Emma Jean’s house was a small bungalow in an area of Norfolk known as Colonial Place. I’d expected the residence to be a wreck, just as her life seemed to have been.
Instead it was orderly, and simple. Based on the pictures all around the house, she’d really loved AJ. That realization made my heart ache.
Before this, she’d been only a caricature of a person. Someone Bill liked to talk about. Someone I imagined in my mind.
But seeing her home made her real. She may have been flawed, but she’d loved life in her own way.
“What are you thinking?” Riley asked as I stared at a photo.
“About how I shouldn’t make assumptions about people. There was more to Emma Jean than her opinions and abrasiveness.”
“Kind of like the lady who confronted you at church on Sunday? We make a lot of assumptions. Let a lot of things define other people in our minds. But people are complex.”
“Agreed.” I set the photo back down and glanced behind me. “Where to start? Isn’t that the question?”
“Why don’t you check her desk and I’ll look through the kitchen?” Riley suggested.
“Seems like just as good a plan as any. Hopefully, the police left something for us.” I strode across the room and sat down in her office chair. The only thing that caught my eye atop the desk was her calendar. As hard as I studied the dates there, nothing stood out.
I went through all the drawers and found nothing. No incriminating notes, unusual appointments, or strange and mysterious bills.
We moved through the rest of the house, but halfway through I’d found nothing of value to the investigation.
“I’m going to keep looking since I only have one room left,” I told Riley. “I just want to be certain.”
“Knock yourself out.”
The last room I reached was Emma Jean’s bedroom. I sat down on the edge of the mattress and picked up another picture of AJ. As I went to set it down, the bottom slid out. Pictures escaped.
Carefully, I pulled them out.
They were pictures of Katarina. And it didn’t appear the woman was aware the photos were being taken. In one she was standing on the street corner with a phone to her ear. In another she was driving somewhere, sunglasses over her eyes.
I dug deeper and saw some older photos, including one of Katarina with a man, probably college-aged. They had their arms around each other and dopey smiles on their faces.
I quickly took my phone out and took some snapshots of the photos, just in case they came in handy later.
Things had just taken an interesting turn.
I was tired of beating around the bush. It was time for me to talk to Greg Borski.
I dropped Riley off at the apartment so he could get to work, and then I headed to the motel where Borski had been staying. I didn’t mention that to Riley, however.
When I got there, Borski’s truck was nowhere to be seen.
In what felt like an exercise in futility, I headed back to The Crispy Biscuit. Sure enough, his truck was parked behind the building, despite the gigantic CLOSED FOR BUSINESS sign hung out front.
Had he decided to shut the place down? For good? Or just until things blew over?
Emma Jean’s death may have been the straw that broke the camel’s back. They were already in dire straits, and now this. If word leaked about Borski’s food ethics, this place would definitely be done.
I needed to talk to Borski.
I paused at the backdoor. I wondered if I should let someone know that I was here—just in case.
Then I decided that would be overkill, which was a terrible word to use when thinking about a murderer.
I could handle myself here. I grabbed the handle but paused again.
No, I couldn’t just charge inside and confront a potential killer. The old me would have. The new me tried not to be so impulsive. I should be smart.
With that in mind, I dialed Detective Adams’s number. He didn’t answer. After a moment of contemplation, I left a message.
“Hi, Detective Adams. This is Gabby. I have some information on Emma Jean Lewis’s death. Could you call me back? Thanks.”
With that done, I knocked on the backdoor. No one answered.
I wiggled the doorknob, surprised when it turned.
It was unlocked.
I pushed it open and stuck my head inside. “Hello?”
Silence answered.
Cautiously, I stepped inside. After all, that’s what the quiet was practically inviting me to do . . . right?
The place looked unchanged from when I’d been here last. But it looked empty. I was surprised no one was packing up or restocking or prepping for future business.
I didn’t hear any sign of movement. Which was strange since the place was unlocked.
I took another step and then another until I was standing in the center of the kitchen.
I still saw no one. “This is Gabby . . . I mean, Gassy. I left my duct tape here and wanted to pick it up.”
Taking another step, I peered into Borski’s office. It was also empty.
Everyone could be in the dining area, I supposed.
The door to the freezer, I noticed, was open. Was someone inside?
I walked toward it, opening the door farther so I could see inside. I pushed through the plastic tabs at the entrance and glanced around.
No, it was empty also.
All of this working myself up so I could talk to Borski appeared to be for nothing. He wasn’t here. I, at least, needed to grab my duct tape.
I started to turn to leave when something hit my shoulder. The next thing I knew, I was on the icy cold floor of the freezer, and the door slammed behind me.
Chapter Eighteen
My palms burned against the freezing floor as I pushed myself up. I rushed toward the door, desperate to escape.
Just as I threw myself against the door, I heard the lock click in place. I pushed the safety release, but nothing happened.
Someone had intentionally locked me in here.
I banged on the door, knowing I was wasting my breath. But my survival instinct wouldn’t let me stop. “Let me out!”
