Heart of Ice. Gregg Olsen

he knew. She wasn’t weak. She handled those self-absorbed and dimwitted girls with an impressive toughness and logic. There were things about her he might have admired, had he not blamed her for the darkest tragedy of a life that had been marked by so many.

      As he formed his plan, created his list, he learned to loathe her over the others. Of the three, she’d been the one in charge. She could have changed the course of her own destiny. She was responsible for everything that was coming to her. Jenna Kenyon could have kept her name off the list.

      The first two had no choice. No voice. They would be the disposable practice dolls that he’d once tossed in a fire pit behind his foster family’s house. They were trash. Not even human.

      Jenna would be the prize. He’d save the most-deserving for last.

      Chapter Five

      The next morning, Emily caught a glimpse of Cherrystone’s least favorite—albeit most successful—car dealer as he slowed his car in front of the copy center on Washington Avenue. She found a spot right behind him and parked the Crown Vic. Running into a “person of interest” is always a good thing.

      “Hi, Mitch,” she said, emerging from her vehicle. She could see him tense a little, but his slight smile stayed intact.

      “Sheriff Kenyon,” he said, pressing the key button to his automatic door lock. The horn beeped.

      She took a breath. “I was going to call you. No need now.”

      “How lucky for you,” he said, through taut, angry lips.

      “I was thinking that we could get some more traction on Mandy’s case if you stopped by the station.”

      Mitch Crawford’s eyes flashed. “Oh, I see. After you’ve treated me like a freak and embarrassed me in front of my own staff, you want me to make nice? That’s just goddamn beautiful. Thanks to you and your careless insinuations, my own mother-in-law asked me what I did with Mandy.”

      Emily shook her head. “I’m sorry. Sometimes people forget that you’re a victim here, too.”

      Most people would have seen the emptiness of Emily’s words, but there was no risk of that with Mitch Crawford. He only saw the things that fit his overly inflated self-image. Anything that stroked his ego, got him attention, or made him feel that he was the wronged one—it was a safe bet.

      “Will you help us?” she asked, this time, her voice a little softer. She wasn’t aiming for sexy, although there was no doubt that she was a beautiful woman with a stunning face and lovely figure. The days of charming a guy with an unbuttoned blouse were long gone, but she still could see the value in suggesting vulnerability.

      Because that’s exactly what catches a guy like Mitch Crawford off guard.

      “I’m in the middle of some stuff here,” he said, waving a manila envelope in Emily’s direction.

      “Oh, I can see that,” she said. “Why don’t you come by later this afternoon?”

      “Do I come alone? Or do I get a lawyer?”

      “You can always bring a lawyer, Mitch, but I think you’re smart enough to see that we’re only trying to help. I mean, really, why would you need one if you just want to help us find your wife?”

      Mitch was probably a decent poker player. If he was worried right then, he didn’t let on.

      “All right, Sheriff. If we clear the air, will you get Mandy’s mother off my back? Tell her that I had nothing to do with any of this disappearance BS? She won’t let up. It’s distracting. It isn’t exactly helping me move cars off the lot, you know.”

      “Look, Mitch,” she said, trying to keep her cool, “she’s worried about her daughter. She loves her daughter. She wants to know where she is. You know, most people in your position would feel the same way.”

      “You don’t know how I feel,” he said.

      “Come in and tell me.”

      Mitch let out an exasperated sigh. “This is stupid. But I’ll be there.”

      Back in her office, the smells of a burning coffeepot and popcorn emanated from the break room. Emily dialed the prosecutor’s office and was patched through to Camille’s desk.

      “Hazelton,” Camille said, her voice throaty from a cold that had declared war on her immune system.

      “I ran into Mitch Crawford,” Emily said. “He’s agreed to come in for an interview. Thought you’d like to know. You’ll never believe what he was concerned about.”

      “Try me.”

      “He’s worried about his mother-in-law and car sales. He barely even mentions Mandy.”

      Camille let out a laugh, which started a series of coughs. “Sorry. Working on a cold. That’s priceless. Remind me never to buy a car from that guy. I’d hate to boost him in a time of real need.”

      “Do you want to be there?”

      “No. Too formal. Just chat with him. Press him gently—and I know that will be hard because I’d like to shove him against a barbed-wire fence until he screams.”

      “You must be sick,” Emily said. “You’re holding back now, Camille.”

      “Just a little. You know what I mean.”

      Emily did. The two women talked a moment longer. Emily told the prosecutor that she intended to videotape the interview with Mandy’s husband.

      “I’m not sure he’ll go for it,” she said.

      “If he likes what he’s wearing today,” Camille said, “I’ll bet he says yes.”

      An eleven-year-old snowboarder noticed the gleam of silver under a pile of snow on the back end of a Walmart parking lot near Spokane. Casey Broder’s mother wouldn’t let him go to the slopes with his older brother and friends, so the kid took to the heap of snow plowed into a minimountain behind the store. It wasn’t much of a slope and he cursed his mother for not letting him do what he wanted to do.

      All of that changed, when the sun hit the minimountain just right and a small mirror blinked right at him.

      Casey thought it was a girl’s compact at first. He bent down to pick it up, but it was frozen into the minimountain. Using his board, he started to chip away at the crust of snow. A couple of whacks and he discovered that the mirror was attached to a car.

      A silver Camry.

      Casey told the Walmart greeter what he’d found and the man called the police. Within an hour, the police arrived and determined that the car belonged to a missing woman from Cherrystone.

      “They found Mandy’s car behind a Deer Lake Walmart,” Jason said, catching Emily in her office. “The store’s snowplow operator has lousy peripheral vision and buried the car by mistake. It sat there because no one complained their car was missing.”

      She could read her deputy like a book. There was neither sadness or hope in his words, just the rote recitation of the facts.

      “She wasn’t in the car, was she?”

      He shook his head. “Nope. State police will process for trace.”

      Emily had a sinking feeling. “Thanks, Jason. I’ll tell Mitch. I’ll bet you a beer that the vehicle’s clean.”

      “You’re on.”

      If there had been any hope that Mandy had left on her own, it evaporated with the discovery of her Camry. She might have had plenty of reasons to escape her husband—last trimester or not—although it seemed unlikely that she’d vanish from a Walmart parking lot.

      “She’s not the Walmart type,” he’d said.

      Chapter Six