by Joanne Fluke
Katy and Sam were pouring over pictures of actresses when Sam looked up.
“Do you know an Allison Greene? The name’s familiar.”
“Allison Greene?” Katy grabbed the pile of background material she’d gathered on Tony and paged through it quickly. “Oh, my God, Sam! Allison Greene is Tony’s wife!”
Tony screeched around the corner and pulled up with one wheel resting on the curb.
“Let’s go, Erik!” Tony reached under the seat and pulled out the little twenty-five automatic he’d been carrying ever since he started working at sleazy motels for the porn job. “Take this, I’ve got the tire iron.”
“You take that pop gun. I’ll handle the tire iron and go in from the front.”
“Okay. We’ll cover the house fast and meet in the master bedroom.”
Tony crouched as he ran around the corner of the house and crossed the back patio. He unlocked the kitchen door noiselessly and eased it open. The breakfast nook was deserted. No sign of struggle in the living room, but there was a carton of cream on the bar. Allison hated drinks with cream, and she’d never make one for herself.
Suddenly a scene from Suspicion came back to Tony in horrifying detail. He could see Cary Grant walking up the staircase with a glass of milk for Joan Fontaine. It had been poisoned milk in the original ending.
Tony raced through the deserted hallway and met Erik in front of the bedroom door. He started to push the door open, but Erik held him back with a gesture. Faint voices carried through the heavy oak door. Allison’s voice, desperate. She was still alive! And the deeper, ominous tones of a man.
Erik pushed Tony to the side with one well-placed shove and barreled into the room in a frontal assault. Tony caught a glimpse of a man in a black executioner’s hood. He was bending over Allison, holding a glass to her lips.
Erik yelled and the man whirled, dropping the glass to the rug. A knife appeared in his hand, and he slashed out as Erik tackled him, drawing blood.
“Take cover, Allison!”
Allison scrambled from the bed and rolled under it as Tony leveled the gun. Erik and the Video Killer were grappling in a deadly contest, and he couldn’t get a clear shot.
The knife flashed again, and Tony heard Erik grunt in pain. Then the Video Killer moved into his sights, and Tony squeezed the trigger. Once. Twice.
The sound of his little automatic echoed off the walls of the room and the Video Killer dropped to the rug, still clutching Erik. In the sudden silence Tony rushed to his friend and freed him.
Sirens sounded faintly in the distance, then louder as Tony grabbed a towel and tried to staunch the flow of Erik’s blood. A moment later police cars screeched up in front.
“Erik. Hang on, buddy. Help’s coming.”
“Allison?” Erik’s voice was so weak that Tony could barely hear him.
“She’s all right. You saved her life, Erik.”
“Jamie . . . ?” Erik said weakly. “Promise, Tony!”
“Sure, Erik. I’ll take care of Jamie for you. I promise.”
Tony didn’t even feel the tears that were streaking down his face. Erik looked bad. Very bad. His face was pasty and his skin was cold to the touch. And his blood was soaking through the towel, even though Tony kept up a steady pressure on the wound.
At that instant Sam Ladera rushed in, followed by a full complement of his men. Tony stood by helplessly while the paramedics loaded Erik onto a stretcher and carried him out to a waiting ambulance. He turned just in time to see Katy with her arms around Allison, leading her from the room.
“Allison?” Tony rushed up to her, but Allison stared right through him with wide, unfocused eyes. She seemed not to recognize him at all. “Allison, honey, you’re not hurt, are you?”
“It’s the shock, Tony.” Katy squeezed her arm.
“I’m taking her to the hospital for a thorough check, but it wouldn’t be good for her to come back here tonight.”
“No. Of course not. Thanks, Katy.”
“Tony?” Sam was standing next to two paramedics who were removing the Video Killer’s body. “Bad news, Tony. He’s going to make it. Both of your chest shots were deflected by ribs. If I’d known, I would have given you my forty-five.”
Tony knelt to stare down at the Video Killer’s exposed face. He gasped as he recognized him.
