Heart of Ice (15 page)

And Nic realized there was one place she hadn’t looked.

T
wo hours later Allison and Nic were in front of the magistrate judge on call, asking him to sign off on a warrant to search Foley’s medical school locker. And before another hour had gone by, Nic was using a bolt cutter to snip the combination lock in a hallway gone weekend-quiet, with Allison looking over her shoulder.

But when Nic swung open the metal door, her heart sank. A pile of textbooks and nothing more. With gloved hands, she lifted them to make sure there wasn’t anything underneath. When she did, something shifted
within
the stack, making a soft clunk.

“Did you hear that?” she asked Allison, who nodded. “Something’s off.”

Nic set the pile of books back down and then lifted each one, giving it a little shake before rifling the pages. In addition to dense prose, she caught quick glimpses of a line drawing of a spine and a photograph of a chest cracked open to reveal the heart. The last book, the one on the bottom, was a copy of the 1,500-page
Gray’s Anatomy
. The weight was all wrong in her hands. She opened the cover, revealing a space hollowed out with surgical precision.

Allison looked over Nic’s shoulder. Inside were a Sig Sauer pistol, a dozen plastic restraints, and several pairs of women’s underwear. Underneath those was a stack of money, at least a dozen credit cards, and a gift card that read
Happy Birthday
. Nic flipped the last over with the tip of her gloved finger. On the back someone had filled out the
To
line with the first name of one of the dead women. And on the
From
line was the word
Mom
.

CHAPTER 26

Southwest Portland

E
ven though Allison never set her alarm for Saturday morning, she still found herself waking at six. For the next twenty minutes she tried to persuade herself to go back to sleep. But some orders the body simply disobeyed.

She had shifted positions for the dozenth time when Marshall rolled over, gathered her into his arms, and gave her a kiss.

“Mmm,” he said, his eyes still closed. Marshall was not a morning person.

Maybe the kiss would have led to something more, but now that Lindsay lived with them, they had begun sneaking around like teenagers.

So instead Marshall let his head flop back on his pillow.

Allison tried to go back to sleep, but with Marshall’s muscled arm now under her neck, it was even more out of the question. She sighed and swung her legs over the edge of the bed.

With a muffled groan, Marshall propped himself on one elbow. His tousled black hair fell across his still-closed eyes. “What’s the matter?”

“Don’t you want to sleep?”

He smiled and opened one blue eye. “Not if you’re going to sigh like that. What’s wrong?”

“Oh, everything just feels unsettled. Nicole was really snappy at Cassidy on Monday. After that exercise class we took together.”

“Why?” He patted the bed beside him, and she lay back down with another sigh.

“For giving airtime to the Want Ad Killer. Nicole had a point, but she didn’t need to come down so hard. Especially when Cassidy tried to help us by letting that guy trip himself up. Cassidy has a lot more freedom than either of us does. Sometimes that means she does things—both good and bad—that we couldn’t. Or wouldn’t.”

“Uh-huh.” Marshall curled his knees up.

Allison draped her legs over his. “I don’t understand why Nicole acted the way she did. She’s been really prickly lately.”

Marshall kissed her ear. She wasn’t even sure he was listening. But talking out loud, even to herself, helped clarify her thoughts.

“I think something’s up with Leif,” she continued. “Nic says she wants to take it slow, but by the time she’s ready to admit how much she likes Leif, they’ll both be in a nursing home. I don’t know. I can’t see him giving her any grief. He’s a good guy. It feels like something else is bugging her. But I’ve tried talking to her about it, and she says it’s nothing.”

“Really?” He kissed her shoulder.

“Even Cassidy is acting kind of weird. She’s always going on and on about that instructor. You know, the one who taught the boot camp class. According to Cassidy, Elizabeth walks on water. I don’t like her nearly as much as Cassidy does, but I have to admit she is pretty amazing looking.”

“I know someone else who is pretty amazing looking,” Marshall whispered. After his lips found hers, Allison forgot about her worries about her friends.

And after that, they were very, very quiet.

W
hen Lindsay finally got up a couple of hours later, Allison waited until she had drunk half her coffee before she said, “I’m going to check out that gym Cassidy took me to. You should come with me. I’m thinking about getting a family membership.”

