Cold Judgment

by Joanne Fluke

  “It’s almost eleven, Mac. Nora must be halfway to Chicago by now. We really ought to do something to celebrate.”

  “We’ll go to the Camelot.” Mac opened the car door for Debbie. “I can’t take you just anywhere in that coat. No more hash houses and hot dog stands for you. Nora was right. That fur coat is already changing your life.”

  The train was moving at last! Nora watched the lights of the city rush past her window. The danger was over. She was safe now.

  She smiled as she walked to the table and sat down. The split of champagne icing in the silver bucket was her absolute favorite, Dom Pérignon. It had been waiting for her when the porter unlocked the door to her compartment. There’d been a package next to it, wrapped in gold paper. The porter had said it had been delivered before she’d boarded.

  There was nothing like a surprise to make her feel better. Nora opened the present carefully. Inside was a small crystal box, handmade and delicate. She lifted the cut-glass cover and laughed. One perfect French truffle was nestled inside. There was no card, but Nora could guess who had sent it.

  Only a few people knew her weakness for truffles. Elena, of course, and the members of the group. Nora had confessed that she was a chocoholic. Hershey’s Kisses made her mouth water. Fanny Farmer candy shops drew her like a magnet with their clean white interiors and delectable aromas. Imported chocolates were even more dangerous. They sang the song of the sirens. Elena had standing instructions to pull her past all chocolate counters and show no mercy. Nora knew, from experience, that she could polish off a two-pound box of chocolates and go right back for more. It was a terrible affliction. But real French truffles, those creamy, rich, dark, exquisite confections, were the absolute epitome of decadence.

  It was a plot. Nora laughed out loud. The truffle was calling to her. Thank God there was only one!

  Kay wasn’t part of the conspiracy. She didn’t know that Nora was leaving town. That left Mac, Debra, and Elena. It was undoubtedly Elena’s idea. They had probably pooled their money to buy her this wonderful bon voyage present.

  Nora blinked back grateful tears. They had known she’d be nervous all alone on the train. It showed that they were thinking of her, that they loved her.

  A single hollow-stemmed Tiffany glass sat next to the silver bucket. Nora smiled. There was no way she’d deprive herself of her favorite things even though the warning on her bottle of Valium said not to mix the drug with alcohol. She had been taking Valium for three years now. And she usually had a glass of wine at night to unwind. She had noticed no ill effects from the combination before.

  Nora got up to put the PLEASE DO NOT DISTURB sign on the outside of the door. She undressed and slipped into her silk nightgown, hanging her clothes up carefully so they wouldn’t wrinkle. She’d have to wear this same outfit tomorrow until Elena arrived at the airport with her suitcase.

  The bottle of Dom Pérignon gave a soft, gentle pop as she opened it. The top always shot off like a rocket in plays or in movies. That was done entirely for dramatic effect. Nora knew that popping the cork forcefully bruised the wine. And even worse, most of it spilled out in the process. She had learned the proper way to open champagne very early in her life.

  Nora poured the wine in her glass and studied the effect. It was lovely. The bubbles made a beautiful pattern in the Tiffany glass. She took a sip and smiled. This was pure luxury. Now she’d take her Valiums, eat the truffle as slowly as was humanly possible, and climb right into bed.

  The train whistle blew as she opened the bottle of Valium and shook two blue pills out into her hand. It was a lonely sound, mournful but intrinsically exciting. There was something about train travel that captured the romance that was missing from airplanes or buses. If Elena were here, this would be an adventure. They could sip champagne and let the train carry them away into the night. She loved Elena so much, she might even share the truffle, although that was doubtful. There were some sacrifices that even a perfect lover had no right to expect.

  Nora laughed as she swallowed the Valiums. She felt like a wealthy degenerate, washing down her pills with one of the most expensive champagnes in the world. She picked up the truffle and sighed happily.

  Oh, it was marvelous! Nora took a small nibble and smiled as the dark, bitter chocolate melted on her tongue. She had intended to eat it slowly, savoring each tiny morsel, but her willpower vanished with the first heavenly taste. Nora popped the truffle into her mouth and moaned in ecstasy. It was divine, the best truffle she’d ever tasted.