“Lon? Lon Michaels!”
Lon looked up, and then he tried to smile.
“Tony. I’m sorry. I wanted to work on your project, but Brother had to finish his first. Maybe you can . . .”
Lon’s voice trailed off and his face changed into a fierce mask of hatred. Tony stepped back involuntarily as a raspy voice spoke from Lon’s lips.
“Lon’s gone away. Forever. I’m Brother.”
Epilogue
One Year Later
Allison’s high heels sank into the grass as she walked across the rolling green lawn toward the entrance to Pine Ridge. One year had passed since she had narrowly escaped becoming the Video Killer’s sixth victim.
It had been a year filled with grief and pain. Erik had been flown to a veteran’s hospital in the East, a place that specialized in the care he needed. He was recovering, but it would be months before he was on his feet again. The Video Killer’s knife had caused massive damage, and he’d undergone several bouts of reconstructive surgery.
From the very first, Katy Brannigan had taken charge, letting Allison stay in her old apartment until she felt well enough to face the world again. Allison had gone back to the expensive house in Studio City only once, to pack her belongings. She’d known that she needed time away from Tony.
Allison had visited her mother every morning, managing somehow to hold down the job that Katy had gotten her. She was just beginning to get back to normal, to feel the nightmare receding, when her mother had died. Then there were more months of grief and work, work and grief, refusing to answer the calls she received from Tony and hiding from the world in the cramped little apartment she’d rented.
She hadn’t asked, but Katy had told her that Tony had finished the movie and sold the house. He was living in Northern California now, somewhere in the foothills above Sacramento on a ranch he’d bought with his share of the movie money. No one seemed to know his exact whereabouts, not even Ginger Watson.
Ginger had arrived on Allison’s doorstep yesterday, and Allison had recognized the redhead from Donny’s immediately, even though she hadn’t seen her in almost a year, as the woman who’d been with Tony that afternoon at the Traveler Motel, Tony’s mistress. Allison’s first impulse had been to shut the door in her face, but something had stopped her.
Ginger had told her everything. That was the reason she had driven to Pine Ridge today. She had to visit Jamie, to see if she could help. Then she had to find Tony to tell him that she’d made a dreadful mistake.
As Allison reached the front entrance, she straightened her shoulders and pulled open the door. The reception area had a homey touch with braided rugs and a fireplace. A gray-haired, motherly woman sat behind a desk by the window.
“I’d like to see Jamie Nielsen. My name is Allison Greene.”
“Jamie?” The older woman smiled. “He’s lucky today. Two visitors.”
“Shall I wait until his other visitor has left?”
“Oh, no. I’m sure Jamie will be delighted to see you. They’re out by the pool, enjoying the sun. I’ll call for an aide to show you the way.”
A moment later Allison was back outside again, following a smiling man down a flagstone path to the pool area.
“Are you a member of Jamie’s family?”
“No.” Allison couldn’t help but respond to the man’s friendly smile. “I’m a friend of his father’s.”
“A terrible tragedy.” The man’s face grew sober. “Jamie had a rough few months, but having his father’s cat helped a lot and he’s making wonderful progress now. He’s done so well, we hope to release him in six months or so.”
“Where will he go? Erik’s
still in the hospital.”
“It seems Mr. Nielsen has some very generous friends. There’s a man who’s been paying all the bills for Jamie’s care, and he’s going to look after him until his father comes home. There they are, over there, under the blue awning.”
Allison’s breath caught in her throat as she saw a smiling blond boy sitting at a table. He looked so much like Erik. He was talking to a man whose back was turned toward Allison, and their body postures indicated that they were fast friends.
“But Jamie looks almost . . .” Allison stopped, suddenly ashamed of her expectations.
“Normal? Yes, he’s come a long way, and most of it’s due to the man you see with him. He’s been here every weekend. Last year, at this time, Jamie was just beginning to speak. Now he’s up to grade level on all his subjects except math. We think he’ll be ready for a regular public school very soon.”
