THE FROST ESTATE
DEARBORNE, MARYLAND
Denieve
____________________________
I was in the kitchen a few days later, about to mash some potatoes for a shepherd's pie, when I caught sight of Frost carrying more flowers to his Jag. Beneath a graying sky and a light drizzle that would soon turn into a deluge, Frost walked swift as a breeze, stuffing the tulip and hyacinth crate into the back of his car.
I still couldn't get over the fact that he'd actually moved the armor for me. And this afternoon he'd completely blown me away. Guess who spoke first when I served his lunch? He did! And guess who said, "Thank you" as I turned to leave? Yep. Him again. Granted, the man was cold, remote, and unbelievably repressed, but little by little, his icy armor was falling away. If I stayed vigilant, I'd eventually get what I needed out of him.
What did I know so far? That he was a brilliant doctor with a commanding presence, a recluse who lived in a spooky old house with a security system that rivaled the Pentagon's. But was he a murderer? Well, the jury was still out on that one. At this point, I wasn't sure how long it would take to get inside his head. To be honest I'd never met anyone like him. How he managed to bury his emotions so deeply both disturbed and fascinated me.
Thunder rumbled somewhere far off and a fine layer of condensation covered the outer edges of his windshield. "Tornado Watch," a term I sometimes confused with "Tornado Warning"- - -the latter being worse, I think- - -had scrolled across the bottom of the TV screen all afternoon in red, scare-the-crap-out-of-me letters. Yet Frost didn't seem the least bit worried.
The impending storm wasn't my only concern. Some weirdo had been lurking outside the main gate for the past hour. A yellow cab idled a few feet away, waiting for its passenger to finish what he'd come to do, which so far amounted to nothing. He hadn't pushed the bell or tried the intercom. All he did was stand out there eying Dr. Frost, who seemed oblivious.
Given the death threats and overall climate of Frost hateraid, I'd be a fool not to be suspicious. I assumed our latest visitor was somehow connected to one of Frost's dead patients. Ms. Pierce warned me an occasional angry relative might show up. This, she said would probably continue even after the house was sold. Most people seemed happy to hold harmless vigils outside the gates, but a few wackjobs had taken their anger out on the property via spray paint, bricks, and bottles.
I ventured to the foyer where a closed-circuit TV panel would give me a full view of the street and a better look at the stranger. He was about seventy or eighty-something, judging from the lines mapping his craggy face and the white hair plastered to his skull. He wore a black raincoat and a deep frown. In one hand, he held a gray bubble umbrella over his head; in the other he had what appeared to be a Ziploc bag. Closer inspection revealed some kind of photograph or news clipping within it. I couldn't be sure.
By the time I refocused the camera, Frost had already started down the courtyard in his Jag. I turned the intercom on. The gate stretched open and the car slowed as the visitor approached the passenger side. The old man held up the plastic bag, waving it wildly in the air. Frost peeled away immediately.
"Please wait!" the stranger cried in a thick Polish accent. "I'm Samuel! Samuel! Do you hear? Surely you remember me!"
As the taillights disappeared, the man's shoulders slumped. When he turned back to the house his eyes spilled over with tears. Then he climbed into the cab and left.
* * *
SUNSET MEMORIAL PARK
LA PLATA, MARYLAND
Lonnie G
____________________________
It was a little before nine p.m. when Braeden Frost dragged his sorry ass to Caryn Gilson's grave. He must've saved the best for last. Given the three other gravesites Frost visited tonight, the crazy fuck had been a busy beaver.
Clutching a thick spray of purple and white flowers, Frost knelt over the ebony headstone. Meanwhile, Lonnie Gubczyk took cover behind some tall bushes, crouching where the shadows were the thickest, all the while trying not to lose his dinner.
He could feel the bubbling in his stomach, the burning in his throat. Any minute now, he'd be spewing Filet-O-Fish and fries on some poor shmuck's final digs.
A fat raindrop slapped Lonnie's forehead. Another followed, and soon it turned into a steady downpour. Once again, the poor devil had picked a hell of a night to go grave hopping, but Lonnie understood the logic. Who visits a cemetery in the rain? Nobody. Which was the point. Severe weather guaranteed space, solitude, and seclusion- - -three S's Braeden Frost couldn't do without.
Lonnie wanted to whack the bastard at Shady Acres, the last graveyard Frost had visited before this one, but not with the sun still peeking through the clouds. And especially not when he'd left his stupid silencer at the hotel. So he figured a night shoot was probably the safest choice. With any luck, a clap of thunder would mask the noise.
Frost had made the rounds, placing handfuls of flowers on each victim's grave- - -an admission of guilt if there ever was one.
Tailing the freak had been an adventure. Here one minute, gone the next, the bastard was like Harry Houdini on wheels.
The rain picked up. He squinted at Frost who'd just removed a hanky from his trench coat to wipe his gloved hands. Next, Frost pulled out a silver flask and sprinkled a few drops of whatever was in it over the dirt. Then he stood, bowed his head again and mumbled something.
