Page 65 of Locked In Ice

Ice poured through Ophelia.She looked at Lane.Ophelia cleared her throat.“Mrs.Marjorie, this is Lane.He’s my partner.”

Marjorie sent him a weak smile.“You were right.He won’t ever hurt anyone else.”

“Ma’am.”Lane dipped his head forward.“I don’t think we’ve ever talked before but—”

“You called me.”Her eyes blinked quickly.“Don’t you remember?We talked last night.You told me that he’d been caught.I remember your name.You told me…told me you were Lane.Told me that you were sending me flowers.So kind of you.Thoughtful.”

Lane’s gaze cut to Ophelia.She could read his face so clearly.

I did not call her.

“Here.Come inside.”Marjorie backed up a step.“I just baked some fresh bread.We can have some bread and talk and…” She cleared her throat.“I need to get my handkerchief for a moment.If you’ll excuse me?”

“Of course,” Ophelia murmured as she stepped into the house.

She watched Majorie make her way toward the kitchen.She could see the tears falling on Marjorie’s cheeks, but Ophelia didn’t comment on them.

The cane and Marjorie’s footsteps stopped near the mantel in the den.She picked up a photo.A smiling Patience.Forever young and beautiful.

Marjorie’s left hand gripped that photo until her knuckles whitened.Her right lifted the cane.A few moments later, she disappeared into the kitchen.

“I did not call her,” Lane quietly stated as he followed Ophelia into the house.

“I believe you.”Which just led to a big problem.A very big one.Because now they had someone pretending to be Lane.

Except, isn’t that what the killer might have already been doing when he was caught on film?If the guy had known where all the other cameras were in the holding area, it stood to reason he’d also known about the ones that caught glimpses of him, too.So, in her mind, at least, those glimpses had been deliberate.He’d shown the cameras what he wanted the world to see.

An image thatcouldhave been Lane.

“Oh, fuck,” Lane muttered.

Her head whipped toward him.

He wasn’t looking at her.His gaze was on the coffee table.She followed his stare and realized he was glaring at the large vase full of blue flowers.

“Come into the kitchen.”Marjorie’s cane thudded softly as she appeared in the kitchen doorway.Her tears were gone.“I have the bread ready.”

“Uh, Mrs.Mayweather?”Lane called.“Are these the flowers that you said I sent to you?”

A nod.“Arrived first thing.They’re lovely.Just lovely…” She turned away.

Ophelia had spotted a small, white envelope nestled in those blue flowers.In a flash, she’d plucked out that envelope.No florist name.Nothing at all listed on the envelope.She opened the envelope.Pulled out the little card.

Carefully handwritten words were on the card.Patience can be at peace.

“Ophelia.”

“What in the hell is this?”Her head whipped toward Lane.“What is he doing by sending this to her?”

“Forget-Me-Not.”

“Yes, absolutely,” she snapped.A low snap because she didn’t want to alarm Marjorie.“I think the perp sent them, too.I don’t like this.Not one bit.”

“No.”He shook his head and pointed to the flowers.“Those.They are Forget-Me-Nots.”

Slowly now, as if the flowers were a snake that might strike her, Ophelia looked back at the vase.At the blue petals.

“My sister owns a florist shop.Sheknowsher flowers.Because Lark knows them—because she’s been obsessed with flowers since we were kids—I know them, too.Those are Forget-Me-Nots.”

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