“The math part may run in the family. Erik always claimed he’d flunked algebra three times. That man, is he the one who’s going to take care of Jamie?”
“Yes. I’ll have Jamie introduce you. They’ve just come back from a fishing trip. Two weeks in a cabin by a stream in Oregon.”
The aide crossed the last few yards and tapped Jamie on the shoulder.
“Jamie? You have another visitor. This is Miss Greene. She’s a friend of your father’s.”
“Hi, Jamie.” Allison smiled as the boy stood up to shake her hand. His eyes were the same shade of blue as Erik’s.
“I’m glad to meet you, Miss Greene. And this is my best friend. He’s going to be my stand-in dad.”
“That’s wonderful, Jamie.” Allison turned with a smile on her face. Then she froze and time seemed to stop. It was Tony.
“Allison?”
Tony stood up, and Allison saw her uncertainty mirrored on his face. Although the actual distance was only inches, there was a wide gulf that separated them. It was filled with grief and guilt and misunderstanding. Could she cross it?
Allison swayed slightly on her feet. She still loved Tony. She had never stopped loving him. And she could see very plainly that he loved her, too.
Tony moved then. It was just a simple gesture, but it broke her awful inertia. He held out his hand.
And Allison took one step forward to find that she’d hurtled over the immense gulf. She was safe at last, in Tony’s arms.
Dimly she heard Jamie’s voice. “Hey, Tony, is that Allison?”
And Tony’s answer.
“Yes, Jamie. And I think you just got yourself a stand-in mom.”
A SMALL TOWN . . .
The moment Marian Larsen sees the patrol car
stop outside her house, she feels a shiver of
foreboding. The news is even worse than she
fears. Marian’s husband and young daughter
have been in a snowmobile crash.
Dan is paralyzed and Laura is dead,
her body broken on the icy ground
. . . WITH A CHILLING SECRET
Friends and colleagues in Marian’s Minnesota
town rally around to try and ease her grief.
But soon there are more horrible accidents. Then
the rumors start—that these are no coincidences
at all, that someone is picking off victims one
by one. And as winter deepens, the search
for answers will reveal a killer whose blood
runs colder than the blinding snow . . .
Please turn the page for an exciting sneak peek of Joanne Fluke’s
WINTER CHILL
coming in August 2013!
Prologue
Her cheeks were red from the cold and she grinned up at him as he turned on the seat. “Come on, daddy . . . just once more. Please?”
“Better make it quick.” Ronnie Powell snapped his visor down and glanced at his watch. “It’s coming down pretty heavy and you two are novices. Five minutes more and we start for home.”
“You heard the boss,” Dan put his machine in gear as Laura clasped her hands around his waist. “Hang on tight, honey. Here we go!”
They left Jenny and her dad in a cloud of white snow. The wind rushed past her stinging cheeks and she laughed out loud. Jenny was right. Riding on a snowmobile was almost like flying. The cold took her breath away and she narrowed her eyes to slits, squinting into the frozen brightness. They were rounding the far corner of the trail now, between the tall pines, and she didn’t want ever to go home. If only she had wings and could fly through the snow forever!
She gave a delighted squeal as the machine made a sharp turn to the right, cutting across uncharged snow between the trails. They were taking a shortcut directly through the center of a deserted field. She could barely see now, the snow was swirling so fiercely. The wind tugged at her blue and white stocking cap and threatened to blow it off her head.
“Oh!” Laura let go for an instant, pulling at her knitted hat with both hands. It was an early Christmas present from her mom and she didn’t want to lose it.
“Hang on, Laura!” Dan turned for only an instant but that was enough. The heavy Snow-Cat crashed headlong into an innocent mound of snow covering an abandoned harrowing machine.
