Maggie Shayne - Colder Than Ice

It would be good to see David again. It had been a long time.

He really had picked the perfect spot—or rather, his guides had: a pull-off near a railroad crossing where no trains ran anymore. Back roads, no one around.

Oh, there would be roadblocks, but that didn’t matter. He didn’t know why yet, but he knew they were not going to be a problem. He knew it with a certainty that told him it was “given” knowledge. It came from beyond him.

Mordecai sat a little straighter in his seat when he spotted the man, hunched and shivering, near the edge of the woods. Gray was peering through the rain at the car, as if too wary to come any closer. Smiling to himself, Mordecai flashed his headlights on, then off, then on again. He left them on, because he couldn’t believe his one-time attorney looked the way he did. Prison had apparently forced him to overcome his obsession with Italian suits and flawless grooming. David could have passed for a scrawny, half-drowned alley cat.

When he drew closer, Mordecai reached across the car and opened the passenger door.

David peered in at him, his face drawn and pinched, even when he smiled—a smile that never reached his eyes. “Mordecai. Damn, it’s good to see you.” He started to get in.

“Wait.” Mordecai reached into the back seat for the red flannel blanket that lay folded there, pulled it into the front and draped it as best he could over the upholstery. “You’re a mess, David. What did you do? Crawl out through the prison sewers?”

David scowled at him but got in. As soon as he’d closed the door, he pulled the loose ends of the blanket around him. “I’m frozen half to death.”

“No wonder. You’re skin and bone. You don’t look well, David.”

“Prison will do that to you.” He glanced at Mordecai. “You look good, though. You never change.”

It was true. Mordecai hadn’t changed. His head was still clean shaven, his eyes still his most distinctive feature. He would have to change, though, once he found out where Lizzie was hiding. It wouldn’t do to have her recognize him too soon.

He started the engine and turned up the heat. “I was glad to receive your letter, David. I have to say, it surprised me.”

“It should have,” David said, using a corner of the blanket to wipe the rain water from his face. “They’ve been watching everything I do—listening in on every conversation, every phone call, reading my mail both coming and going. My own fault, blabbing to my cellmate about what I knew. I know the little bastard ratted me out.”

“It wasn’t smart to tell him anything. It’s never smart to give away too much. You taught me that yourself.”

David frowned, but didn’t ask what Mordecai meant by that. Maybe because he knew where the conversation was going. Or maybe the reference to his disloyalty of a year ago had sailed right over his head.

“I had to smuggle your letter out with another prisoner on work release.”

“I didn’t mean I was surprised you could get a letter out. What I meant, David, was that I was surprised your loyalty to me had lasted so long.” He tipped his head slightly.

Bull. He wanted you to get him out of prison, and that’s the only reason he told you a damn thing.

Don’t trust him. He could be trying to trick you, the way she did.

Ask him where she is. Stop wasting time!

Mordecai closed his eyes briefly, slowly. The voices had multiplied. Where there used to be one or two, there were now too many to count. Though it had occurred to him that there were likely twelve. That would make the most sense, wouldn’t it? Twelve.

And perhaps, he thought, one of them might be his Judas.

He didn’t know them all. Some were more accurate than others, and he’d been struggling to learn which ones he should heed and which he would do better to ignore, or whether it was the flaw of his own human condition that twisted their messages so that they were not always quite right—a far more likely possibility. The voices came from Spirit. Spirit couldn’t be wrong. His guides had taught him many things over the years. A deeper understanding of scripture. The importance of faith without question. The intricacies of poisons, and everything there was to know about explosives. The true depth of his twofold mission: to bring Lizzie to her knees, and to find his rightful heir.

He lifted his chin, tried to will the voices to be quiet. They chose to obey this time. They didn’t always.

“I’d still like to know how you managed to get me out,” David said. “I know some of the guards had to look the other way, let it happen.”

Mordecai smiled softly. “It wasn’t hard. My guides told me which guards would be open to bribery. Most men have their price, David.”

David lowered his eyes. “Still with the voices, huh?”

“Of course. They’re spirit guides. They don’t just go away.”

He could tell David would have liked to argue with that, but he had the good sense not to.

“So how are you going to get us out of here without being caught? Did your guides tell you that?”

“They will, when the time comes. But first, David, you have to keep your promise. Tell me what you know about my Lizzie. Where is she hiding?”

David licked his lips, looked out the rain-streaked windows into the darkness. Then he shook his head. “Not here. It’s not safe, sitting here like this. How about you get me out of here, past the roadblocks and shit first? Then I’ll fulfill my end of the bargain.”

Mordecai didn’t like that.

He’s an ungrateful bastard, this one.

Put him in the trunk!

Mordecai nodded, rubbing his forehead a little. “All right. You’re going to have to ride in the trunk, David. In case they do stop us.”

“The trunk?” David looked horrified at the thought.

The man’s soaking wet and frozen to the bone. Have mercy for God’s sake.

God, how he hated it, Mordecai thought, when the voices disagreed.

He was your friend once.

That much was true. David had been his friend. Once. “Just get in the back, then. Lie on the floor and keep yourself hidden under the blanket. All right?”

David nodded, smiling a little. “Thanks, Mordecai.” Then he climbed into the back seat and curled up on the floor, a skinny, wet blanket-bundle.

Mordecai drove the car. He drove where the voices told him to drive, even though he didn’t understand why. Faith, he reminded himself, wasn’t about understanding why. It was about believing, about acting without hesitation to obey the dictates of Spirit. He drove for ten minutes, then twenty. And then he pulled off and stopped the car.

He leaned over the back seat. “We’re clear, David. All clear.”

“God, you didn’t even get stopped,” David said, pulling the blanket from over his head and staring up at Mordecai from the floor. “Are you sure?”

“I’m sure. You know how ineffective the police can be.”

David smiled and started to get up.

“Wait,” Mordecai said. “I’ve been very patient with you, David. Very patient. But my patience is wearing thin. Tell me what you know about Lizzie.”

David was sitting up now, but still on the floor. He nodded, sighing. “There was this picture in the newspaper, some kind of festival, late last fall. She was in the background of the shot, standing in the crowd watching a parade go by.” He shook his head. “I couldn’t believe the coincidence.”

“Oh, it was no coincidence. It was the hand of Spirit. You were meant to see that photo, and I was meant to find my Lizzie.”

David nodded, licking his lips and looking a little nervous. “The town was some rural place in Vermont. Blackberry.”

“Blackberry, Vermont. God, it’s almost too quaint.” He pictured her, the way she had been, long ago. Lost and alone, and so very needy. He’d been her hero, her savior, then. “I presume she’s using an alias.”