He'd performed the same ritual at the other graves.
Lonnie had seen enough. "What's up, doc?" Frost tore around as Lonnie emerged from the bushes. Leaves rustled. Twigs snapped beneath his galoshes. Lonnie aimed a mini-flashlight at the grave marker and read the inscription aloud. "Beloved daughter." He killed the light. "What's yours gonna say?"
Frost inched back. "Who are you?"
"Your worst fucking nightmare."
Lonnie tucked the flashlight in a pocket and dragged his Berretta from another. He pointed the gun just as a thunderbolt speared across the sky.
"Forget about yelling," Lonnie said. "If you don't count the stiffs, we got the whole place to ourselves, but you already knew that."
Frost muttered what sounded like, "Not again."
If Lonnie didn't know better, he'd have sworn he'd seen pity in the fool's eyes. Pity? What about fear? Begging and bargaining? Some of his hits even shit their pants, but Frost seemed as cool as a fucking Popsicle.
"I don't know if you're aware of this," Frost said in a dead-calm voice, "but one other hit man came after me months ago."
"Must've been an amateur."
Frost buried his hands in his coat pockets. "I wouldn't say that. I just made him an offer he couldn't refuse. Who hired you?"
"Does it matter?"
Frost's gaze grew intense. "Very much."
"Yeah, well, trust me. In a couple minutes you won't care. About nothing." He gestured with the gun. "Turn around."
"Whatever your client paid, I'll triple it."
"Not interested."
"Then name your price."
Lonnie chuckled. Were it not for the rain, he might've played along. "Twenty-four years I been in the business, and I got nothing but satisfied customers. Forget it. Turn around."
Frost looked away and for the first time, Lonnie sensed a crack in the icy façade. He met Lonnie's gaze again. "You don't have to do this."
"Yeah, I do." Lonnie bridged the distance and pointed the gun inches from his face. "Turn. Around."
"Please...." Desperation colored Frost's voice. "Don't make me- - -"
"What? Cry like a bitch?" Lonnie struck Frost in the mouth with the butt of his gun, dropping him to his knees. "Be a man. Stop begging."
The sky opened, drowning them both. Frost slowly glared up at him, his jaw tight, his body trembling- - -with fear or something else? "You idiot," he rasped. Blood dripped from his busted lip. Rain pelted his skin. "I'm not begging for my life. I'm begging for yours."
Lonnie cocked a brow in surprise. "Now there's one I haven't heard."
Frost blinked the rain away. "Please. I don't want to hurt you."
"Oh, really?"
"Yes," Frost said with a slow nod. "If you want to live, you'll let me go."
Lonnie studied him for a brief moment, then he shook his head, annoyed with himself for letting the bastard distract him. "Shut the fuck up! Now if you got any religion left, I'll spot you thirty seconds to pray."
Frost's restless gaze wandered the ground. "That's it then."
"Uh-huh. Time to die."
Lonnie was about to pull the trigger when he noticed something weird. Hold up. He raised Frost's chin with the nose of the gun. Hadn't he seen a cut on the guy's lip after he'd clocked him a minute ago? The abrasion was gone now. Sure, the rain could've washed the blood away, but he didn't even have a scratch. Maybe it wasn't a cut. Maybe it was blood from a loose tooth. Had to be.
He aimed at Frost's head. "Before you check out, be a good boy and satisfy my morbid curiosity."
Frost squinted against the downpour. "What is it?"
"How'd you do them? You know, your victims. I'm betting it was poison. Something untraceable, right?"
Frost looked at him for a long while, his expression cheerless as rain streamed down his face. Finally, he gave a defeated nod. "Yes...untraceable." He swallowed hard and sighed. "Will you grant me a final request?"
Lonnie shrugged a dismissive shoulder. "Sure, why not."
"Since you're about to take my life, I'd at least like a proper introduction. I'm Dr. Braeden Frost, and you are?"
"What do you care?"
"Please," Frost said gently, patiently. "Just tell me your name."
"Fine. Whatever. It's Lionel Gubczyk and this is the last face you'll ever see. Now fuck off and die." Lonnie went to point and click, but his hand froze. He couldn't move a muscle. "What the hell?"
Meanwhile, Frost began tugging his left glove off, one finger at a time. When he spoke again, his voice was strangely detached. "My interest in you, Mr. Gubczyk, is strictly geographical." At Lonnie's confused look, Frost gazed up at him with a curious frown, adding, "How else can I pay my respects?"
With preternatural speed, he knocked Lonnie's Berretta away, but it went off, the bullet hitting Frost in the shoulder. Yet he didn't flinch, just closed his bare hand around Lonnie's wrist. It all happened in the blink of an eye.
"You see, my friend," Frost said, "without a name I can't place flowers on your grave."
