Deep Freeze

by Lisa Jackson

  He was trying to create a full-body mask, though so far his attempts had proved unsuccessful, and he’d been forced to use mannequin bodies with head casts. His hope was to hone the process so that by the time he’d abducted Jenna, he would be able to cast her perfect body over and over, perhaps in different positions if he could find a way to keep her alive long enough, and build his shrine to her. He’d already made some mistakes.

  In his first attempt, he had not shaved the woman’s head properly, leaving her hair to mess up his image. A stupid, amateurish blunder. That mistake had been time-consuming. A waste. What had he been thinking? Since then, he’d worked more carefully, had honed his art to a science, planned the smallest detail, knew who he would use for his work…He’d spent the last two years creating a list of women who would be as near-perfect as possible for his shrine though he hadn’t started actually sculpting his creations until last winter. Before Jenna Hughes had moved up here, he’d been studying specimens, looking for women with the right facial structure, acceptable frames.

  Now, as Faye sank into the pink, oozing depths, he felt a sense of accomplishment. She didn’t move. Couldn’t, as she was immobile from the freezing. The alginate seeped upward between her legs, through the space between her arms and torso, over her closed eyes. It slithered into her most intimate recesses and molded to her. The process would only take minutes. She would die of suffocation, but not struggle, as she was comatose, already a victim of the frigid ice water and relaxants.

  Soon he would have a perfect mold. With extreme precision, he would extract her from the solid alginate, then stuff her useless body into the freezer before he disposed of it permanently.

  He watched as the alginate began to solidify.

  Just as he’d planned.

  Leaving the coffin, he walked through a separate doorway to his computer room and sat at a desk with several keyboards. Anonymously, he logged on, and, starting with e-Bay and some of his favorite vintage dress shops, he began searching. Somewhere, if he took enough time and exercised patience, he would find articles of clothing and jewelry that would suffice as a full costume for Zoey, his next project, the character Jenna played in A Silent Snow. Smiling to himself, he imagined showcasing Zoey as well as all the others. He already had found the costume for Faye Tyler of Bystander, and the black dress he’d picked up at the theater that Anne Parks of Resurrection would soon wear.

  His grin widened as he thought about what Jenna would say when she saw his tribute to her. No doubt she would be awestruck. Speechless. Forever in his debt.

  That would be a time to savor!

  He hoped to keep her alive long enough for her to realize how much he loved her, how much he cared for her, how he planned to immortalize her.

  Through the glass door, he peered into the freezing chamber where the alginate was hardening over Faye Tyler.

  But soon his work would be complete.

  He walked to the window, where he could see his full-length reflection in the glass, a pale image of a tall, muscular man with a full head of hair, sharp features, intelligent eyes.

  He prided himself upon being a near-perfect specimen.

  A man any woman would want.

  A man who only wanted one woman.

  A man who intended to have that one, unique woman.

  Soon.

  CHAPTER 17

  “So do you and Carter have a truce?” Rinda asked.

  She and Jenna were sitting in the theater’s office and sorting through the pre-sold tickets.

  “We were never at war.”

  “But you two were sure prickly around each other.”

  “Prickly? Oh, give me a break.” Jenna shook her head. “Forget the matchmaking, Rinda, okay? And don’t try to deny it. I see what you’re up to, and it won’t work.”

  “I think you two would—”

  “Yeah, yeah, I know. But forget it.” The last thing Jenna needed now was the distraction of a man, any man, in her life.

  “He’s kind of a hunk.”

  Jenna had noticed. “So what? Who needs a hunk?”

  “I wouldn’t mind one.”

  “Then you date him.” She counted all the tickets for section A and placed them in a stack on Rinda’s desk. “The man’s a pain in the ass.”

  “So you do like him.”

  “Give me a break.” She started counting out section B and lost track. “He’s stubborn, all business, seems to go by his own rules. A cowboy.”

  “Nothing wrong with that.”

  “Lots wrong with that,” she argued, and hated the fact that Rinda could see right through her. “Let’s forget Carter for the moment, okay?”