  In a moment it was gone. She was left with a memory of dissolving chocolate and a smudge of cocoa on her fingers. Nora licked them until not a trace of chocolate remained. Then she took another sip of champagne and sighed deeply. She would have to remember to ask Elena where she had gotten the truffle. She wanted a dozen more, just like it.

  Her glass was almost empty and Nora filled it again. She would sit right here and drink it all. Two glasses would be perfect. Then she’d sleep like a baby, all the way to Chicago.

  Nora lit a cigarette and smoked it down to the filter. She was beginning to feel a bit light-headed from the combination of the champagne and the Valiums. Perhaps it was time for bed.

  She got up from the table and made her way to the berth, weaving slightly. The room was spinning a bit and it was difficult to focus her eyes. She wasn’t sure if her unsteadiness was due to the Valiums, the champagne, or the rocking motion of the train, but it was definitely time to sleep. Her eyelids felt heavy and she sighed as she stretched out between the clean sheets and closed her eyes.

  Her toes were cold and numb. Nora managed to pull up the blanket, even though her arms felt leaden. The cold numbness crept up to her legs and she shivered. They really should keep these compartments warmer, she thought. Passengers could freeze in the winter. Perhaps the porter had forgotten to turn up the heat.

  Nora considered crawling out of bed and ringing for the porter, but it was just too much effort. She’d warm up in a minute. It was really a pity Elena wasn’t there. Elena was always toasty warm. She was much better than an electric blanket on cold winter nights.

  Elena. Nora’s lips curved up in a smile. She had never loved anyone the way she loved Elena. The train whistle sounded again, but it was very faint in her ears. There was a small light on the dresser that was growing dimmer with each passing second. The rocking of the train had smoothed out and now it was perfectly steady. There was a rushing in her ears as the world went dark, and then all sound ceased.

  Dr. Elias put the meerschaum back in its case. He took the last sip of port and glanced at his watch. It was past ten. Nora was dead.

  The clerk had been helpful when Dr. Elias had explained that he was confirming his niece’s reservation. Were they holding a compartment for her? The only reservation they had was for a Miss A. Christie. How strange. Perhaps he’d better call and check with his niece to make certain she was planning on leaving tonight.

  Christie. Dr. Elias chuckled to himself. Nora was amazing. Her sense of humor would not be stifled, even by fear. And it had made things so very easy for him.

  The delivery service had been delighted to take the package to the depot. A generous tip had ensured promptness. There would be no traces of the truffle left to analyze. Dr. Elias knew Nora would finish it all. She would take her prescribed Valium and crawl into her berth. Then the drug in the truffle would react with the Valium, causing a painless but fatal reaction that would resemble heart failure. It was neat and clean and quick.

  Dr. Elias got up from his chair and walked painfully to his studio. It was impossible for Nora to resist her favorite vices. He had analyzed his plan again and there was no error. He knew it was time to paint in Nora’s face, even though her body would not be discovered until the train pulled into the station in Chicago.

  The group portrait was taking shape nicely. Dr. Elias smiled as he switched on the lights and examined his work. Father Marx looked relaxed. The lines of tension were gone from his face. Actually
he looked much more handsome than he had ever looked in life. Tension was the great destroyer of beauty. He remembered touring a facility for the severely mentally retarded when he was an intern. He’d been amazed at how young the patients appeared to be, even though their median age was forty. A life without tension had certain compensations.

  His hand was shaking as he squeezed paint on the pallet. Dr. Elias looked down and frowned. Could this be a guilt reaction?

  The prospect was disquieting. Dr. Elias had never experienced feelings of misplaced or irrational guilt. He used logic to reach his decisions and fully accepted the consequences. He was much too stable to let his emotions rule his physical reactions. Could he possibly be suffering from the same problem that he had worked to cure in others?

  It was extremely unlikely. Consciously, Dr. Elias knew that he was right. These systematic eliminations were necessary and unavoidable. He searched his thought processes carefully, but he could not identify any vestiges of guilt. Then why was his hand shaking as he prepared to paint Nora’s face?