“Daddy!” He sensed rather than heard her cry. Somehow he managed to hang on to the snowmobile with one hand, but she was gone, tipped out in a tumbling arc, propelled forward by the force of the crash. There was a sickening lurch as the machine toppled, and he heard a snap like a firecracker as pain exploded in his head. His last sight was of his small daughter’s body caught fast, impaled on the old farm implement’s sharp, rusty prongs. It seemed to take forever for the darkness to come, rolling over him in deep compassionate waves.
The wind picked up around two thirty and blew the snow in rattling gusts past the kitchen window. Soon ice crystals were pinging against the glass and Marian peered out into the blinding swirls, listening for the car in the driveway. They should be on their way home by now. It was rotten weather for snowmobiling. She put on the coffee and poured milk into a saucepan for hot chocolate. Dan and Laura would be cold when they came in.
An hour passed as she paced between the stove and the window. Perhaps they had stopped on the way. It was just like Ronnie Powell to convince Dan that they needed a hot brandy. Laura and Jenny were probably munching hamburgers at the truck stop right now while their fathers sat in the bar. There was really nothing to worry about.
Why didn’t he call? At four o’clock Marian began to worry in earnest. She tried dialing Sally to see if she’d heard from Ronnie, but the lines were down. The phone was dead, except for a faint mechanical crackling. It was turning bitter cold now and the wind chill factor was rising. Marian wished that she’d given in and let Laura wear her new blue coat. It was warmer than the old parka. What if they were stuck out there in the middle of the frozen snow?
Marian forced herself to calm down. Of course they were fine. She was just borrowing trouble. But the heavy curtain of snow outside the glass was an impenetrable barrier and she couldn’t help feeling that somewhere in that wall of icy white, her husband and daughter were in trouble.
Her worst fears were realized when the patrol car drove up outside. They were hesitant about getting out of the car, Sheriff Bates first and then Sally. There was something they didn’t want to tell her, something awful about Dan and Laura. Marian threw open the door and stood waiting, alone and fearful in the numbing cold.
1
Lord we commit unto Thee this body . . . ashes to ashes, dust to dust . . . Marian shuddered, turning her face away from the small white coffin. Freshly falling snow left her face wet with the tears she could not shed. She leaned against Sally Powell’s supporting arm and shut her eyes tightly. This wasn’t real. It was only a dream and she would wake soon to put on the coffee and call Laura and Dan for school.
Last night she had driven home from the hospital after hours of watching Dan in his merciful coma. As she turned past the small cemetery, she saw with horror th
at one section was in flames. The men at the fire department were kind. They explained haltingly, embarrassed at her ignorance. The ground was frozen; it had to be thawed before a new grave could be excavated.
In the darkness of her living room she had peered through the windowpane, watching the banked fire cast a flickering red glow on the fresh snow. She had hugged herself there in the empty house, pretending that Laura was upstairs sleeping in her yellow-curtained room, that it was all a terrible mistake. But when she looked again, the fire was still there thawing the ground for her baby’s grave.
“Hang on, Marian . . . It’s almost over.” Sally’s arm tightened around her shoulders. Tears were running down her friend’s face and Marian felt a stab of resentment. She should be the one to cry, not Sally. She had lost her baby and Jenny was still alive. But it wasn’t right to resent Sally. Her grief was real. Sally had loved Laura too.
It popped into her mind with sudden clarity, her high school’s production of Our Town. She had played the part of Rebecca, Emily’s sister-in-law. The night of the performance was a revelation. These were the same friends she had shared sandwiches and class notes with. Then, in costumes and stage makeup, they were total strangers.
It was the same feeling she had now, the same sense of unreality as she faced her neighbors and co-workers. She was playing the part of a grief-stricken mother, delivering the correct lines, making the proper gestures to an audience of nameless strangers. She was incapable of honest emotion. This was merely a performance. It was not real. She was not real.
He had been aware of the voice for some time now, but he was too tired to care.
Vital signs are normal, Doctor. Are there any further instructions?
Continue with the IV and turn him once an hour. The funeral’s this afternoon. Marian’s coming in later. Run the blood work again and call me immediately if there’s any change.