The only person who could hear me was the person who’d locked me in here. I doubted he’d be letting me out.
Who would have done this? Only one person came to mind.
Greg Borski. Again. Why did everything seem to point to him?
I couldn’t worry about that now. I had to worry about getting out of here before I froze to death. The whole Gassy turning into a solid state of ice joke I’d made when I’d been cleaning this area suddenly didn’t seem so funny.
I glanced around. The light above me was dim, making it hard to see. Frost drifted around me, adding an unwelcome atmosphere.
I shivered. Already. My nose tingled and my fingers burned with cold from their encounter with the frigid floor and wall.
I studied the space around me. Shelves lined the sides. Most of the food was gone, but a few boxes remained. I glanced at the ceiling, knowing there was no escape hatch, but hoping there would be one anyway. What was I going to do?
That’s when it hit me. My phone! I could call for help.
Relief flushed through me, along with embarrassment. Why hadn’t I thought of that before?
But when I looked at my screen, I realized I had no signal. The thick walls of the freezer blocked any cell-phone reception.
My relief, which had caused my stress to melt like a puddle inside me, instantly froze with tension again.
This wasn’t good. It wasn’t good at all. No one knew I was in here except the person who wanted to harm me. He wouldn’t be rushing to help any time soon.
Dear Lord, please help me now. Again. I know I ask this a lot.
At least I’d worn a sweatshirt.
As I shivered again, I realized that this sweatshirt wasn’t going to keep me warm enough. Especially not my feet, which were clad with my customary flip-flops.
Okay, think, Gabby. Think. There h
as to be a way to get out of this.
I needed to stay warm until someone came looking for me. By my best estimations, that would be at least six hours from now. That’s when Riley would try to call. I wouldn’t answer. He would get worried and start looking for me.
Except he would go to work out at the gym tonight. What if he didn’t call me like he normally did? After all, we had seen each other this morning for an extended time. He might decide it was okay to wait.
No, I couldn’t think like that. I had to stay positive.
I looked around again. All the walls and the floor and ceiling were made with galvanized metal. It was cold and frosty. Just like I’d be in about an hour.
I needed to trap my body heat before it escaped from my feet, arms, and head.
Thankfully, I’d left my utility knife and duct tape. I’d had no idea how that would come in handy now.
I had to be careful not to move so much that I would start sweating. Perspiration would only make me cooler in the long run.
With that thought, I cut down some of the plastic slats hanging in the doorway. I used the duct tape to strap the plastic around my feet.
It wasn’t pretty, but it would keep me warm for a little while. I then taped the bottom of my jeans 80s peg style. If I wasn’t careful I’d start singing some Debbie Gibson or Tiffany. I knew one thing: No one would be getting lost in my eyes or wanting to be alone with me if I was dressed like this.
Everything about me was already cold, I realized with a shiver.
Okay, you still have to keep your hands warm. And your head.
I cut down another one of the plastic slats, made a circle out of it, and taped it together. Then I used another slat to cover the top, and I taped it there.
My breath came out in icy puffs around me. As I worked, my fingers became more and more numb.
Of all the things I’d expected to happen today, this was not one of them.
When I finished, I took my creation and placed it on top of my head. It was a hat. Of sorts. At least my body heat should escape from me more slowly this way.
Watch out, Project Runway. There’s a new player in town.
I taped another slat around my neck loosely.
I looked like a frozen mummy. Or Madonna in one of her strange outfits.
It wasn’t a good look. But this was no time to be vain.
Now I need to stay still.
I glanced around. The boxes were my best hope. I grabbed a couple and stacked them in each other to make them stronger. Then I set the boxes in the center of the freezer—being too close to the walls would only make me chillier. I plopped myself on top.
All I could do now was wait it out . . . and maybe make some duct tape mittens. At least it would help to occupy my thoughts.
Before I did that, I glanced at my phone.
Had it only been forty minutes? That couldn’t possibly be right.
I was already so cold. How would I make it five hours or more?
I wasn’t sure I would.
I sat on the little box chair I’d made on the floor and tried to remain calm.
How can I stay calm? I need to do something I enjoy and distract myself.
Like by singing.
But the only song that came to mind was “Do You Want to Build a Snowman?” from Frozen.
I was going to be a snowman by the end of this, if I wasn’t careful.
The song didn’t give me the warm fuzzies I’d hoped for.
Why would the killer, presumably Borski, have left Emma Jean here?
Either he thought he was brilliant enough to get away with it.
Or . . . he’d put her here with the intentions of moving her.
The idea hit me like a lightning bolt.
Maybe he had plans to move her. To put her somewhere else. To implicate someone innocent.
The more I thought about the idea, the more sense it made.
I needed to explore this possibility.
But I had to get out of here first.
I’d been watching the time for the past three hours. With my luck, my phone was going to die, and then I’d really feel lost. I couldn’t even get Internet, but maybe it was better that way because I might be tempted to read all the nasty messages people were leaving me on social media.
At least it would be something to pass time. Then again, my makeshift duct tape mittens made it hard to do anything.
Was all of this really worth it?
Yes, it was, I decided. Bringing a killer to justice brought me immeasurable satisfaction.
Being a victim? It wasn’t my first choice.
I glanced at my phone again, as if it would magically hold the answers.
I’d been in here for three hours and fifty minutes. I tried to mentally calculate how long I could last in here, and the number I kept coming back to was six hours.
That gave me approximately two hours until I . . .
No, I couldn’t think like that.
Someone was going to find me. But had I told Detective Adams where I was? For a smart girl, that hadn’t been a smart move.
I drew my knees toward me. As I did, I heard movement outside.
Was it Borski? Had he come back to make sure I was well on my way to dying?
Or was it someone who could help me?
I decided to take a chance. If I was going to go out, I was going to go out fighting for my life.
I stood and began pounding on the door. “Help me! I’m in here!”
“Gabby?”
My heart surged. Was it actually my husband? “Riley? Is that you?”
“Stay put. We’re going to get you out of there.”
Suddenly, it seemed like the cold factor tripled. I was going into hypothermia, I realized. If I wasn’t careful, my extremities would get frostbitten.
Riley had arrived just in time.
Now if only he could get me out of here in time.
Keep calm. If you panic, you’ll breathe too fast. It won’t help your cause right now.
“Gabby, do you know where the key is?”
Someone else asked me that question. Was it Detective Adams?
“I have no idea,” I called. “Someone locked me in here.”
“How long have you been in there?”
“Four hours,” I said, my teeth chattering uncontrollably.
“An ambulance is on the way,” Adams said. “As soon as you’re out of there, we’re going to get you taken care of.”
“Okay. No pressure, but hurry. I can’t feel my hands.” Or my nose or toes or brain.
“We’re going to get some tools and see if we can pry this open,” Riley said.
Go get tools? That meant they were leaving me.
That thought caused the panic to kick in.
My breaths came faster. Which meant my oxygen was running out in here.
I’d tried to avoid that thought.
But I could no longer do that.
I knew that the freezer was approximately twenty-by-ten feet, which left me with about 1600 cubic feet of air. When I first became locked in the space, it contained 20 percent oxygen and no carbon dioxide.
Without breathing too quickly, the average person when resting used 2800 cubic feet of air per day. Since I was exhaling, I was turning part of the already-limited oxygen into carbon dioxide, and it was happening at a rate faster than I’d like to acknowledge. When the carbon dioxide became greater than 5 percent, it would become fatal.
All that was to say I was on borrowed time.
“We found something, Gabby.” Riley’s voice filled me with comfort again.
He was back. Thank goodness.
My head was starting to swim.
If I let myself, my eyelids would droop. But if that happened, I probably wouldn’t be waking up.
Against my better senses, I leaned against the door. It was cold. Really cold. My skin stung as I touched it.
But I was fading. Fast. I just wanted to be out of here. To be with Riley.
To
catch the person who’d done this.
But, before I could, I slid down onto the floor. I closed my eyes and surrendered to my exhaustion.
Chapter Nineteen
“Gabby! Don’t you go to sleep on me!”
I pulled my eyes open and saw Riley standing there. No, he wasn’t standing there. He was holding me. His gaze looked urgent, alarmed . . . worried.
I was on the floor, I realized.
Not in the freezer.
I didn’t think so, at least. I thought I was in the kitchen at The Crispy Biscuit. Had they rescued me in time? Reality blended with delusion.
Or was I dreaming? I wasn’t sure.
Before I could ask any questions, medics surrounded me. An oxygen mask was strapped over my nose and mouth. Warm blankets were piled on top of me. I was hauled onto a stretcher. It all seemed like a blur.
Riley stayed at my side the entire time, even in the ambulance.
“I’m fine,” I muttered on the ride to the hospital. My body rocked back and forth in cadence with the vehicle. Paramedics stared at me like aliens who’d beamed me aboard their spacecraft in the middle of the night before doing experiments on me.
“You need to be checked out,” Riley said, gripping my hand. “Just in case.”
The cold flashed back to me. The moments of hopelessness. Despair that felt more frigid than this election season.
“That was close, Riley,” I whispered.
He peered at me and nodded. I saw the worry in his eyes. He’d been afraid of losing me.
“I know.”
“How’d you find me?” My voice sounded as frostbitten as my fingers felt.
“I just happened to check my Friend Finder app.”
I smiled, and my cracked lips rebelled with pain. We’d had some tense conversations about that app. It seemed invasive, yet oh-so-helpful.
“I showed up? My cell signal was blocked.”
“It showed your last location before the screen went blank. When you didn’t answer, I became concerned. I decided to swing by and make sure everything was okay.”
“I knew that app was a great idea.”
He grinned. “I think you said it was like an electronic leash.”
Cunning Attractions: Squeaky Clean Mysteries, Book 12 Page 12
