Deep Freeze (West Coast 1)

“Downstairs, cleaning…isn’t that what you wanted me to do?”

“Oh…Well…Yes…I guess,” she said, slightly confused. “Look, it doesn’t matter, and it’s late—let’s get a move on…” Rinda’s anger dissipated as she threw on her coat and hat, then shepherded her son out the door.

Jenna grabbed her things and followed, leaving Wes and Lynnetta to lock up.

Outside, the night was calm, nerve-stretchingly so, only a few snowflakes falling from a dark, starless sky. Hands in her pockets, Jenna glanced back at the theater with its tall spire and narrow stained-glass windows and felt a chill as deep as the night. Her eyes were drawn upward, to the top of the tower and the sharp roof where once church bells had tolled. She saw a movement, a fleeting shadow, and had the strange feeling that something or someone was standing in the tower, hiding in the frigid darkness, staring down at her.

But that was nuts.

Paranoid.

No one was in the theater but Wes and Lynnetta…unless Wes had quickly climbed the rickety stairs to the top of the spire.

She was about to say something to Rinda and Scott, but they had already climbed into their car. Scott was behind the wheel and Rinda gave a quick wave as they eased out of the parking lot. Once at the street, Scott gunned it and the car fishtailed before settling into the right lane. Twenty-four years old and acting as if he were sixteen, the kind of kid whose emotional growth had been stunted somehow and had never really matured. Still living at home with an overprotective mother.

Who are you to criticize—think about your own daughter. Cassie’s not exactly an angel.

Jenna unlocked her Jeep and slid inside.

She’d just pulled out of the parking lot when her cell phone jangled. She picked it up and eased down the street. “Hello?”

“Mom, can you pick up a pizza?” Allie asked.

She smiled at the sound of her younger daughter’s voice. “You know, that would be a good idea. If the pizza parlor’s open.”

“And can I go to Dani’s?”

“Now?” She glanced at the clock. Nine-thirty. “Isn’t there school tomorrow?”

“I mean after school. Tomorrow.”

“You have piano lessons I think, depending on the weather.”

“I hate piano lessons.”

A picture of Blanche in her beret and boots galloped through Jenna’s mind. The woman was a couple of steps beyond odd. “How about on Friday, if it’s okay with Mr. Settler?”

“Oh, you’re supposed to call him.”

“Am I?”

“Yeah—he called.”

“When?”

“Uhhhhh…after you left.”

“Tonight?”

“Yeah.”

“I’ll call him back and we’ll get things straight about the weekend,” she said as she pulled up to a stop sign, then looked down the street. “Hey, you’re in luck. Martino’s is open. What would you like?”

“Pepperoni.”

“And—?”

“Just pepperoni.”