Page 41 of Her Frozen Heart

“Ugh, that old bat needs to retire.”

Emmanuel nodded. “Why are you here?”

“I skipped the first two periods.” She shrugged. “Freaking gym and English. Big deal. But I’m sure Valerie will ground my ass again.”

“Valerie?”

“My mom.”

Emmanuel found that interesting. As much as his mother drove him crazy, he’d never think of calling her by her first name. His father or Grandpa Nelson would slap him across the face if he did. “Why did you skip?”

The girl shrugged again. “Gym sucks, for one. And my ex-boyfriend makes English class miserable.”

“You just stayed at home?”

“Of course not,” she said. “I got on the bus, and then I snuck off campus before the last bell rang. It’s not hard.”

Until they called around looking for her, Emmanuel thought. “Where’d you go?”

“I walked a couple of miles down the road to a coffee shop.” She twisted a lock of hair around her finger. “I wrote a note from my mom, too, but the principal didn’t buy it. Oh God, speaking of Valerie…”

A woman in beige slacks and a purple shirt stormed into the main office. Her hair wasn’t as long as her daughter’s, but they looked almost exactly alike.

Valerie glared down at her daughter. “Car. Now.”

The girl rolled her eyes and slowly stood, stretching her arms over her head. Emmanuel stared at the sliver of soft, creamy skin on her belly.

“Nicole.”

“I’m coming, Valerie,” she mocked, grinning down at Emmanuel. “Good luck in there.”

She sauntered past her mother, who launched into a rant about disrespect. The girl—Nicole—seemed totally unbothered by her mother’s anger. She probably didn’t have to worry about getting her ass beat at home.

“Manny.” The principal stood in his open doorway. “Let’s go.”

He scowled at the childish name. The nickname had died along with his sister three years ago. Emmanuel walked slowly, dragging his feet. He sat down in the chair that was still warm from Nicole sitting in it.

Principal Gustafson studied him, the dislike scrawled across his face. “You want to tell me why you’re drawing these revolting images of nude people?”

“Nude drawings are a kind of art,” Emmanuel said.

“Not when they depict grotesque and violating acts,” Gustafson snapped. “You need to see a psychologist, Emmanuel—a real one, not a school counselor.”

“What if I don’t want to?” Emmanuel demanded, knowing full well his family didn’t have the money and wouldn’t spend it on him if they did.

“Then I won’t be surprised if you’re in prison by the time you’re an adult.” He held Emmanuel’s red notebook up. “These drawings are not normal. You need to get help before it’s too late and you do something you can’t take back, boy.”

Emmanuel smiled. Principal Gustafson was so stupid.

FOURTEEN

Miller had convinced the DNR to close the entire reserve for the next couple of days so the victims buried in the clearing could be recovered without the prying eyes of nosy onlookers and media. The sheriff had placed deputies on the road and trail bordering the reserve in case someone tried to get a better look while the DNR manned the entrances to the lake.

Nikki put a couple of bottles of water and granola bars into her backpack, along with extra gloves and a flashlight. The wool winter hat made her scalp itch, but it was the warmest one Nikki had. She started down the path into the trees, her flashlight on the highest setting.

With the moon hidden behind a heavy cloud layer, the woods looked much darker and dense, but once Nikki got past the thatch of full pines that bordered the woods, the yellow light from the clearing glowed in the naked trees like a campfire.

The light did nothing to ease her sense of dread. How many victims would they find? Would Blanchard be able to establish any timeframe for their deaths or burial? Would the remains tell them anything other than confirming that a serial killer was operating in close-knit Washington County?

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