Bone Cold (10 page)

Thursday, January 18
7:15 p.m.

B
en lay on his bed, alone in the dark. He breathed slowly and deeply through his nose, the warm compress across his forehead cooling quickly. Too quickly.

The headache that had dogged his day had returned during his meeting with Anna, growing in intensity as their minutes together had ticked past. Still, it hadn't been too bad until he'd reached his car.

He had managed to unlock the car door and fall into the vehicle. How he had made it home, he didn't know. But he had. Obviously, for here he was.

Ben closed his eyes, the pill the doctor prescribed bringing a whisper of sweet, merciful relief. He thought of Anna, of their meeting, of the way it had ended. She had watched him walk away. He had been intensely aware of her gaze on his back and had given in to the urge and had glanced around—to find her staring after him, a hand to the cheek he'd kissed, her expression both surprised and pleased. Or so he had wanted to believe.

Ben reviewed their conversation, both the highs and the lows. She had been openly interested in his work. Her enthusiasm had been contagious and he had found himself opening up, sharing more than he usually did. They'd gotten along well, he thought.

His self-satisfaction evaporated. Then she had caught him staring at her deformed hand. It had been upsetting to her, though she had handled it well. He had been truthful with her when he'd said he hadn't even realized he was doing it. That he had blanked out.

All his life he had suffered from lost moments like those. And like his chronic headaches, those moments had become more frequent in the past months. Concerned, he had discussed both with his physician, who had ordered a battery of tests, including a CAT scan and MRI.

The tests had turned up nothing abnormal, much to Ben's relief. He had feared the worst, of course.

His doctor had questioned Ben at length about his eating and drinking habits and also the stress in his life, of which he'd had plenty this past year, what with his mother's rapidly disintegrating condition and the changes in his life that had occurred because of it.

In the end, the physician had recommended that Ben lay off caffeine and suggested meditation, yoga or another exercise regime as a way to reduce stress. Ben had followed the doctor's orders and had experienced an improvement in his condition. But only a slight one.

Ben dragged his attention away from that disconcerting thought, focusing on another, equally disquieting: Anna hadn't agreed to be included in his book. He had pushed too hard. Had scared her off.

He hadn't been truthful with her.

The pressure in his skull intensified and Ben groaned.
He had always gone by the adage that honesty was the best policy; as a therapist he saw firsthand the destruction dishonesty wrought in people's lives and relationships, and steered his patients toward total emotional honesty.

So why hadn't he told Anna the truth about how he had come to be watching E! that Saturday afternoon? Instead, he had led her to believe it had been a coincidence, that he had already been a fan of her novels.

He had been afraid if he told her the truth, she would bolt.

She had bolted anyway.

If his head didn't hurt so bad, he would kick himself for being such a jerk. He liked her. She was smart, with a subtle sense of humor and an emotional integrity he didn't see in many people these days. She deserved his honesty.

And if he was completely honest with himself, he liked her in a way that had nothing to do with his book.

Suddenly, miraculously, his pain was gone. Ben made a sound of surprise and relief, plucked the compress from his forehead and sat up. He smiled, then laughed, feeling as if he had once again faced the devil—and fought him off.

He would call Anna, Ben decided. He would ask her to dinner and over a sumptuous, five-course meal come clean: about the package that had been left for him and his feelings.

Where they went from there remained to be seen.

Thursday, January 18
7:50 p.m.

A
fter leaving the Café du Monde, Anna had gone to mass at the cathedral. The doors had been open, the church bells ringing, and on a whim she had slipped inside and let the welcoming arms of the church enfold her.

The familiar ritual had both reassured her and lent a clarity to her thoughts. Now she left feeling centered. Warmed and ready to face whatever new curve life threw her.

Jaye would come around. She would find a new publisher. A new agent. In the end, nothing would come of the show on E! except an increased feeling of independence.

Despite the chill, Anna took a roundabout route home. She wandered past familiar shops and restaurants, ducking down residential side streets, each as recognizable to her as the back of her hand. Once she reached her apartment, her thoughts would be interrupted. There'd be dinner to prepare, the answering machine to check, mail to sift through.

For now, these few minutes, she didn't want to think of anything but Ben. Their meeting. She had liked him. Enjoyed his company. Been fascinated by his work, the things he'd had to say about it.

She brought a hand to her cheek, to the spot where he'd brushed his mouth against her skin. It had been a bold move. Romantic. The kind of gesture meant to steal a woman's breath. To force intimacy.

In those ways, it had worked. She had experienced a tickle of excitement, a small but heady rush of pleasure. Of
what if?

But it had taken her aback as well. Because it had seemed so out of character for the man she thought Ben Walker to be.

Anna frowned. She had only just met him, shared no more than an hour of conversation, that hardly made her an expert on his character. Still, in some strange way, she felt as if she
did
know him.

Anna shivered and huddled deeper into her coat. Fully dark now, the temperature had begun to careen toward the expected low of thirty-eight. Not too terribly cold until factoring in the humidity. The wet cold seeped through outer garments, clothes and skin, going clear to the bone.

