Ice Cold Killer Read online

  Ice Cold Killer

  Copyright © 2022 by London Lovett

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Bakery Bump Off

  About the Author

  One

  Huck pounced after some imaginary critter (in winter he pretended to see squirrels and skittering mice like a lonely child making up a fictional friend). He'd misjudged the pile of snow and disappeared almost entirely for a few seconds, only his tail showing, spinning like the blades of a chopper, as he searched for his hypothetical prey. His head popped up first. He glanced around like the periscope on a submarine. His fur was dotted with clumps of snow, particularly on his brows and chin.

  I laughed. "Well, Santa, it seems you're a month too late."

  Snow flew everywhere as he did a reverse pounce out of the snowbank. I stepped clear of him knowing the obligatory snow shake would follow. The dog did not disappoint. A flurry of snow spun around him, creating his own dog blizzard.

  I paused on the last curve of Chicory Trail to take in the monochrome splendor that was Frostfall Island in winter. The last snowstorm had started with a parade of sparkly snowflakes, each one dancing through the brisk air to its chosen destination. It seemed it was going to provide only a light dusting (powdered sugar as my sister, Cora, liked to call it) then the hazy skies deepened to gunmetal gray and the ocean turned a charcoal black. Ten hours later, the island sat deep under a weighted blanket of snow. Opal, an esteemed member of our misfit Moon River family, always swore that the island sank a little lower into the Atlantic whenever it was wearing the heavy mantle of winter. Her theory seemed a little farfetched, (Opal excelled at being farfetched) but one thing was certain, the difference between summer and winter on Frostfall Island was profound. The rainbow colors of nature, the buttery yellows of the honeysuckle that grew between the rocks near the beach, the plum purple of the bittersweet nightshade that popped up around Finnegan's Pond and the crimson orange of the milkweed that dotted the trails providing food for the island's butterflies were long gone, and the island was white from frosty bow to icy stern. The sights and sounds of a long summer, kids laughing in the waves at the swimming beach, the aroma of strawberries and lemon ice cream, the stampede of tourists on the boardwalk, had vanished entirely leaving behind a sort of energy vacuum. It was a quiet that could almost be disquieting if you let the solitude of winter on the island suck you in, but I had my Moon River family to take care of and that kept away the doldrums brought on by short, blustery days.

  Frigid temperatures and all, I still kept to my routine of a predawn walk, but my painter's tools saw far less action these days. Occasionally, the snow would melt from an unseasonably warm day, leaving behind just enough streaks of nature, nature wearing its winter gear, that I would be inspired to pull out my paints. But, for the most part, my trays and brushes stayed tucked away waiting for the first signs of spring.

  As usual, Huck trotted ahead to the small wooden bridge that crossed Moon River. Snow and ice never slowed him down. I, on the other hand, had long ago concluded that a painful fall on the ice was far too steep a price to pay to get someplace a few minutes faster. Huck stopped halfway over the bridge. Something down river, in the direction of the boarding house, had caught his attention. His ears perked and his tail wagged tentatively as if he wasn't exactly sure whether he was excited or concerned. The second I caught up to him, he took off like the member of a tag team.

  I looked in the direction he'd been staring and my pulse quickened. Puffs of white air billowed from my mouth, and my breathing sounded loud as if it was coming through a megaphone. The dark yellow rain slicker caught the daylight above, giving it a glow. The broad figure was crouched and leaning down to clear his fishing line.

  I swallowed to relieve the dryness in my throat. "Michael," the name stuttered out on a hoarse whisper. The deep yellow raincoat had been stored away for years, but I knew it like I knew the back of my hand, the black stain from tar when Michael was patching the boat, the tear that he mended himself with thick blue thread, the ivory flannel lining inside the deep hood and sleeves. The garment became so tattered, I took it upon myself to buy him a new one. I was new to the world of fisherman's wife. I had no idea how traditions, routines and even clothing were considered luck charms. I was beaming the day I handed the new, shiny rain slicker over. I'd tied it up with a bright blue ribbon. I was devastated when Michael's reaction was less than thrilled. He never explained why, and it took me a thick-headed two months to figure out that he considered the old coat a part of his routine, the routine that would guarantee him a safe fishing trip. Still, without another word, Michael retired his old slicker to the back of the closet and marched proudly out in his shiny new raincoat. More than once I allowed myself the horrid guilt of thinking that darn new coat had been the reason for his disappearance. It took me a long time to get over the dreadful feeling that I'd caused his death.

  The figure pushed to standing, and sensing someone was watching him from the bridge, he turned my direction. A new rush of air, for an entirely different reason, flowed through my lungs. Nate's white smile was the only feature I could see clearly from the bridge. He proudly held up a line of small silver fish, the kind used more for bait than for frying in a pan. But these were going to be used for a different purpose altogether.