  Of course! Dr. Elias gave a sigh of relief. It was after ten and he had delayed his regular injection. This was a purely physical reaction to the absence of the necessary drug in his system.

  Earlier in the week, he had placed a packet containing his medication in every room of the penthouse. The disease was progressing and now he needed an injection every four hours to control the pain. Soon it would be necessary to increase the dosage as well.

  Dr. Elias frowned as he mentally checked off his symptoms. Everything was proceeding according to the prognosis. It would be wise to gather his strength and escalate his work a bit. Soon his mobility would be severely curtailed and he would be confined to his penthouse, waiting for either the disease or the increased dosages of the narcotics he now had to take, to kill him. His time was running out and he had not yet finished his duty.

  There was no time to waste on self-pity or personal concerns. Dr. Elias pulled out the drawer in his easel and removed the disposable syringe. In a few moments his hands would stop shaking and then he could finish Nora’s portrait.

  Dr. Elias smiled as he waited for the drug to take effect. He had closed Nora’s case quite expeditiously. She was no longer a deadly menace. The terrors of her psychosis had ceased to plague her. Nora would look much younger without the ravages of fear on her face. It was possible that as much as ten years would be erased from her features. At last she would reach the age that she claimed. Yes, Nora would definitely approve if she could see her final portrait.

  CHAPTER 22

  By the time they got back to the house, it was past midnight, but Debra and Mac were too keyed up to sleep. It seemed as if Nora’s escape had provided them with the energy they had been missing for the past few days. Debbie put her favorite collection of Christmas music on the stereo and turned on the Christmas tree lights.

  “Let’s have hot chocolate with brandy,” she suggested. “I’ll make it if you’ll start a fire in the fireplace.”

  Mac grinned. He didn’t see how Debbie could possibly swallow another thing after dinner at the Camelot. She had ordered prime rib with all the trimmings, Yorkshire pudding, creamed spinach, a baked potato with sour cream, chives, and butter. And amaretto mousse pie for dessert. Debbie looked small and fragile, but she ate like a truck driver. Mac had no idea where she could put all that food. She had even finished the last of his porterhouse and he was absolutely stuffed.

  A moment later Debbie was rattling things in the kitchen. Mac carried a couple of logs over to the fireplace and put them on top of the kindling he had arranged on the grate. He crinkled up sheets of last Sunday’s newspaper and tucked them in strategic places under the logs. Then he struck a match and hoped that he’d remembered to open the flue.

  The paper caught fire immediately. It blazed and spread to the kindling. Flames licked up around the logs and they started to scorch. The smoke went straight up the chimney and Mac grinned. The flue was open.

  As the fire began to crackle cheerfully, Mac found himself singing along with the Christmas music on the stereo. He grinned self-consciously. If anything could drive Debbie away, it was his singing. Mac had never been able to carry a tune. His grade-school music teacher, Mrs. Porter, had practically begged him not to sing at school Christmas programs. He had no musical talent at all, but Mac loved music as a nonperformer. He did his singing in the shower every morning. The sound of the water drowned out his voice and he pretended that he was Pavarotti, belting out Italian operas behind the pebble-textured sliding glass doors.

  “That sounds nice, Mac.” Debbie carried in cups of steaming hot cocoa and set them down on the table by the couch. “I like to hear you sing.”

  Mac shook his head. She must love him a lot. Or maybe she was tone deaf, too. Theirs was a match made in heaven. They could even sing duets in the shower.

  “Let’s build a snowman outside that window.” Debbie perched on the arm of a chair and sipped her hot chocolate. “It’s not really Christmas without Frosty the Snowman.”

  “Now?” Mac glanced at his watch. “It’s almost one in the morning.”

  “That’s a good time to build a snowman.” Debbie grinned at him. “You don’t have anything better to do, do you?”