  “Fine…let’s see here…” Rinda leaned closer to the computer monitor. The seating chart was computerized, but the old desktop was straining, its capacity stretched to the limit with the new software Wes had added in the past couple of weeks. In his estimation, the new programs would make life at the theater easier; so far, just the opposite had proved true as the old hard drive struggled with even the most simple commands. Biting her lower lip in concentration, Rinda was trying to print out a chart while Jenna, in a folding chair scooted close to her friend’s desk, was counting out the preprinted tickets that had not yet been sold.

  The furnace roared in the background, blasting out hot air that quickly dissipated in the drafty, old theater, and notes from a piano drifted through the rooms as Blanche was tinkering with the score of the next production. “What is it you have against Carter?” Rinda pestered, still staring at the screen.

  “I thought the subject was closed.”

  “It’s a simple question.”

  “Well, other than the fact that he gave me a citation and then acted like I was some Hollywood prima donna the first time I went to his office, I’ve got nothing against the man.”

  Rinda looked over the tops of her computer glasses.

  “Just admit it, Jenna. The man gets under your skin,” Rinda said, as Oliver hopped onto the corner of her desk. Absently, she petted the cat’s tawny head.

  “You mean, he irritates me.”

  “Whatever you want to call it. But you’re getting along with him now, right?”

  “Okay, yes, I suppose.” She lost count of section B again and swore under her breath. “Damn, where was I?”

  Rinda chuckled.

  “Okay, I give up! If you really want to know, Carter was fine when I went in to see him about the note. Interested. Concerned. Professional. Not like the other time, when he acted like he thought I expected some kind of special treatment. I got the feeling that he expected me to show up in a limo, that I’d be wearing sunglasses and tons of lip gloss and Gucci shoes…something straight out of The Idiot’s Guide to Hollywood Stereotypes.”

  Rinda laughed. “You’ve got him all wrong. He’s just busy. I know Shane. He’ll be on this stalker thing like a flea on a dog.”

  “I hope so.” She picked up the B tickets again.

  “You might consider doing some of the things he suggested.”

  “Great—you, too. Well, just for the record, I’m not trading in Critter for a newer, sleeker, fiercer model,” Jenna said, and the old dog, curled on a mat at the base of the stairs to the belltower, thumped his tail at the sound of his name. “I’m also not hiring a damned bodyguard.”

  “You’ve got the alarm system fixed, though. Right?”

  “I’m working on it. I’ve called the company, but they’re booked solid.”

  “I supposed that’s a start. How are the girls taking all this?”

  “With trepidation. I don’t want either of them to freak out, so I’ve downplayed this whole stalker thing a bit, but I’m not leaving them alone much. Hans and his wife Ellie are willing to hang out at the house whenever I need them.”

  “The Dvoraks? They’re ancient.”

  “You’re as bad as the kids. Hans is in his early seventies, not exactly ancient, and Ellie’s even younger. They’re both sharp as tacks and in good physical shape. Wait
a minute—why am I defending them to you?”

  “Sorry I asked.”

  “You should be, and besides Hans and Ellie, I’ve got Estella coming over to clean a couple of times a week.”

  “Weather permitting.”

  “And Ron stopping by for the personal training sessions. For the record, he’s twenty-six—young enough for you?”

  “I said I was sorry. For God’s sake, Jenna, you’re touchy,” Rinda said, then smiled. “Okay, I guess you’ve got a good reason.”

  Scott, climbing down from the rafters where he’d been adjusting the lights, had obviously been eavesdropping. “You know, I could help with the alarm system,” he offered, not meeting Jenna’s eyes. He was a gawky kid, with spiky red hair and eyes that seemed a little too round, ostensibly because of the fact that he never had gotten quite comfortable in his contacts. “Just give me a chance, Mama.”

  “What? Oh!” Jenna’s flesh crawled as she recognized the line from her first movie, Innocence Lost. As Katrina, a thirteen-year-old prostitute, she had uttered the very same line when begging her reticent madam of a mother for a chance to earn her own money by giving up her virginity.

  “Scott!” Rinda hadn’t missed the reference, either. “Enough with the quoting of dialogue, okay? Jenna gets it. You’re a fan. Geez.”

