The Ice Cradle by Mary Ann Winkowski & Maureen Foley

Author:Mary Ann Winkowski & Maureen Foley [Winkowski, Mary Ann & Foley, Maureen]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: General, Fiction, Mystery & Detective, Mystery Fiction, Ghost, Private Investigators, Ghost Stories, Clairvoyants, Horror
ISBN: 9780307452467
Publisher: Three Rivers Press
Published: 2010-01-01T05:00:00+00:00

Lauren had been right about one thing: Rawlings had some kind of agenda, though I wasn’t quite sure what it was. And now it appeared she was going to be right a second time: the senator was getting ready to make a speech. I was sipping my melon martini when a young guy who looked like he might be an aide-de-camp came into the dining room and attempted to usher everyone into the opposite space.

I had every intention of following him, but Aitana had just appeared at the door to the pantry and was waving me over with a frantic gesture.

“I’ll be right there,” I said to the aide.

“Everything’s great!” I told Aitana.

“Thanks,” she answered distractedly. “But listen! The woman in the car …”

“What car?”

“The one that almost hit me! I think she’s here!”

“I thought you didn’t see them.”

“So did I! But I guess I saw more than I thought. I couldn’t have described her face to the police, but I swear it’s her.”

I glanced across the foyer, where people were settling in, all facing the back of the house, where Rawlings was presumably standing. I heard him say something I couldn’t make out, and the guests erupted in polite laughter.

“What should we do?” I asked.

“I’m stuck back here. But maybe you could talk to her—find out where she’s staying, I don’t know. If we could find the car, that would be a start.”

I nodded. “What does she look like?”

“She’s young. Early twenties. She’s wearing a red jacket and a denim skirt. Blond hair.”

“I’ll see if I can find her,” I said.

Aitana nodded and closed the door. I made my way across the foyer and into the living room, where I found a place at the very back of the crowd. I was actually able to sit on the windowsill, so deep were the walnut-framed enclosures into which the picture windows were set. I scanned the backs of the guests and found her almost immediately: the jacket wasn’t just red, it was bright red, almost fluorescent, the only red jacket in the crowd. I would have to wait until the speech was over, though, before I could try to talk to her.

Caleb turned out to be right about the reason for the party. Rawlings warmed up his neighbors and guests with amiable chitchat featuring tales of local characters, apparently all present, before moving on to the substance of his presentation: the results of an environmental impact study on the effects of the proposed wind turbine installation. At this point the lights were dimmed, and slides began to flash across a screen set up to the senator’s left.

For the next half hour, we heard ominous “proof” that construction of the windmills would be disastrous to just about everything that flew in the air, swam in the ocean, and nested in the dunes. I found this really annoying. You don’t invite people to a party and then hold them hostage while you hammer home some point, forcing them to stand there and pretend to be interested when they really want to be eating hors d’oeuvres and listening to jazz.

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