Marshall was a runner, but if they had a gym membership it was possible he might use it as well. He had gone into work for a few hours, so she and Lindsay had the house to themselves.

“Just go on without me.” Lindsay didn’t look up. Her gaze was fastened on the table. Not even on a newspaper. Just a blank stretch of polished wood. “That’s okay.”

“Is this the same Lindsay who was the star of the volleyball team?”

Lindsay made a
pfff
sound. “In eighth grade. And in case you hadn’t noticed, that was seventeen years ago. If you want to go to the gym, great. But I don’t. I think I’ll make snickerdoodles while you’re gone.”

Snickerdoodles? Even though her mouth watered at the thought of their soft sugar-cinnamon sweetness, snickerdoodles were the last thing Allison—or Lindsay, for that matter—needed.

“I’ll make you a deal, Linds. I need your help. Between”—Allison hesitated, still having trouble saying it out loud—“between losing the baby and all the treats you make, I’m beginning to blow up like a house. I figured if you started going to the gym with me, you could keep baking and I could keep eating—only without gaining weight.”

“But I don’t want to go a gym.” Lindsay took another sip of coffee.

“Why not?” Allison felt a prickle of irritation. This was the first thing she had asked of Lindsay. What would it hurt her to say yes?

“No one is going to want to see me in the dressing room. Trust me.
I
don’t even want to see me in the dressing room. Look at me, Allison. I mean, really look.” Lindsay lifted her puffy face. Her eyes were shiny with tears. “I used to be pretty. Now nobody is going to want to watch me take off my clothes. Take it from me. I got laughed out of the last strip club I tried out at. I’ve got that divot on my leg from when I fell off Chris’s motorcycle. I’ve got scars on my arms from when meth made me feel like bugs were crawling under my skin. I’m all lumps and bumps.”

“But that’s why people go to the gym. To get in better shape.”

Lindsay smiled wanly. “Yeah, and then maybe the other people can point me out to their kids as a cautionary tale. ‘See, honey, that’s what happens when you take drugs and end up living on the street.’”

Inside, Allison winced. Lindsay sounded like she was ready to give up. Like her life was over at thirty.

But Allison was her big sister. And big sisters didn’t take no for an answer.

“How about this? We can put on our workout clothes before we go, and afterward come back and shower here. No dressing rooms.”

Lindsay finally agreed, reluctantly. But once they were at the gym, she warmed up as one of the front desk employees toured them around and she saw all the options. It wasn’t the room full of exercise equipment, the basketball court, or the Olympic-sized pool and the smaller heated pool that made Lindsay’s eyes light up. Instead, she was interested in the sauna, the Jacuzzi, the massage rooms, and the café.

Allison ending up spending only twenty minutes on the treadmill, while Lindsay flopped down on various pieces of equipment—moving only when someone actually wanted to use whatever she was sitting on—to watch one of the half dozen closed-captioned, large-screen TVs. Still, Allison thought, if they made coming here a regular habit, maybe Lindsay would start taking advantage.

As they were leaving, they passed a line of framed photos of the various instructors.

“Hey,” Lindsay said, pointing at a picture of a red-haired woman and then leaning forward to look at the gold nameplate screwed into the frame. “Elizabeth Avery. She looks familiar. Did she go to high school with us?”

Elizabeth, the instructor that Cassidy admired so much. “I don’t think so. In fact, I’m sure she didn’t, or Cassidy would have brought it up. She really likes Elizabeth’s classes and talks about her all the time.”

Lindsay shrugged. “Maybe I’ve just seen her downtown or something.”

Allison had an uncomfortable image of a wasted Lindsay panhandling Elizabeth.

Compared to that, she thought, today was an unqualified success.

CHAPTER 27

Nordstrom

A
s they took the trolley to Nordstrom, Elizabeth said, “So, like I said, I’ve been watching Channel Four news lately.”

Cassidy wanted to ask what she had thought of her but knew it would come across as needy. So she settled for humor. “You probably just doubled our number of viewers in the twenty-five to thirty-four age bracket.”

Elizabeth grinned, a flash of white teeth. “I did notice the commercials were all for old people’s products.”

