“Maybe he was just telling us to be careful,” said Elaine. “With this snow and all.”

“It seems to be slowing down.” Doug leaned forward to peer up at the sky. “In fact, I think I can see a patch of blue up there.”

“Always the optimist,” said Arlo. “That’s our Dougie.”

“Positive thinking. It works every time.”

“Just get us there in time for lunch.”

Doug looked at the GPS. “Lola says ETA eleven forty-nine. You’re not going to starve.”

“I already am starving, and it’s only ten thirty.”

The GPS’s female voice commanded: “Bear left at next fork.”

Arlo burst out in song: “Whatever Lola wants…”

“Lola gets,” Doug joined in, and he veered left at the fork.

Maura looked out her window, but she didn’t spot any patch of blue sky. All she saw was low-hanging clouds and the white flanks of mountains in the distance.

“It’s starting to snow again,” said Elaine.

WE MUST HAVE TAKEN A WRONG TURN,” SAID ARLO.

The snow was swirling thicker than ever, and in between swipes of the windshield wipers, the glass instantly clouded over in a thick lattice of flakes. They’d been winding steadily up the mountain for nearly an hour now, and the road had long since vanished under an ever-deepening carpet of white. Doug drove with neck craned forward, straining to make out what lay ahead.

“Are you sure this is the right way?” said Arlo.

“Lola said so.”

“Lola is a disembodied voice in a box.”

“I programmed her for the most direct route. This is it.”

“But is it the fastest route?”

“Hey, do you want to drive?”

“Whoa, man. I’m just asking.”

Elaine said, “We haven’t seen another car since we turned onto this road. Not since that weirdo gas station. Why isn’t anyone else here?”

“Do you have a map?” asked Maura.

“I think there’s one in the glove compartment,” said Doug. “It came with the rental car. But the GPS says we’re right where we should be.”

“Yeah. In the middle of nowhere,” muttered Arlo.

Maura pulled out the map and unfolded it. It took her a moment to orient herself to the unfamiliar geography. “I don’t see this road on here,” she said.

“You sure you know where we are?”

“It’s not here.”

Doug snatched the map from her hands and propped it up on the steering wheel as he drove.

“Hey, a helpful suggestion from the backseat?” called Arlo. “How about keeping your eyes on the road?”

Doug shoved the map aside. “Piece of junk. It’s not detailed enough.”

“Maybe Lola’s wrong,” said Maura. God, now I’m calling the gadget by that stupid name.

“She’s more up to date than that map,” said Doug.

“This could be a seasonal road. Or a private road.”

“It didn’t say private when we turned onto it.”

“You know, I think we should turn around,” said Arlo. “Seriously, man.”

“It’s thirty miles back to the fork. Do you want to make it there by lunch or not?”

“Dad?” Grace called from the back of the Suburban. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing, honey. We’re just having a discussion about which road to take.”

“You mean you don’t know?”

Doug heaved out a frustrated sigh. “I do know, and we’re okay! We’re fine! If everyone would just cool it, we can start having a good time.”

“Let’s turn around, Doug,” said Arlo. “This road is getting seriously scary.”

“Okay,” said Doug, “I guess it’s time for a vote. Everyone?”

“I vote we turn around,” said Arlo.

“Elaine?”

“I think the driver should decide,” she said. “I’ll go with whatever you want, Doug.”

“Thank you, Elaine.” Doug glanced at Maura. “How do you vote?”

There was more to that question than what it seemed. She could see it in his eye, a look that said Back me up. Believe in me. A look that made her remember what he’d been like two decades ago as a college student, carefree and hang-loose in his faded aloha shirt. No worries, be happy. That was Douglas, the man who could survive falls off rooftops and broken legs without ever losing his optimism. He was asking her to trust him now, and she wanted to.

But she couldn’t ignore her own instincts.

“I think we should turn around,” she said, and her answer seemed to wound him as deeply as an insult.

“All right.” He sighed. “I recognize a mutiny when I see one. When I find the right spot, we’ll turn around. And retrace the thirty miles we just drove.”