Enough mooning, she decided, shivering again. Time to go home.

Less than ten minutes later, Anna stepped into her apartment. She tossed her mail on the small entryway table, slipped out of her coat and hung it up. Still chilled, she hurried to the kitchen to fix a cup of hot tea, pausing at the thermostat to kick up the heat a notch.

While waiting for the water to boil, she listened to her messages. Her mother had phoned—she had found
the videographer's business card, and just as she had recalled, he had one of those silly names: Peter Peters. Dalton had called as well, wondering how her meeting with Ben had gone; her dentist's office had left a reminder about her appointment the following day.

The last message was from Jaye's foster mother, requesting that Anna call. Surprised, Anna did so immediately.

The woman picked up on the second ring. “Fran, Anna North. You called?”

“Yes,” the woman said, sounding frazzled. “I was wondering, is Jaye with you?”

“I haven't seen or spoken to her.” Anna frowned. “Didn't she come home from school?”

“No. I wasn't concerned at first, she sometimes stops at a friend's or goes to the library. But she knows the rules, unless she has permission to stay out, she's due home at five-thirty for supper.”

Anna glanced at her watch. It was nearly eight and dark already.

“I'm sure she simply went to a friend's after school and lost track of time,” Fran said, “but as her legal guardian, it's my responsibility to know where she is.” Anna frowned.
Her legal responsibility. Not because she cared. Or was truly concerned.

Anna scolded herself for her thoughts. Fran and Bob Clausen had been good to Jaye.

“Do you have any idea who she might be with?” the woman asked. “I'm afraid I'm at a loss.”

“I tell you what,” Anna offered, “I'll call around and see if I can locate her. I'll call you back.”

Ten minutes later, Anna had eliminated all the possibilities. She'd talked to Jennifer, Tiffany, Carol and
Sarah—Jaye's closest friends. None had seen her, not in school or after, a fact that deeply worried Anna.

“Did I tell you about the creep who was following me?”

At the memory, a flicker of panic burst to life inside her. Anna shook her head and dialed Fran in the hope that Jaye had returned. She had not and Anna filled the woman in on what she had learned and her plan to check out all Jaye's favorite hangouts.

“Did Jaye tell you she was followed home from school the other day?”

For a moment the other woman was silent. “No,” she said finally, “this is the first I'm hearing about it.”

“Jaye wasn't overly concerned but now—”

“Let's not jump to conclusions, Anna. She'll probably walk through the door any moment.”

Anna hoped so. After promising to keep in touch, she grabbed her purse and car keys and headed out.

At ten-thirty she gave up. Not because she was tired, but because she was flat out of ideas. She had tried the arcade and Rock ‘n Bowl, two CC's coffeehouses and even the library—all the places Jaye frequented either alone or with her friends. Nobody had seen her all day.
Fourteen hours.
Too long for a fifteen-year-old to be unaccounted for. Too much could happen to a teenage girl in that amount of time. Most of it bad.

Panicking in earnest now, Anna hung a left on Carrollton Avenue, heading toward the Clausens'. Surely Jaye had arrived home by now. Safe and sound, pouting because the Clausens had administered an appropriate punishment. Sure, Anna thought. Jaye had been in some sort of pique and decided to skip school. Maybe her friends had even been in on it and had been covering for her.

Though Jaye hadn't behaved in such an irresponsible fashion in a long while, it wasn't out of the realm of possibility. She was a teenager, after all.

Fran Clausen opened the door before Anna knocked. Her face fell. “You didn't find her, did you?”

Anna shook her head. “I'd hoped she would have shown up here by now.”

“She hasn't,” Bob Clausen said from the doorway to her right, his voice gruff. “And she won't either.”

Anna turned to face him. He was a big man, well over six feet, with rough, uneven features. “Excuse me?”

“She's run off.”

Anna made a sound of dismay and shifted her gaze to the other woman. “Fran, has something happened that I don't know about?”

The woman opened her mouth; her husband answered for her. “Surely you're not surprised? She's done it before.”

“But she's grown up so much since then. She's taken a long look at herself and what she wants out of life. She knows that running away isn't going to get it for her.”

Anna looked from the wife to the husband. “Did Fran tell you that a man followed Jaye home from school?”

He rolled his eyes. “That sounds like nonsense to me. If she had really been followed, she would have told us about it.”

“I didn't believe she had run away at first either,” Fran murmured. “But after you talked to her friends and learned she hadn't been to school…”

Bob Clausen snorted with disgust. “A cat can't change its spots. Once a self-absorbed, selfish little snot, always one.”

Anna stiffened, cheeks burning. “Jaye's neither self-absorbed nor selfish, thank you very much.”

“Bob didn't mean that.” The other woman wrung her hands. “But you didn't live with her, Anna. She was very strong-willed, oftentimes defiant. When she made up her mind about something, she did it, consequences be damned.”

Anna held on to her temper, but just barely. “You have the kind of childhood Jaye had, you sure as hell better be strong-willed. If you're not, you don't make it. Period.”

The Clausens exchanged glances. Bob opened his mouth to retort, then snapped it shut. Without a word, he turned on his heel and returned to the den and the television show he had been watching.

