Page 13 of Chilled
Not Alice. She had preferred being out and about indoors with her friends, shopping, bowling or playing games. