Page 58 of The Ice Sisters

More questions pummeled Ellie. “If Barbara decided she wanted the girls back, she might have tried to take them.”

“If she did, why kill them?”

“Good point.” Derrick tapped his fingers on his computer. “So who would?”

Ellie swerved to avoid a deer crossing the street. “Tell me more about Claire’s husband.”

“Husband’s name is Joel. He’s a phlebotomist with Coal Mountain Hospital.”

She rounded a curve and spotted the couple’s house atop a hill, pine trees swaying in the wind. The sharp turrets of the Victorian and the tiny attic window reminded Ellie of a haunted house. For a brief second, she thought she saw a figure, just a shadowy silhouette, staring out at them. But she blinked and it was gone.

The Jeep chugged up the drive, gravel and slush spewing. Ellie scanned the property, noting a mini-van parked beneatha detached garage. The lights were off inside the house, gray clouds above adding to the ominous feel.

She pulled the Jeep to the side of the garage.

Moving on, she and Derrick followed the path to the front door. The stairs to the porch creaked as they climbed them, and Ellie knocked on the door. They waited several seconds then she banged the door knocker and called out, “Police, please open up.”

Derrick stepped to the right and peered through the window. “I don’t see anyone inside.”

Ellie jiggled the door and it swung open. Although she and Derrick proceeded with caution, her boots sounded on the dark wood floor and somewhere in the house she heard a noise as if a shutter had come loose and was flapping back and forth.

The sound of a clock ticking punctuated the air which smelled like furniture polish and… bleach.

The kind of strong chemical smell that permeated a room after a crime scene clean-up.

SIXTY-EIGHT

KNOTTY PINE HILL

Claire tried to get away from him, but he wrapped his arm around her neck, choking her.

The sound of footsteps pounding the first floor above made her freeze.

“Police,” a woman called. “Are you here, Claire?”

“Yes,” she cried, although as he squeezed her neck, her voice died in her throat.

She struggled to loosen his grip on her, but he dug his fingers deeper into her throat, cutting off any sound.

His menacing voice filled her ears. “Make one sound and I’ll snap your neck.”

Tears blurred her eyes and panic seized her, but she forced herself to go still.

“No one’s going to help you, Claire. Joel is dead and you’re mine now.”

A scream lodged in her throat. Her body shook with silent sobs. Sobs of sorrow for the twins. For Joel. Sobs of fear for herself and what he’d planned for the others.

They hadn’t meant to hurt anyone. It was a case of women bonding over shared losses and dreams. Of lifting up other women. Supporting them. Turning friends into family.

The footsteps grew louder. The police were here which meant they might have found her daughters.

Grief engulfed her. But she didn’t dare move. Instead, he kept his hold on her, taunted her by drawing lines down her neck with the knife, scratching the surface until blood trickled down her throat.

Seconds rolled into minutes. The footsteps continued upstairs. Doors slammed. A piece of furniture was being moved, scraping across the floor.

What were they doing?

Then it hit her. Searching the place.

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