  Scott blinked rapidly and blushed. “Sorry.”

  “You should be. Cut it out.” It wasn’t the first time Scott had come up with a line and inserted it into the conversation, but Rinda had never said anything before, and Jenna had let them pass. But it was strange, and she was glad Rinda put the clamps on her son.

  “I, uh, just thought that I could make sure that Jenna’s got a security system that has all the new stuff like infrared sensors and motion detectors. State-of-the art equipment.” Scott turned to Jenna. “Didn’t you say you wanted a new system?”

  “Yeah, I’m considering it,” she said cautiously, sensing what was to come.

  “I could install it for you!” he said with a smile that seemed genuine enough, yet she couldn’t shake the sensation that something wasn’t right with the kid. “Piece o’ cake!”

  “I don’t know,” Jenna hedged.

  “Sounds like a good idea to me.” Rinda was peering through her computer glasses, frowning at the screen. “Why not?”

  Jenna said, “I think I should probably have a security company install it, one with guards and connections to the police department if, God forbid, there ever was an intruder and the alarm went off.”

  “Isn’t that what you have now?” Rinda asked.

  “Well, kind of. But the system doesn’t work, and the company that installed it years ago is now defunct.”

  “So it’s pretty much useless as is. If I were you, I’d have Scott get the old one up and running as best as he can until you get the new one installed. With this weather, that could be weeks. Maybe months.” Rinda pressed a key, then swore under her breath as the screen flickered and then died. “Oh, crap,” she growled, slapping her desk and jostling her coffee cup.

  Startled, Oliver scrambled off the desk, scattering mail and disappearing down a stairway to the dressing rooms.

  “Perfect,” Rinda said as she and Jenna scooped up the letters and envelopes. Rinda said to her son, “While you’re so gung ho to fix electronic things, maybe you should look at this stupid computer.”

  “It needs a new motherboard and a bigger hard drive and about a dozen other things. It would be cheaper to replace it.”

  “Wonderful.” Rinda stacked the mail on the corner of her desk again. “I’m a complete moron when it comes to anything technical.”

  “Okay, okay,” Scott said, lifting his hands in mock surrender. “Let me take a look at it. Move over.” He knelt beside his mother’s desk, his fingers typing frantically on the keyboard. All the while, his frown increased and his mouth became razor-thin as he studied the screen. “The program’s too big,” he finally muttered.

  “That much I do know,” Rinda admitted.

  “Maybe I could try something different…” His fingers flew over the keys again, and he stared as if transfixed at the odd assortment of symbols that scrolled across the screen.

  The front doors banged open, then shut with a loud click. The piano music stopped abruptly. A few seconds later, Wes, in jeans and a thick jacket, sauntered into the small room.

  “Problems?” he asked, eyeing Scott kneeling before the computer. “Don’t tell me—the hard drive.”

  “That would be it, yes.” Rinda folded her arms under her chest. “It’s making me crazy.”

  “Just a second.” Scott was still staring at the monitor that was blinking to life. “Okay…it’s fixed now. But probably just temporarily. You really need some new equipment.”

  Wes yanked off his gloves. “Let’s see.”

  Scott’s jaw tightened a fraction. “I said, it’s running now.”

  “Yeah, but I’d like a look.” Moving in on the younger man, Wes rubbed his hands together, then motioned for Rinda to vacate her chair, which she did, albeit begrudgingly. He sat down, started to type, then swore and started again. “Damned fingers are nearly frozen solid.” He slid a glance up at Jenna. “I spent the last two hours with the search party looking for Sonja Hatchell.”

  “Any luck?” Rinda asked as she leaned against a post, but from the expression on Wes’s face it was obvious the missing woman hadn’t turned up.

  “Nah. It’s nearly impossible in this weather, but the police are still trying.”

  Rinda rubbed her arms. “I wonder what happened to her?”

  Nothing good, Jenna thought, but didn’t state the obvious.

  “I heard that she and her old man weren’t getting along.” Scott lifted an indifferent shoulder. “I bet she just took off.”

