Colder Than Ice Read Free Page A

I was a short while ago. Goodbye, David.”
    Mordecai lifted the gun, as the voices had been screaming at him to do for countless minutes now. It had come to him very clearly why the roadblocks would not be a problem tonight. It was because David wouldn’t be cowering in the back seat when Mordecai’s car was searched. David wasn’t going anywhere—nowhere on this plane, at least. He pointed the gun’s barrel at David’s head, and even as the man flinched and cried out, Mordecai calmly squeezed the trigger.
    David’s body collapsed downward like a building whenwell-placed demolition charges go off. He sank fast, landing in a heap at Mordecai’s feet.
    â€œI promised to free you from your prison, David. And now I have.”
    Mordecai left the blanket where it was, twisted around David’s body. It was wet, muddy now, and tainted with blood. He got back into the car, sliding the gun into the holder he had mounted under the driver’s seat, and drove away.
    It was time to find Lizzie. It was time to right the wrongs she had done, wash clean the sins she had committed—against him, against their daughter.
    Against God.

Chapter One
    Thursday
    E lizabeth Marcum was running again.
    She was always running, it seemed.
    One after the other, her powder-blue Nike cross trainers hit the winding road’s soft shoulder, her steps cushioned by a thick, fragrant carpet of leaves. She sucked in the aroma of them with every harsh breath she drew. Sugar maples lined the roadsides, arching overhead like a vivid circus canopy of scarlet and purple and pumpkin orange. It crossed her mind that she loved it here, but she brushed the thought aside. There were a hundred other small towns with country lanes and breathtaking foliage where she could be just as comfortable. Comfort wasn’t love. She could take Blackberry, Vermont, or leave it.
    She hit the three-mile mark just as she rounded the curve that brought the old Bickham place into view. The once statelyVictorian’s white paint was peeling. A few of the black shutters were crooked, others missing, like neglected teeth in an old man’s mouth. On the porch, Maude waved from her wicker rocking chair. Elizabeth slowed to a walk, her heart rate slowing naturally as she veered off the road and onto the overgrown flagstone path. She preferred it to the driveway, despite its cracks and weeds. The sidewalk started at the tilting signpost, with its weather-worn sign and fading letters—you could hardly make out “The Blackberry Inn” anymore—and wound its way to the porch, forking off in one spot to twist around the old house to what had once been a garden in the back.
    At the bottom of the porch steps, Beth leaned over, braced her hands on her knees and took a few breaths.
    â€œGettin’ older, girl,” Maude called. “You might better walk, like you used to.”
    Beth smiled. Every day, Maude began their morning visit with the same remarks. When Beth had first come here—God, had it really been a year ago?—she had started this ritual with a daily walk. It had scared the hell out of her to even leave her house, but that daily walk had been an act of defiance, a way of thumbing her nose at her own fears. It had evolved into a run.
    â€œI like to run, Maude. It makes me strong.”
    â€œAnd what does a thirty-five-year-old woman need with muscles, anyway?”
    Beth grinned and trotted up the steps. “Thirty-six. And I need ’em to fight off all my suitors.”
    Maude slapped her knee, chuckling to herself, and rose from the chair. “Tea is just off the burner. Still piping hot. You made good time this morning.” She leaned over the rickety tray table to pour from a china teapot into two matching cups.Antiques, white with pink rosebuds and gold edges. There was an old silver tray with a cover, and an empty hypodermic needle beside it.
    â€œGod, Maude, why don’t you get an