  A few seconds later, I recovered from the state of shock the old rain slicker had caused. I found it astounding that after eight years I could have thought it was my long lost husband, Michael, standing over the fishing rod.

  "Charlie is never going to go back to the wild," I commented as I reached the riverbank. It was just rocky and icy enough for me to plot out and plan every step down to the beaming fisherman.

  "These little silver guys are his favorite because he can eat two at a time." Nathaniel, the most recent addition to our boarding house family, had changed so much since his arrival on the island that I could hardly remember the brooding, moody and mostly silent man who walked through the door less than a year ago. In the months that followed, there was no denying that Nate and I had formed a close friendship. My sister, Cora, insisted that it was destined to be far more than a friendship. She claimed to see literal sparks whenever Nate and I were standing in the same room but then my sister did have an overactive imagination when it came to romance. I was loathe to admit that I felt some of those same sparks whenever we were near each other, but since Michael's disappearance, I had never even visited the notion of falling in love. It was silly but it was hard to think about putting myself out there again. The pain of losing
someone you loved was so great, I'd convinced myself it wasn't worth the risk. And my woman's intuition told me more times than I could count that Nate had the potential to cause that kind of hurt. He wasn't someone you could give your heart to and then lose without a great deal of heartbreak. And so, I kept my own heart securely swaddled in my chest, safe from Nate's admittedly sigh-inducing blue gaze and cocky smile.

  Nate placed his string of fish into the metal pail. Several times a month, those of us at the boarding house were given the job of foster parent for one of the many creatures that ended up in the care of the Frostfall Wildlife Rescue on the north shore. Our youngest housemate, Winston Katz, worked at the rescue. Occasionally, a special case, like a baby raccoon too small to be left on its own, or a young seal orphaned by a killer whale, would need more individual care than could be afforded at the sanctuary.

  Charlie, a brown pelican, had seemingly been thrown off course by a storm at sea. It was rare to see a pelican on Frostfall Island. When a weak, bedraggled pelican showed up on a fishing boat in Bayberry Harbor, the owner of the boat took him straight to the rescue. Unfortunately, they had no place for Charlie, so Winston brought him home. He stole our hearts almost immediately with his sad eyes and droopy beak. Winston set up a little place for him in the laundry room, out of the frigid temperatures and away from any predators that might take advantage of his weakened state. Nate, who had time off from his construction job due to bad weather, had made it his supreme duty to catch fish for Charlie. It was a task he took very seriously, and it made me like him that much more.

  Nate rolled up a sleeve of the raincoat. The soft flannel lining showed through. Without thinking, I touched the soft fabric. Nate chuckled. "Have to admit, I've never had a raincoat with flannel lining, but hat's off to whoever came up with the idea." He was normally clued in to my mood, but this morning it took him longer than usual. "Jeez, what a blockhead I am," he said, his smile disappearing instantly. "I'm so sorry, Anna. I found this in the back of the entryway closet and figured it was left behind by another boarder. It was so foggy this morning, I needed something to stay dry. Anna—" the way he said my name made my chest heavy, my throat tight. "This belonged to him, didn't it?" He shook his head. "I should have asked."

  "No, don't be silly. I'm glad you found it. The fog would have drenched you and seeped right into your bones. It's a good coat. It's nice to see it getting some use again." I was putting on a polite face, but my insides were churning. I was still getting over the shock of seeing it. I'd slowly gotten rid of most of Michael's things, but the rain slicker had always been nestled so deep in the entryway closet, I decided to leave it. Of all his personal possessions that darn raincoat stirred the most memories. Even in the thickest fog and with Michael's boat well off shore, I could always see him when he was huddled in that coat.

  "It sure does work well for my new career as a fisherman," he said gently. "If you're sure—"

  "Yes, I'm sure." I rubbed my gloved hands together. "Brrr, it's always five degrees colder down here at the river. I'm heading in to make eggs and hash browns. Are you coming?"

  Nate glanced into his bucket. "Think I'll catch a few more but I'll be in shortly."

  Huck would have normally stuck it out with Nate. They had bonded right away. This morning it was just too cold, even for hanging out with his best buddy.

  Nate had shoveled a wide, clear path to the house. My boots crunched on the frozen ground left behind. I paused and turned back for a second, the dark yellow coat instantly drawing in my gaze. An unexpected shiver went through me. It was silly. I had no idea why I'd been so shaken by the sight of Michael's rain slicker, but I was sure it would take me the rest of the day to recuperate.

  Huck barked once from the back stoop. I patted his head as I walked past him. "Let's go in and get dry, buddy."

