Deep Freeze (West Coast 1)

“Yes!” Allie wasn’t in the mood for any jokes.

“Okay, okay,” Jenna said, resigned to her fate, her eyes already narrowing as she searched through the misty windshield for a place to turn around. “Relax, honey. I’ll go get it.”

“Thank you, thank you, thank you!”

“You’re welcome,” she said, a few flakes of new snow swirling and dancing in the path of her headlights. “Is Jake there?”

“Um-hmm.”

“Why don’t you put him on?”

“Kay.”

There was a second of dead air. Jenna spied a wide spot in the road and slowed as a deep male voice said, “Turnquist.”

Jenna launched into what was happening. “Look, here’s the deal with Allie’s backpack.” She explained what she thought had happened and said, “I’m going back for it now.”

“Wait a minute.” Concern edged his voice. “I don’t like you going back there. No one’s at the theater. Let me handle this.”

“It’ll take too much time, Jake, and it’s safe. The theater’s locked up tighter than a drum, and I’ve got one of the few keys. I probably won’t even be alone. Lynnetta Swaggert was there when I left ten minutes ago. Rinda locked her in, and her husband comes over to walk her home, so I think I’ll be okay. Besides, I don’t want you leaving the girls alone out at the house. I’m only ten minutes out of town. I’ll turn around and pick up the backpack and have my walkie-talkie, mace, and cell phone with me. If I’m not home in forty minutes, send in the cavalry.”

She could tell that he wanted to argue, but thankfully he didn’t and she hung up, promising to call him if she sensed that anything was wrong.

What a joke. The problem was that everything was wrong right now. Nothing was right.

“Damn it all to hell,” she whispered, then, despite her own trepidations, she pulled a quick one-eighty and headed back to Falls Crossing.

If she was lucky, Lynnetta would still be in the theater.

If not, she’d make this a very short trip.

CHAPTER 32

It was probably her case of nerves, but the town seemed more deserted than when Jenna had driven through it a few minutes earlier. The parking lot of the theater was empty and ice-glazed. The old church-cum-theater stood like a lonely sentinel, dark, cold, and foreboding, its spire knifing upward through the falling snow.

As she stared through the rapidly fogging windshield, Jenna felt a cold tickle on the back of her neck, a warning not to go any farther.

It’s just your imagination. You were inside less than half an hour ago! Get this over with, for God’s sake!

Briefly, she considered calling Jake again and keeping him on the phone as she searched for the backpack, then discarded the idea. It seemed foolish, would make her appear a helpless female.

What kind of a baby are you? Just get the damned pack and go home.

Before she could change her mind, she climbed out of her Jeep, locked it behind her, and felt icy pellets of snow rain down her neck. She dashed across the slippery parking lot, then hurried up the stairs. A block away she heard traffic, told herself she wasn’t really alone, and rammed her key into the lock. She twisted, but the bolt didn’t slide. “Come on, come on,” she urged, wondering if this was some kind of omen when suddenly the lock sprang open. “Thank God.”

Inside, the theater was cold and still. Weird plays of light seeped through the stained-glass windows in strange, shifting patterns. She felt a tremor of fear. Even the few remaining religious images tacked to the walls took on a demonic rather than heavenly guise in the shadows.

“Get a grip,” she mumbled under her breath and snapped on the lights. Immediately the old nave was awash with light and her trip-hammering heart slowed a bit. She hastened down the main aisle, her footsteps clicking loudly. “Lynnetta?” she called, more for the sound of her own voice than anything else. “Are you still here? It’s Jenna.” She paused, listening, but, as she expected, there was no response, just the creaking of old rafters and the rush of wind against the steeple. No doubt Lynnetta had already gone home, probably on her husband’s arm.

Jenna hurried down the few stairs past Rinda’s office, then took the rest of the flight downward to the basement and costuming area where the hint of Lynnetta’s perfume still lingered. She reached for the light switch but her hand paused in midair.

Again she sensed a tickle of cold breath against her skin, a hint that something was wrong. Out of place. She braced herself against the wall. “Lynnetta?” she called, certain she felt someone in the building, sensed someone breathing. She held her breath, straining to listen.

Nothing.

“Jesus,” she whispered, her nerves strung tight as piano wire. Once again, her heart was beating a wild tattoo as she flipped on the lights and the warren of dressing rooms, makeup stations, and closets was suddenly awash with bright, near-blinding fluorescence.

The sacks of clothes were where they’d been dropped near the closets. Jenna wasted no time pawing through the bags. No backpack. A small pile of purses and shoes had been left on an ancient, battle-scarred bureau, but Allie’s pink-and-purple camouflage pack was again missing in action. “Terrific,” Jenna whispered sarcastically, searching again and trying not to hear the moaning of the wind in the rafters or the creak of old timbers as they continued to settle.