Northwest: Deep Freeze Part 3

Surely no one was lurking in the wintry shadows.

Of course not.

The worst-case scenario would be that Josh Sykes was still hanging around, hiding behind the corner of the barn, maybe hoping to follow Ca.s.sie inside.

Right?

Nothing more sinister than a h.o.r.n.y boyfriend hiding near the barn.

The old dog growled again.

"Hush," Jenna said as she turned into the double doors that opened to her master suite, a cozy set of rooms that she shared with no one.

She'd moved to this isolated spot on the Columbia River for peace of mind, so she'd ignore the knot of dread in her stomach. She was just edgy and out of sorts because her teenager was giving her fits. That's all.

And yet as she stepped into her darkened bedroom, she couldn't shake the sensation that something was about to happen.

Something she wouldn't like.

Something intimately evil.

CHAPTER 3.

"Ca.s.sie!" Jenna yelled up the stairwell. "Allie! Breakfast. Get a move on! We have to be out of here in half an hour!" Listening for sounds of life coming from upstairs, she walked into the kitchen and glanced at the clock mounted over the stove. They were going to be late. There was just no two ways about it. They really should be at Allie's school in forty-five minutes and it would take at least twenty to get to the junior high. She flipped on the television, slammed two English m.u.f.fins into the toaster, and yelled, "Come on, girls!"

She heard the thud and shuffle of footsteps overhead. Thank G.o.d.

She swallowed her second cup of coffee, nearly tripping over Critter, who was hovering near the counter, dropped her empty cup in the sink, and yanked open the refrigerator door. Still no sound of water running. Ca.s.sie was usually in the shower by this time. Yanking open the refrigerator door, she found a carton of orange juice and poured two gla.s.ses as the m.u.f.fins popped up. From the television, the local weatherman was predicting the worst snow of the season so far, as temperatures had dropped far below freezing.

Slathering the first set of m.u.f.fins with b.u.t.ter, she heard footsteps on the stairs. A few seconds later, Ca.s.sie appeared.

"There's no water," she said glumly.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean there's no friggin' water. I turned on the faucet and nothing!" To prove her point, she walked to the sink and twisted on the faucet. Nothing happened.

"No hot water?" Jenna said, hating the thoughts running through her mind. Better a problem with the water heater than the pipes.

"No cold, either." Ca.s.sie looked over at the coffeepot. "How did you...?"

"Got it ready last night. It's on a timer." She was at the sink, trying to get the water to flow and failing miserably. "d.a.m.n. I guess you'll just have to get dressed without a shower."

"Are you out of your mind? I can't go to school without was.h.i.+ng my hair."

"You'll survive. So will the school."

"But, Mom-"

"Just eat your breakfast and then change into something clean."

"No way. I'm not going to school." Ca.s.sie slumped into a chair in the nook. Dark smudges surrounded her eyes, and she couldn't keep from yawning from her tryst the night before.

"You're going. Remember the old saying, 'If you fly with the eagles, you have to rise with the sparrows?'"

"I don't get it."

"Sure you do."

"Well, it's dumb."

"Maybe so, but it's our credo for the morning."

Ca.s.sie rolled her eyes and took a swallow of her juice, but let the m.u.f.fin sit untouched on her plate. Critter planted himself under the table, his head resting on Ca.s.sie's knee. She didn't seem to notice or care.

"You and I still need to talk. Last night isn't going to happen again. I don't want you sneaking out. Ever. It's just not safe."

"You just don't like Josh."

"We went over this last night. Josh is fine." Even if his IQ was smaller than his shoe size. "But I don't like him manipulating you."

"He doesn't."

"And, if you two are having s.e.x-"

"Oh G.o.d. Save me."

"-I need to know about it."

"It's none of your business."

"Of course it is. You're a minor."

"Can we talk about this later? Or never?" She glared at her mom as if Jenna was soooo out of it, which, Jenna supposed, she was. But she had to tread softly or she'd do exactly the opposite of what she wanted and send Ca.s.sie reeling into Josh Sykes's ready and randy arms. Jenna glimpsed the kitchen clock counting off the seconds of her life. "Okay, later. After school, when we have more time."