“Yeah, it’s all bladder control drugs and electric scooters.” The joke—that wasn’t quite a joke—around Channel Four was that soon the news wouldn’t have any viewers because they all would have died. “If it weren’t for seniors and their maladies, we probably wouldn’t have any sponsors.” Cassidy sighed. “It’s all changing so fast. I got into this business to be a reporter. Now they want me to blog, answer viewers’ e-mails, Twitter, and do person-on-the-street interviews when half the time the average person doesn’t actually know anything. And I have to stand there holding the mike and nodding like they’re some genius. It’s starting to feel kind of desperate.”

“I’ll tell you what one of the problems was. You were the only good one on the broadcast.” Elizabeth rolled her eyes. “I mean, take that Brad Buffet.”

“What do you mean?” Cassidy straightened up, a grin already tugging at the corners of her lips.

Elizabeth snorted. “He’s so stiff. It’s like they reanimated him and stuck him on camera. But when I listen to you, I feel like you’re talking right to me.”

“Thank you. Thank you,” Cassidy repeated, as the words settled in and a glow spread through her.

TV people were always thinking about themselves. It was a self-obsessed business. But the problem was that she hardly ever got any unbiased feedback.

“That’s something I really work on. See, when you’re on TV or the radio, you don’t want people to be able to tell you’re reading. So some people, like Brad, make an arbitrary decision to stress every third word or maybe every noun or whatever. Listening to him just drives me crazy.
Because
he just
ends
up talking
like
this. Singsong.” Cassidy warmed to her topic. “You don’t want to rip and read your copy. Instead, you go through it beforehand and find the words that really count.”

Elizabeth turned in her seat to face Cassidy. “What do you mean?”

“When you get home tonight, go into your living room and switch on the TV. Then go into the kitchen and start dinner. You won’t be able to hear every word, but you should be able to hear the important words. Maybe you’ll hear
accident
and
Northwest Portland
and
two killed
, and that will be enough to pique your interest because you live in Northwest Portland, so you’ll go back into the living room to see what happened. But if you were listening to Brad, he might accent completely random words—and no one will ever leave their kitchen for that.”

“So why aren’t
you
the anchor instead of Brad or that other girl, the one they said just came to Portland from—Delaware?”

Cassidy suppressed a wince. “Connecticut. Her name’s Alissa Fontaine. And even though they’ve made a big deal about bringing her in, they still give Brad all the important stories. If it’s a political story or a natural disaster, they have a guy cover it. Women get the fluffy stuff. I had to fight for the crime beat. Sometimes I think TV is still a man’s business. Just because you’re young and pretty doesn’t mean you’re not a serious journalist.”

“But since you’re the crime reporter,” Elizabeth said, “that must mean they believe in you.”

“I
made
that beat. It wasn’t there before I came along.” Cassidy thought of Jenna. “And I still have to fight for it.”

“You mean like with that intern you told me about?” Elizabeth asked. “Because she might try to get to a story before you?”

Cassidy felt listened to. “Exactly. Instead of making her own beat, it’s like Jenna wants to take over from me.”

“Like that’s going to happen.” Elizabeth shook her head. “You’re twice the reporter she could ever hope to be.”

The train pulled up at the stop closest to Nordstrom. As soon as they walked through the glass doors, Elizabeth lit up, obviously in her element. She was so self-confident and strong.

Cassidy felt a pang of envy. Why was she always filled with self doubt, hanging back, not committed enough? Why didn’t she go for it?

Elizabeth chose a half dozen outfits—most of them not even on sale—and encouraged Cassidy to pick up this and that. She obviously thought Cassidy made a lot more than she really did.

TV only looked glamorous. It was all fake. Up close, the studio carpet was stained, and the decal that showed the city skyline was peeling on the bottom corners. The chairs didn’t even have backs, so that if someone was off camera, the viewers didn’t see an empty chair.

But that fake glamour attracted so many people who were willing to work for crummy wages. Even, as in Jenna’s case, for free.

Cassidy picked up a few things, but Elizabeth’s arms were soon full. A saleslady hurried up to relieve her of her burden. “Do you want to share a dressing room?”