The Ice Harvest by Scott Phillips

Author:Scott Phillips [Phillips, Scott]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: Mystery
ISBN: 9780345440198
Publisher: Picador
Published: 1999-12-31T05:00:00+00:00

Driving away he tuned in to the C&W station to see if there was any mention of the brawl, but the police reporter was long off the air and the news report, when it finally came, consisted of a disc jockey reading national news straight off the wire in a weary monotone. As he passed the city limit he turned to the easy-listening station, where a disc jockey who sounded like he’d been knocking them back for a while ruminated on the meaning of the holiday. This whole goddamn thing was Dennis’s fault, anyway. He never should have taken the dancers’ stage rentals back.

He wasn’t far from Dora’s place, and on impulse he made a wide U-turn in the middle of the street and headed toward it. She lived with a roommate in the eastern half of a two-story duplex four blocks away from the hospital. He parked in front of the house and climbed the steps onto the front porch.

The living room was dark, but in the bluish light from the street lamp coming through the living room window he made out a small, raggedly decorated Christmas tree with a few presents scattered around it. He pressed his cheek against the cold glass of the front door and held it there for a minute, uncertain whether to press the doorbell. He stepped back and leaned against the edge of the railing, trying to think of what he’d say when she came down.

Maybe she wasn’t home. He stepped carefully down the snowy steps and walked up the short gravel driveway to the garage. Standing on his toes he looked in and saw two cars, one of them Dora’s old yellow Beetle. He went back to the door and stood there for a few seconds, finger poised an inch from the button. Finally he pressed it. It was three-thirty Christmas morning, and he had no idea what he’d say when she came down.

A light came on upstairs and he thought about running away. He dug around in his pant pocket for a comb and didn’t find one, so he ran his hands through his hair, sticking them quickly into his coat pockets when he saw her slippered feet appear at the bottom of the stairs. She had on a robe, and she crossed the living room without turning on the light. The porch light came on, and he squinted, his hand shading his eyes, trying to get a look at her face. The door opened. It wasn’t Dora.

“Charlie?” It was Lori, the roommate. Her face was puffy and red.

“Sorry. Did I wake you up?”

“No, my shift just ended an hour ago. I couldn’t sleep anyway.”

He forced an insincere grin. “Waiting for Santa, right?”

“What’s up, Charlie?” She wasn’t smiling, but she stood aside and motioned him into the living room.

Lori shut the door and switched on a floor lamp. The room was bitterly cold, even stepping in from outdoors.

“I came by to see Dora. Is she asleep?”

“She doesn’t live here anymore.”

“I just saw her car in the garage.

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