Page 137 of Cold Case, Warm Hearts

Clever. Diabolical.

“How’d you get to my house?”

“I walked. It’s less than a mile, all downhill. Glad I didn’t have to walk back up.”

Past the car, a door led into the house, but with a firm grip on her, Salcito pulled her the other direction to the driveway. After they stepped outside, he tapped a keypad on the threshold, and the garage door lowered.

The snow was coming fast, covering everything in a veneer of white. It would hide whatever tracks they’d leave.

Cold wind had her shuddering as Salcito led her around the garage and onto a walkway that had been recently shoveled. They took it to the back and rounded the house toward a deck covered with inches of snow. When they reached the stairs leading up to it, he said, “Sit here.”

She did. Melting snow seeped through her jeans seconds after she sat. Her knees were already wet from crawling through ice water on her kitchen floor. She wore no coat, no gloves, no hat.

He could simply tie her to the railing and leave her there, and she’d freeze to death. She looked past him at an amazing vista. The trees dropped off, giving her a beautiful view of the lake and the mountains on the far side of town.

At least it was a pretty place to die.

He looked down at her. “I’m sorry it had to come to this.”

Her teeth chattered. “You would much rather have k-k-killed me two nights ago on the road, I g-g-guess.”

“It would have been easier,” he admitted. “Easier still if you’d just recorded what you’d learned in your laptop. I hacked into it, but I didn’t find anything about what you’d figured out.”

So he’d been the one to break into her house. “You should have stolen my n-n-notebook.” He might as well have, for all the good it’d done her. All her careful planning, and here she was, about to die.

If she got out of this, she was going to burn her notebook. She’d rather follow God’s plans for her life than her own, anyway. Like Garrett had said, the notebook didn’t keep her sane. If anything, her compulsive need to follow her carefully laid-out blueprint had thrown her off course.

Nope. From now on, she’d trust God with her future. If she had one.

Unlike her, the mayor was properly dressed in a puffy parka, a black skull cap, and black gloves. “I was really trying to avoid the conversation you and I have to have now.”

She crossed her arms against the chill and tucked her fingers beneath her armpits. It didn’t help much. “C-c-c-conversation?”

“You know where your mother is. I need to know.”

“I don’t understand.” She paused through a chill. “You didn’t kill her, so why do you c-c-care?”

His eyes narrowed. “Why do you say that?”

Which part? She’d ask the question, but she was pretty sure her jaw was freezing shut.

Her toes were already numb. Her fingers stung.

How long would it take to die of hypothermia? Surely longer than she’d been outside, but she was so cold. She’d never been so cold in her life.

“Why don’t you think I killed her,” Brent asked.

“If you d-d-d-did”—she shivered violently—“you’d know where she is.”

He leaned against the railing beside her. “That’s a logical conclusion.” He blew out a long breath. “You’re nothing like her. You look like her, no question. Your voice is so similar, it’s eerie. But you’re so…rational.”

Aspen didn’t know what to say to that.

“If Jane were in your position, she’d be panicking or making baseless threats. She’d be screaming, thrashing, trying to get away.”

“What would be the p-p-point? Nobody’s going to hear m-m-m…” She couldn’t finish the sentence for trembling that took over.

His smile was sad. “See what I mean? Rational. If Jane had only been a little more rational…” He didn’t finish his sentence, either, though not, she guessed, because of the cold.

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