Freezing Point Read Free Page B

through each one as they passed.
    â€œWhat exactly does Helms Ice and Trucking do? Well, besides create ice sculptures,” she asked.
    Jesse chuckled. “The ice division of the company makes and delivers ice, including dry ice, all over Southern California. The trucking side delivers frozen goods via refrigerated semis.”
    â€œAnd which division do ice sculptures fall under?”
    â€œI’m on the ice side, or rather, a small catering side. The competition I’ve been asked to enter is part of the company’s efforts to grow that part of the business. It’s good publicity.”
    â€œIs there more than one ice sculptor, then? Surely, you can’t do all this alone.”
    â€œI have an assistant. Someone who works with me. I suppose if the demand for ice sculptures grows, we’d have to hire more, yes.”
    Casey found herself relaxing a little. He was easy to talk to. This was starting to feel more like the interview she’d wanted. He opened another door for her, and Casey walked into the reception area.
    He followed her then leaned against the tall reception counter. The brunette receptionist who’d been there earlier was now gone.
    â€œWell, I guess this is it, then,” Casey said, feeling a little awkward, though she wasn’t sure why. Too bad she couldn’t interview him right now. Would the promise of an interview be good enough for her editor, Danny?
    â€œFor now.” Jesse smiled, but the walls he’d momentarily dropped were up again. “Here’s my card. Call me in a couple of days and I’ll meet you here.”
    She wanted to watch him walk away, but it appeared he was intent on seeing her leave the premises. Again, she got the sense he wanted her gone—and fast.
    Casey gave a little wave then exited the door.
    Once in the parking lot, she hurried to her car and clambered in. She tossed her bag on the passenger seat and all the stuff inside—paper, gum wrappers and even her wallet—spilled onto the floorboard.
    Casey couldn’t reach her new TracFone, which had slid to the floor on the other side of the seat, just out of reach.
    Of course.
    She got out of the car and walked around to the other side, opened the door and shuffled through the junk to get her cell.
    After she scraped everything except her phone back into her bag, she shoved the length of her hair behind her shoulder and climbed back into the driver’s side.
    She skimmed the contacts listed.
    But why? Force of habit, she supposed. Since fleeing Oregon, everything about her life had changed. She’d better get used to it.
    Who was she going to call? Not Eddie Morris, her editor in Oregon who’d sent her away on a leave of absence until Will Tannin gave up on destroying her, taking the newspaper with him. What would she tell him? She had stumbled upon a possible exposé but she wasn’t about to tackle it?
    Maybe she should call Danny Garcia, the editor who’d promised to hire her if she could get this story about the ice sculptor. No. She’d savor her almost-job contingent on her almost-interview for a while.
    Meg. Her best friend expected a weekly update. But Meg could wait.
    Casey needed to catch her breath. Gather her thoughts. She rested her head against the seat to take a calming breath. Could it actually have been a week ago that she’d driven all the way from Oregon to a little town on the outskirts of San Diego in order to hide?
    Or “fall off the grid,” as Eddie had put it.
    Once settled in Aunt Leann’s home, she’d marched right into the office of the Orange Crossings Times to ask for a job. As it turned out, the editor was in the midst of chewing out one of his reporters because he’d not been able to breach the gatekeeper at Helms Ice and Trucking Company. With the ice-sculpture competition approaching next week, he needed a story.
    All Casey had to do was tell him she could get the story because her