"Great. Just what we need. More time," Ca.s.sie mumbled as Jenna, telling herself that timing is everything in life, stepped out of the kitchen and away from the confrontation they'd have this evening. She walked down a short hallway to the bottom of the stairs. "Allie? Are you up?"

She heard the shuffle of feet and Allie, still wearing her pajamas, inched her way into the kitchen. Her red-blond hair was a disaster, her pixie-like face pulled into a pained expression worthy of an Oscar. "I don't feel good."

"What's wrong?" Jenna said, though she suspected it was nothing. This was one of her twelve-year-old's favorite tricks these days. Allie had never liked school, still didn't. She was smart, but one of those kids who was a dreamer, the proverbial square peg that could no more fit into the round hole of student life than fly to the moon. But she had to try.

"Sore throat," Allie complained, doing her best to look miserable.

"Let me see."

Obediently, Allie opened her mouth and Jenna peered down what appeared to be a perfectly healthy throat. "Looks okay to me."

"But it hurts," Allie whined pathetically.

"It'll get better. Eat some breakfast."

"I can't." She slumped into a chair and folded her arms over the table, burying her head in the crook of one elbow. "Dad wouldn't make me go to school if I was sick."

Neither would I, Jenna thought, but didn't take the bait and give a quick retort about Robert Kramer and his less-than-stellar performance as a father. Allie scowled at her mother and determinedly ignored her breakfast.

Perfect. Jenna glanced at the clock. The morning was disintegrating from bad to worse and it wasn't even eight yet. She hated to think what the rest of the day would bring.

Leaving the girls at the table, she tried the faucets in the rest of the house and realized that Ca.s.sie was right. Water was nonexistent. By the time she reached the kitchen, Allie had come to life, and, ignoring the English m.u.f.fin Jenna had toasted, had found a box of frozen waffles and dropped two into the toaster. Apparently her sore throat hadn't gotten the better of her appet.i.te.

Ca.s.sie, finis.h.i.+ng her juice, was staring at the television. On the screen a woman reporter was standing in the darkened woods somewhere, in front of a crime scene if the yellow tape could be believed.

"What's this?" Jenna asked.

"They found some woman up at Catwalk Point," Ca.s.sie said, her gaze transfixed on the television. "I heard it on the radio."

"Who is it?"

"They're not saying."

As if to answer Jenna's question, the perky, red-haired reporter, wearing a coat and scarf, was saying, "...no word yet from the sheriff's department as to the ident.i.ty of the woman who was found yesterday morning by Charley Perry, a man who lives not far from the crime scene." The screen flashed to an elderly man whom Jenna thought she'd seen in the local cafe, though she'd never met him. He was talking about discovering the body while hunting.

"Catwalk Point isn't very far from here," Allie said as her waffle popped up and she slid it onto the plate with her m.u.f.fin. "That's kinda creepy."

"Real creepy," Jenna said, then changed her tune quickly. "The police are handling it. No need to worry."

Ca.s.sie sighed loudly, as if she couldn't believe what she was hearing. Allie found the syrup bottle and squeezed a puddle large enough to cover ten pancakes. Her two small waffles were saturated and then some.

Jenna didn't comment. She was too busy staring at the small screen, watching as the image changed and the reporter was talking to Sheriff Carter, a tall, broad-shouldered man who dwarfed the woman. "It's too early to determine the cause of death," he was saying cautiously, his voice having the hint of a drawl. He was a rugged-looking man with chiseled features, suspicious deep-set eyes, and a dark brush moustache. His hair was straight, coffee-brown, and trimmed neatly. "We're still trying to identify the body."

"Are you treating this as a murder investigation?"

"We're leaving our options open. It's still too early to tell," he said firmly, ending the taped interview.

"Thank you, Sheriff Carter," the reporter said, rotating to face the camera again. "Karen Tyler reporting from Catwalk Point." The screen flipped to the anchor desk, where a clean-shaven man with receding hair said, "Thank you, Karen," then, with a smile, turned to the sports report.

