Hannah Alexander - A Killing Frost

“It was the best time of our lives. We had the chance to know each other well, and because our parents were so strict, Fran and I were best friends for a long, long time.”

“And you’re so happy together.”

“Best friends always make the best marriages.”

“I think you’re trying to tell me something.”

“You and Tyrell are best friends?”

“Of course.”

“So the real problem is that my son has not given you the option of an engagement length of your choosing.”

“We didn’t talk about it, Monty.”

“Maybe you should. It could make all the difference. If you don’t feel the pressure of a wedding and marriage for four years, you can relax, enjoy one another’s company, and take some time to see if this is really what you want. I think it is, and you just don’t know it yet.”

“Monty,” she warned.

He winced, then tapped himself on the forehead. “There I go, telling you what you’re feeling. I promised Fran I wouldn’t do that. You won’t tell her, will you? She’s already upset enough today.”

“I won’t tell, as long as you stop now.”

He grinned, then sobered. “Jama Keith, I don’t like to see someone in my family carrying more burdens than even I can haul. Want to talk about it? I may have a tricky heart right now, but seeing you suffering is even harder on me.”

“Montrose Mercer,” came Fran’s quiet voice from the doorway to the hospital room, “don’t you even joke about that.”

“Who’s joking?” Monty asked as his wife joined Jama at his bedside.

“I don’t see how you can be so intrusive to the woman who saved your life today. You’re barging in on Tyrell’s territory.” Fran leaned in for a kiss, and then, to Jama’s delight, slid her shoes off and carefully climbed onto the narrow hospital bed beside her husband.

Jama was accustomed to their affection. They used to embarrass their kids to death when they smooched in front of any school friends who might be at the house. Jama also had many memories of being shooed out to play with all the other kids so Fran and Monty could be alone.

Some of Jama’s best times were spent with the Mercers, even before Dad’s death. She remembered riding home with the family from a movie or dinner or a picnic. Monty would start singing a song. Fran would harmonize, and the rest of the kids, though they rolled their eyes, grudgingly, joined.

When the kids all grew up and went their separate ways, Jama was disappointed the singing ended.

How she missed those days. She would love to return to that period in her life, when she believed Monty and Fran could carry the world on their shoulders.

She knew now that they’d never done that. They were human, made mistakes, endured pain, interfered too much in the lives of their children, had bad breath in the morning and struggled with financial decisions just like everyone else.

She stepped from the room and left the loving couple alone. Jama prayed that their lives weren’t soon to be shattered by tragic news of their granddaughter.

The day darkened. Doriann froze. She’d been studying an anthill while waiting to see what Clancy and Deb would do next, and now she had the most horrible feeling that Clancy had sneaked out of the barn while she wasn’t paying attention, and was standing between her and the sun. Hovering over her. Waiting for her to look up.

She looked up. She took a quiet, deep breath and let it out just as quietly. A bank of clouds had drifted between her and the light she needed to navigate by. The clouds meant she couldn’t tell which direction to go when she left here. She really needed to get that cell phone. She’d already practiced using the GPS system. She could find her way out of here and lead the police to the killers.

According to Grandpa, cloud cover also meant that there probably wouldn’t be a killing frost tonight.

“This hay stinks.” It was Clancy, talking as if he’d never knocked Deb silly.

Doriann listened for Deb to reply, but she didn’t.

“It’s moldy,” Clancy said. “How can you just lie in it like that?”

“You’re no rose garden,” Deb said at last.

The relief Doriann felt surprised her. Deb was wicked. She and Clancy were a threat to River Dance. But Doriann didn’t want to have to remember for the rest of her life that she’d been earwitness to a murder.

“So,” Deb said, her voice kind of slurred. “Why don’t you tell me how you killed all these people they’re talking about on the radio. Did you really do it?”

Doriann sat up straight, confused. Had that hit messed up Deb’s brain? Wasn’t she there when the killings took place?

Clancy snickered. It was a dirty sound, and it gave Doriann goose bumps. “They’re after you, too, you know.”

“Can’t be. I just met you.”

“Yeah, but they can’t tell the difference between one skinny broad and another. I had another skinny broad before I met you. We’re all just a bunch of worthless druggies to the docs and the Feds.”

“So what happened to the other skinny broad?” Deb’s words weren’t slurred now.

“Selma got all freaky on me and got religion. Told me she was going to turn herself in.”

“To the cops?”

“Who else? God?” He snickered again. “I told her the old guy in the sky wanted her dead, anyway, not just rotting in a cell somewhere. So I did God’s work for Him.”

Doriann’s eyes went buggy.

“You killed your girlfriend.” Deb’s voice shook.

“You got a problem with that?”

Deb startled Doriann by laughing. “Guess she got a surprise visit to the great beyond, huh? How’d you do it?”

“Slipped her an extra dose in the needle.”

“The best way,” Deb said. “How’d you do the others?”

Doriann stared at the side of the barn, feeling sicker and sicker while Clancy bragged about his acts of murder and Deb egged him on, asking for more stories.

Doriann had to do something, or more people were going to die. She’d just have to wait.

Tyrell rode shotgun, staring out the side window as Jama crossed the bridge over the Missouri River on the way back to River Dance. He was pretty sure his thoughts mirrored hers. They’d been banished from Monty’s room and reminded that they had work to do. Tyrell had left the farm truck for Mom in case she needed it. Too bad the Durango was at Joe’s Auto Service; it would have been easier for her to drive.

“It’s best we didn’t stay, anyway,” Tyrell said. “Dad’s worried about the frost, so he’ll feel better knowing that’ll be taken care of. And Mom’s worried about your job.”

“Monty’s going to be fine,” Jama said. “The surgery was a success, barring any unforeseen complications.”

Tyrell looked at her. “Is that doctor talk for ‘He’ll be fine, but don’t blame me if something goes wrong’?”

“I mean that it’s never a sure thing, just as in life. We can’t know for sure what the outcome will be in any situation.”

“I wanted to hang around and make sure Mom doesn’t wear herself out at Dad’s bedside. She’s like that, you know.”

“I do.” Almost five years earlier, Fran had stayed by Jama’s bedside in the hospital after the wreck.

“I spoke with Dr. George before we left,” Jama said. “Someone from maintenance is probably, at this minute, removing the television from Monty’s room for ‘repairs.’ Not that he ever seems to have time to watch much, but right now he might get bored.”

“Mom could hear about Doriann’s kidnapping out in the lobby or the cafeteria.”

“Dr. George is having meals brought to her as well as Monty, and he has instructed the staff to encourage Fran to participate in Monty’s care. Dr. George will stress to her the importance of watching Monty closely for signs of decline. A sleep chair is being brought to the room for her. Everyone agrees Monty could use a few more hours, or even overnight, to heal and rest before he is told about Doriann. This is particularly important considering the stroke he had after Amy’s death.”