Terrified, Lonnie tried to yank away, but the man's grip was unnaturally strong. He gaped back at Frost in horror. "What are you? Oh, my G - - -"
His own screams cut his words short as white-hot pain raced up his right arm to burn like lava into his heart. He collapsed seconds later, his body convulsing in agony.
Death took its sweet time, leaving Lonnie to suffer for a number of minutes. Long enough for him to plead to the God he'd forsaken years ago. His victims had done the same during their final moments, and he'd mocked them all. That alone, he feared, had bought him a ticket straight to hell.
Minutes later, Braeden Frost stood over the dying man's twitching body. With sadness emanating from his eyes, he slipped his left glove back on with unsteady fingers.
"Forgive me, Mr. Gubczyk," came his broken whisper. "I'm sorry. So very sorry...."
* * *
THE FROST ESTATE
DEARBORNE, MARYLAND
Denieve
____________________________
My cell rang while I was dealing with my wonky laptop.
"You won't believe the night I had," Luke said in a rush.
I anchored the phone against my shoulder and inserted a flash drive. "Where are you? I left like three messages."
"Beltway was backed up. I just got home."
"Did you get the new photos I shot?"
"Yeah, but the files were corrupted," he rasped.
Damn. I needed another laptop. Stat. "Are you okay? You sound like crap."
"Just a little bug I caught is all. Listen, I tailed him."
My hands stilled. "Tailed who?"
"Frost."
Thunder rumbled overhead, as I slowly set the laptop aside. "You did what?"
"Just trying to help you, babe." His voice sounded bullfrog deep. "I'm the only eyes and ears you got out here since you're stuck in the house."
So Luke had flown solo again. This, among a dozen other reasons was why I'd left his conventional PI business in Maryland and opened Knight-Watch Investigations in New York. Since I wasn't a "regular" PI, many of my colleagues viewed me as a quack. Luke claimed he didn't share their negative opinions, but I knew better.
We'd met on the Ellen Neal case. One of her victims' family members had hired him, and we were immediately attracted to each other. But with us, the left hand never knew what the right hand was doing. We were supposed to be a team, but oftentimes, I felt like his assistant. Then there was the constant bickering and finger-pointing. Little wonder our personal relationship tanked too.
I shoved to my feet and started pacing. "Why would you do that? You could've blown my cover."
Luke sneezed. "Yeah, but- - -"
"What if he'd seen you?"
"Hey! Stop bitchin' at me and listen for once." He blew his nose. "I wasn't alone. There was another tail on him."
I drew up short. "Huh?"
"That's right. Now do I have your attention?"
Oh, you bet he did. The little old man at the gate came to mind. My stomach knotted. "Was he in a yellow cab?"
"Nah. A late-model Caddy. Probably a rental. He was a big guy too. Six-three or four. Early fifties. He had a full head of red hair- - -wore it in a ponytail."
That ruled out the old man at the gate. "Was he driving a blue sedan?"
"Yeah, why?"
The knot in my stomach tightened. Now I was really worried. "I've seen that car at least four times over the past few weeks, right outside the gates. Where did Frost go?"
"Grave hopping to three cemeteries in Gaithersburg and Rockville."
Hence the flowers. This could also explain the Residual Death scent. A cemetery would do it. "Whose graves did he visit?"
"I don't know. The sun hadn't gone down yet, so I couldn't leave the car. Frost stayed about ten minutes then he hit the Beltway again. Going south. That's where I lost them. I did manage to snap a picture of the tail. I got the plate too. I'm gonna run it past my contact at the DMV."
"Good idea, but you have to back off after this, okay? I can't afford for Frost to get suspicious. I need as much time with him as possible. Oh, and by the way, Caryn appeared to me. It happened my first night here."
Silence.
I'd gotten used to Luke's four-second delays whenever I mentioned anything paranormal. This is exactly why I didn't tell him about Caryn when it happened. It's another reason we'd parted ways. Like my family, he'd never understood my abilities, and at times resented them.
Luke gave a rusty cough. "That's...interesting. Just make sure you don't put all your eggs in one basket again."
"Again? What's that supposed to mean?"
"Your psychic mood ring is only one tool. It can't replace good old-fashioned detective work."
And there it was. He'd managed to mention- - -without mentioning- - -the straw that had broken our proverbial back. The Digby case. I raked a hand through my hair. "You know, us teaming up again is a classic example of Einstein's theory of insanity."
"Don't delude yourself, babe. Our relationship may not have been perfect, but we managed just fine- - -in and out of the bedroom. We stopped working for one reason: your inability to stay the hell out of my head."
Well, yeah, there was that. The day we broke up, he'd rightly called me a two-ton, relationship wrecking ball. I had trust issues, okay? But I'm better now. Really, I am.
Bested, I flopped down on the mattress. "Haven't we beaten that equine to death, Mr. Antonelli?" This was my way of not conceding his very valid point. "We're wasting time."
Luke sighed. "What do you need from me, Denieve?"
"I've got a mini emergency," I said. "You wouldn't happen to have a spare laptop would you?"
---END CHAPTER 5---
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