  Mac could think of quite a few activities that appealed to him more, like nuzzling her left earlobe or kissing her neck. He almost told her it was a crazy idea, but she looked so eager, he hated to disappoint her. They’d be safe enough in the yard as long as they stayed together. They had a choice, the way Mac saw it. They could live in terror, huddled behind locked doors like animals in a trap. Or they could take reasonable precautions and keep on living as normally as possible. Building a snowman at one in the morning wasn’t exactly normal, but it might be fun. It was certainly a switch from what he’d had in mind.

  “You missed your calling, Debbie. You should have been a cruise director.” Mac drained his cup and got up from his comfortable seat on the couch.

  “We don’t have lumps of coal for his eyes so we’ll have to use onions.” Debbie jumped up and headed for the kitchen. “I’ve got one carrot left for his nose. Find an old stocking cap or something for his head. And a broom for him to carry.”

  The wind had died down and the night was crystal clear. The light shining through the picture window reflected on the freshly fallen snow. It was beautiful outside, now that the snow had stopped falling. The cold, crisp air stung the inside of Mac’s nose and his breath puffed out in frozen clouds as he made a snowball and rolled it in the unbroken snow by the fence.

  Debbie started in the opposite corner of the yard. They met in the middle, pushing their growing balls of snow.

  “That’s enough, Debbie. Mine has to be bigger for the base.”

  Mac kept his voice down until he remembered that there was no one home at the Drevlows’ next door. They had gone to visit their daughter in Florida. And Mrs. Urbanski was as deaf as a post when she took off her hearing aid at night. They could make as much noise as they liked and no one would complain.

  Mac tried to lift his snowball, but it was too big. He ended up pushing it over to the spot in front of the window. Debbie’s was smaller and he managed to lift it and place it on top.

  “Now all we need is a small one for the head. Get the rest of that stuff together and hand it to me when I’m ready.”

  Mac made a snowball and rolled it around the base of the snowman. The snow was exactly the right consistency. It stuck to the ball and left empty paths where he rolled it. Blades of frozen grass stuck up in the bare spots. When the snowball was big enough, Mac lifted it into place.

  “The eyes, please?”

  Debbie handed him the onions, one at a time, and Mac dug little sockets for them. They looked ridiculous until he shoved in the carrot.

  “Put on his cap and scarf. I’ll get some twigs for his arms.”

  Mac snapped two long twigs off the lilac bush. He shoved them into the middle snowball and nodded. Frosty looked prett
y good to him.

  “What do you think?” He turned to see Debbie packing another snowball. “Hey, Debbie. We’re finished. What’s that for?”

  Debbie grinned and drew back her arm. “For you!”

  Mac ducked and the snowball sailed harmlessly past his head. Debbie had been busy while he’d been getting the twigs. She had a stockpile of snowballs, all ready to throw.

  She looked very fierce as she threw another one. Mac laughed. Debbie had bitten off more than she could chew. He’d been the undisputed snowball king of Whitney Elementary School.

  “You can’t win!” Mac shouted in warning. “Give up, Debbie. I’m an expert. You’re insane if you take me on!”

  A snowball flew past Mac’s ear and Debbie laughed. “We dislike the use of that word. ‘All people who behave strangely are not insane.’”

  “Fritz Feld to Katherine Hepburn in Bringing Up Baby. Nineteen thirty-eight. All right, Debbie, but don’t say I didn’t warn you!”

  She was getting closer. Debbie was throwing snowballs, one right after the other, the old shotgun approach. Mac ducked and packed his own pile of snowballs. If he had time, he’d build a fort, but Debbie’s aim was definitely improving. He whizzed a couple over her head to keep her busy and laughed out loud as she scrambled for cover behind the blue spruce in the corner of the yard.

  Mac ran a few feet and stopped to peg one right at the bottom of the tree. That would keep her in position. He zigzagged around the lilac bush and splattered another in the same spot. She was forced to lie low now, cut off from her ammunition. He could imagine her frantically packing more snowballs as she crouched behind the tree.

  Only a few feet to go. Mac sprinted across the open space and came up behind her, a sneak attack from the rear. Debbie squealed and came up fighting, snowballs in both hands. “No fair!”

  She tried to throw them, but he had her now. Mac pushed her back into the snowbank and fell full-length on top of her.