Fran watched him go, then turned back to Anna. “We'll call you if she shows up or…or if we hear anything.”

In other words, scram.
Anna decided she would do just that—after she did a little more digging. Something about this whole thing just didn't feel right to her. It didn't make sense.

“Would you mind if I took a peek at Jaye's room?” she asked.

“Her room?” Fran glanced toward the den, though Anna was uncertain if she was worried that her husband was listening or if she was looking for his moral support. “Why?”

“I guess I just want to…see for myself that she's gone.” She lowered her voice. “Please, Fran. It would really mean a lot to me.”

The other woman hesitated a moment, then relented. “All right. I suppose it won't hurt.”

Fran led the way, waiting outside in the hallway while Anna went into Jaye's room. Like so many teenagers'
private domains, this one looked like a small hurricane had struck.

Anna picked her way to the center of the room and stopped, emotion overwhelming her. It smelled like Jaye, like the light, girlish perfume she favored. Across the chair in the corner was the tangerine-colored sweater Jaye had worn the last time they'd gotten together, on her nightstand sat three empty Diet Coke cans and a stack of CDs. Anna crossed to them and flipped through the pile, a lump in her throat. Anna recognized several as Jaye's favorites. If she had run away, why hadn't she taken any of them? Jaye owned a portable CD player; she rarely went anywhere without it.

Anywhere but school. Personal CD players had been outlawed at the beginning of the term. Jaye had been incensed and had written an outraged letter to the school administration.

Anna glanced at the floor. There at the foot of the bed lay a library book, three bright-colored scrunchies, a candy-bar wrapper and the Dr. Marten shoes she'd used her own money to buy.

She loved those Docs. She had saved up four months to get them, gone without all luxuries, even the Mochasippis she claimed she couldn't live without.

Anna swallowed hard and moved her gaze over the room and its contents, searching for something that would convince and reassure her. Or an irrefutable something that would send her into a total panic.

She found it tucked under Jaye's mattress: a slim, tin box full of mementos. Jaye's mother's wedding ring. A photograph of her mother as well as a snapshot of the woman holding baby Jaye in her arms. Jaye's birth certificate and the two poems she had written last year
that had been published in her school's annual literary magazine.

A picture of the two of them, pink-cheeked and smiling, arms around each other's shoulders.

Anna picked the photo up, tears pricking the back of her eyes. She remembered the day this had been taken, remembered it clearly. It had been shortly after she and Jaye had really become friends, after the last of Jaye's walls had come tumbling down. The spring day had been beautiful, bright and sweet and kissed by the heat of the sun. They had gone to the zoo and spent the day laughing at the animals' randy springtime antics, eating junk food and simply enjoying each other's company.

Aching at the memory, Anna carefully laid the snapshot back in the box.
No way Jaye would have willingly left all these things behind. They represented everything about her past that she wanted to remember.

With the realization, fear speared through her. Real and icy cold.
If Jaye hadn't run away, where was she at ten-thirty on a school night?

Anna fitted the lid back onto the box, scooped it up and carried it out to where Fran Clausen waited. “Did you see this?” she asked the woman.

“That?” She looked at the box, her expression uneasy. “What is it?”

“Jaye's memento box.” Anna removed the lid and showed the woman the box's contents. “It was tucked under her mattress.”

Fran made a fluttery, nervous gesture. “So?”

“So, no way would Jaye have knowingly left these things behind. She didn't run away, Fran. Something's happened to her.”

The woman paled. “I find it hard to believe—”

“Did she have a bag with her this morning?”

“Just her book bag, but—”

“I didn't see any of her textbooks in her room. Why would she run away and take her textbooks but leave this? If she had planned to run away, wouldn't she have filled her book bag with the things she would need, clothes and shoes, her toothbrush, her mementos? Come on, Fran, she wouldn't run away with
nothing.
She wouldn't.”

“For God's sake!” Bob Clausen roared, stepping into the hallway. “Stop badgering my wife!”

Anna faced him, heart hammering. “I'm not trying to badger her. I just want her to see—”

“Accept the fact that Jaye's gone and leave us be.”

“Have you talked to Paula?” Anna asked, referring to Paula Perez, Jaye's social worker. “I think she needs to be told Jaye's—”

“We've already talked to her. She thinks Jaye's run away. In fact, she came to that conclusion before we did. If Jaye's not home by midnight, Paula's reporting her missing to the authorities.”

“But she didn't know about this,” Anna said, motioning to the box of keepsakes. “She couldn't have because you didn't even know.”

“Call and tell her. I don't give a flip.”

“Yes,” Anna said softly as he began to turn away. “It does seem as if you don't give a flip.”

Bob Clausen froze. He turned slowly to face her. “What did you say?”

Anna hiked up her chin, hiding how intimidated she felt. Bob was built like a mountain and right now he looked as if he would enjoy throttling her.

“You're Jaye's foster parents. I find it…odd that you're not more concerned about her.”

His face mottled. “How dare you waltz in here and lecture us! How dare you suggest—”