  “Why would you say anything like that?” Rinda demanded.

  “Because I saw her at the diner sometimes. She was always complaining about the cold weather. Came from somewhere in Southern California and wanted to go back. I bet she had a fight with Lester and thought ‘what the hell’ and just started driving south.”

  “Leaving her children behind?”

  “Some parents do,” Scott said, his tone sarcastic just as Blanche Johnson, wearing a hand-knit beret, poked her head into the office. “I’m taking off now. If you need anything, just call,” she said, then seemed to take note of the somber faces. “Is something wrong?”

  Rinda said, “We were just talking about Sonja Hatchell.”

  Blanche frowned. Deeper lines etched across her forehead. “I keep thinking she’ll show up. You know, call from somewhere. Or…something.”

  “That’s what I think,” Scott said.

  “Sonja would never be so irresponsible.” Rinda shook her head. “I know her. Even if she was pissed at Lester, she would have called her kids.”

  “Maybe.” Scott wasn’t convinced.

  “Anyway, her taking off would be the best-case scenario,” Rinda whispered and touched her throat. “You know, it’s creepy. First that woman they found up at Catwalk Point, and now Sonja missing. It makes you wonder if they’re related.”

  “I’m sure the police are checking it out,” Blanche said, then scrounged in her purse for her keys. “I’ve really got to go.” She cast a glance at Jenna as she retrieved an oversized key ring. “I’ve cancelled my private lessons this week because of the weather, so tell Allie to keep practicing. We’ll catch up once the storm passes and the roads are clear again.” She caught a glimpse of the icy window. “I hope it’s soon. I hate this weather.”

  “Don’t we all,” Rinda tossed over her shoulder, though she was watching Wes work with the computer.

  Jenna promised, “I’ll make sure Allie spends some time at the piano.”

  “She’ll hate you for that. Most kids love to play outside in this weather. Sled, build snowmen, ice skate.” Blanche was already halfway out of the office. “Piano practice will be low on her priority list, I’m afraid.”

 
“We’ll see.”

  “Mmm. That we will.” Blanche’s footsteps faded through the old theater.

  “Strange old bird,” Wes said, as if to himself.

  Jenna agreed, but didn’t say so. These days everyone seemed to be acting oddly. Maybe it was the weather. Or all in your mind…She wasn’t going there. Not today.

  “That should do it.” Stretching, Wes leaned back so far in the desk chair that his back cracked. “Oh, that’s better.” Straightening, he added, “The program’s working now, it’s just slow.”

  Scott scowled. “Isn’t that what I said?”

  “Geez, Scott, did you get up on the wrong side of the bed or what?” Wes asked, and made the mistake of rumpling his nephew’s hair. “A little heavy-handed with the sculpting gel, kid.”

  Scott cringed, stumbling backward. “Knock it off!” He blushed as red as his hair and his round eyes took on a sinister gleam. “I’m not a kid.”

  “Yeah, right. You need to quit using all those women’s hair products,” Wes needled. “They’re sissy stuff.”

  “Knock it off, Wes,” Rinda cut in.

  “He doesn’t bother me,” Scott growled. “Old fart.”

  “Ouch!” Wes’s grin stretched from one side of his face to the other. “Okay, I get it. I embarrassed you. Let’s forget what I did, okay?” He offered his hand.

  Scott wanted to pout, but thought better of it, though he didn’t shake his uncle’s outstretched palm. “Fine. No sweat.” He shrugged sulkily, then inched toward the door, where he stopped. “So, Jenna,” he said uncomfortably, “if you want help with the alarm system, let me know.”

  Jenna wanted to drop through the floor as Wes turned toward her. “You’ve still got problems with your security system?”

  “Of course she does,” Rinda said.

  “Then I’ll come fix it.”

  “You don’t have to—”

  “That’s a great idea,” Rinda cut in and motioned to her son, who was glaring at his uncle. “Take Scott with you, Wes.” When Rinda noticed Jenna about to protest even further, she added, “Look, Jenna, do this for me, okay? So I worry less. Getting the alarm system up and running only makes sense.”