Jenna snapped off the set. "Let's go," she said.

Ca.s.sie stared at her mother as if Jenna were out of her mind. "I told you I can't go to school like this."

"And you were wrong. Move it. I don't have time to argue."

Muttering under her breath, Ca.s.sie shoved her uneaten breakfast aside and banged up the stairs.

"You, too," Jenna said, pointing a finger at her youngest daughter. The waffles were nearly gone.

"My throat really, really hurts."

This was just Allie's most recent ploy to avoid going to Harrington Junior High. Jenna wasn't buying it. Especially when she saw how easily Allie swallowed her juice. "I think you'll live...but I'll call the school later and see how you're doing. Now, let's go."

Seeming to decide that her current strategy wasn't working, Allie crammed the last piece of waffle into her mouth and flew up the stairs while Jenna dialed Hans Dvorak, a retired horse trainer and now part-time foreman of her small ranch. Hans, like Critter, had come with the property. He picked up on the third ring, his voice deep and rattling from too many years of cigarettes. "h.e.l.lo?"

"Hans, it's Jenna."

"Just on my way over," the older man said quickly, as if he were late.

"And I'm taking the kids to school now, but we've got a little problem here." As she heard one of her girls clomping down the stairs, she explained about the lack of water.

"Probably the pump," he said. "It's had an electrical problem. Happened before, 'bout five years back."

"Can you fix it?"

"I'm not sure, but I'll give it a try. You might need an electrician, though, or some kind of handyman who knows more about wiring than I do-possibly a plumber as well."

Jenna inwardly groaned at the thought, though she did know Wes Allen, an electrician and sometime artist who did work at Columbia Theater in the Gorge, the local theater where she volunteered. Then there was Scott Dalinsky, who, too, helped out with the lights and audio equipment at the theater, though Jenna wouldn't trust him with work at her house. Even though he was Wes's nephew and her friend Rinda's son, Jenna felt uncomfortable around Scott. She'd caught him staring at her one too many times to feel at ease with him.

"I'll be there in half an hour," Hans said.

"Thanks."

Hans was a G.o.dsend. At seventy-three, he still helped with the livestock and kept the place running. He'd been the caretaker for the previous owners and when Jenna had moved into the house, she'd nearly begged him to stay on. He'd agreed and she'd never regretted the decision for a second. Today was no exception. If Hans couldn't fix what was wrong, he'd find someone who could.

Allie, her wild hair somewhat tamed, walked into the room. She was already wearing a fleece jacket and had the strap of her backpack slung over one shoulder.

"Did you brush your teeth?" Jenna asked, then realized what she was saying. "I know this isn't what the Dental a.s.sociation would suggest, but chew some gum on the way to school if your teeth feel fuzzy."

"They're fine," Allie said in a weak voice, gently reminding her mother that she wasn't well.

"You've got a math test today, right? Ready for it?"

Frown lines drew Allie's eyebrows together, and for an instant she was the spitting image of her father. "I hate math."

"You've always been good at math."

"But it's pre-algebra." Allie's nose wrinkled in disgust.

"Yeah, well, we all suffered through it," Jenna said, then heard herself and thought better of her response. She pulled her jacket off a peg near the back door and slipped her arms through its sleeves. "Look, I'll try to help you with it tonight and if I can't, maybe Mr. Brennan can. He was an engineer and in the Air Force and-"

"No!" Allie said quickly, and Jenna backed off. Neither of her daughters was comfortable with their mother dating, even though since the divorce Robert had remarried twice. A record even by Hollywood standards. Harrison Brennan was their neighbor, ex-military, and a widower. He'd shown more than a pa.s.sing interest in Jenna since she moved in and yet hadn't treated her with the kid gloves and awestruck att.i.tude of many of the townspeople when she'd first moved to Falls Crossing.

"Okay, I'll see what I can do," she said, marching to the bottom of the stairs as she tugged on a pair of leather gloves. "Ca.s.sie, get a move on! We'll be in the car!"