  Two

  My sister, Cora, came downstairs in a dress that shimmered silver, much like the fish on the end of Nate's line. Naturally, I would never mention the comparison to Cora. Her closet was overflowing with designer clothes. Her wardrobe was her pride and joy and also the only thing of value she managed to walk away with from her two marriages to elderly billionaires. Both times her plans were thwarted by sticky prenuptials and ruthless former family members. The woman, who spent a good deal of her thirties living the life of a princess, was now a server in a tea shop and a tenant in her sister's boarding house. She seemed happy though, and I was glad to have my sister around. If for no other reason than for her highly entertaining daily fashion show. This morning's selection might not have been the best choice given the Arctic weather outside the front door, but at least if she slipped in the snow, she'd be doing it in style.

  She had recently, in full Cora fashion, discovered that Frostfall Island had its own small pool of eligible rich, older men. She never liked to settle for second best. She immediately warmed her way into the heart of Simon Snowstone, Frostfall's wealthiest resident. He was fairly recently divorced and ripe for the picking (Cora's words, not mine).

  "I can't eat anything greasy in this dress," Cora said. The metallic fabric shimmied on her curvy figure like a flapper's dress. "The dry cleaning is too expensive. If I drop butter on it I'll just have to throw it away."

  Opal and Tobias were already at the table enjoying hot cups of coffee and waiting for the hash browns to cook. Opal glanced up from her newspaper to look at the dress. "That looks like a costume off the set of my movie, Camille. One of my favorites."

  Cora had her fashion eccentricities, but Opal was eccentric on a whole different level. Most likely a result of her being convinced (and who was I to question it) that she had been the famous Rudolph Valentino in a previous life. On the other hand, she could be as practical and easy to talk to as anyone I'd ever met. I considered her a good friend.

  Cora sashayed over to the coffee pot. She was still wearing her fluffy bedroom slippers. "It's not a costume. You make it sound cheap and gaudy. I wore this to meet Prince Albert of Monaco."

  "I'll bet the prince was impressed by those fluffy slippers," I quipped.

  Nate stepped inside with all the energy and clamor of a group of teen boys just returned from a game of football. His pail looked heavy with fish, and it smelled pretty heavy too. The yellow rain slicker was folded up and jammed under his arm. It was far less jarring rolled up. I wondered if he'd purposely taken it off before entering the house.

  Winston came downstairs looking groggy. He'd worked late at the rescue and hadn't gotten home until close to midnight. He released a big yawn as he spotted the pail of fish. "Nate, thanks so much for helping out with Charlie."

  "I'm enjoying it. Should I feed him now?"

  "Bring him out," Opal suggested. "He can eat breakfast with us."

  Tobias blotted his mouth after drinking his coffee. "I had breakfast with a pelican. Well, I don't get to say that everyday… thank goodness." Tobias was the accountant and no-nonsense businessman of the group. He had taken an immediate disliking to Nate. It had taken time but the two men had come to terms with the fact that they would probably never be good friends but that they could easily tolerate each other. My biggest worries about Nate moving into the house had been put to rest. Now, I worried more that he'd get bored of the island and leave. A long, dreary winter would definitely put his resolve to stay to the test.

  I lifted the lid on the pan of hash browns. They were crispy and golden, the way everyone liked them. Charlie's webbed feet lightly and hesitantly slapped the floor as he followed Nate toward the kitchen. Winston walked behind the bird, coaxing him slowly out of the laundry room.

  "God was certainly showing off his sense of humor when he made pelicans," Tobias noted.

  Opal laughed behind her hand. We'd learned that Charlie hated sudden noises. On his first morning at the house, Opal had sneezed (she could compete with geese when it came to honking). Poor Charlie flapped his big wings and ran around the kitchen looking for a safe place. He finally wound up beneath the kitchen table. It took a fre
sh fish and all of us cooing and smiling and telling him what a pretty boy he was to get him out from under it. It seemed he was growing far more used to the noises and faces in the house. Huck had had so many wild visitors in his home, a big bird with an enormous beak hardly even earned a second glance.

  The bird awkwardly sidled up next to Nate as he kept a wary eye on the rest of us.

  "He really likes you, Nate," Winston noted.

  Nate plucked two fish from his bucket. "I think he likes my pail of fish." He pulled two fish out. Charlie readily opened his long beak. Nate dropped in the fish.

  "He's looking much better," Opal noted and she was right. Winston had to carry the bird in on the first night. He was so weak and sickly, it seemed he wouldn't make it.

  "A few nights at the Moon River Boarding House is always good for the soul." Nate winked at me as he said it.

  I held back a smile as I carried plates of food to the table. I liked to think it was the house and the people living in it that had brought Nate out of the dark funk he'd been in after leaving his detective job, but he'd really done it himself. He went out and found a job in construction that would keep both his mind and his hands busy. Slowly, he learned to love the island and appreciate how magical it was.

  "I can feed Charlie the next fish while you wash up," I suggested to Nate.

  I walked over and took hold of the pail. Our fingers brushed past each other. His hands were cold but plenty of heat passed between us. He noticed too. Our gazes caught, and, for a brief moment, it was just the two of us standing in the kitchen.