Deep Freeze (West Coast 1)

“And what is that?”

“That everything missing once belonged to Jenna Hughes, and not just that, but the items”—she opened her purse and pulled out a sheet of computer paper—“were from her movies. Two bracelets, a ring, a scarf, a pair of sunglasses, three pairs of shoes, all from different films. Now a black dress is missing. The one she wore in Resurrection.” She handed the typed list to Carter. “I guess I should have been more on top of it, but I thought we’d misplaced some of the items, and I didn’t really think that everything that was missing had been used in Jenna’s movies. Today, after Jenna and I couldn’t find the dress, I typed up the list. That’s when it really hit home.”

He studied the piece of paper. “You’ve looked everywhere for these things?”

“Of course!”

“And asked the staff and actors?”

“I spent all morning calling everyone who has access.”

“You mean, all this stuff is locked up?”

“Locked in the theater. I don’t have locks on the closets and wardrobes and cubbies.”

“Maybe you should.” He glanced down at the typed sheet.

“You’re patronizing me.”

“No, I’m not,” he lied. “I just don’t know what I can do about it.”

“You mean, you’re too busy.”

“Right. Have you talked to the city police?”

“Not yet. I figured they’d just laugh at me.”

“And I wouldn’t?”

“You might, but I wouldn’t lose any sleep over it.”

“I get it—this is a personal matter, not really a police matter.”

“At least for now. I just thought I should talk to someone about it.” She leaned forward in the chair. “Don’t you think it’s odd that everything that was taken came from Jenna Hughes?”

“Not really,” Carter said. “She’s the most famous person around these parts. It makes sense.”

“In a sick sort of way.”

“Right.” He slid the list back to her and thought of the Jane Doe and the threat of the storm. There had been a break-in at the old logging camp in the forest just to the east. A hiker was missing in the foothills of Mount Hood, and a meth lab had been discovered at the south end of the county. Two drunks had plowed their SUV into the side of Grandy’s store and were in the jail. A motorist had been robbed at a rest stop near Multnomah Falls. And a woman had been murdered. Carter’s phone had been ringing all morning. “There’s not much I can do, Rinda. We’re swamped and it’s only going to get worse with this weather. You might have better luck with the city guys.”

“Never have so far. Keep that.” She wouldn’t pick up the paper lying between them. “It’s a copy, and yes, I will go talk to Officer Twinkle, if that’s what you want.”

“It’s Officer Winkle and with an attitude like that, you won’t get far.”

“Yeah, Rip Van. The guy’s been asleep at the switch for years.”

“You’re talking about Falls Crossing’s finest and another cop. We all watch out for each other.”

“Then you’re in trouble if Wade Winkle’s got your back,” she said, with more than a little acrimony as she climbed to her feet. “He’s too busy hassling teenagers to do any real cop work.”

Carter knew where this was coming from. A few years back, Rinda’s son, Scott, had experienced a couple of runins with the local police. Rinda, who was a mother bear when it came to her only son, had asked Carter to intervene with Officer Winkle.

“Okay, so I’ll keep the list, but I won’t have any men to put on it, you know that,” he said and scooted back his chair. “Talk to Wade, file a theft report, and lock things up, okay? You could even get a guard dog to patrol the theater.”

“So this isn’t a big enough crime for you.”

“It might not even be a crime.”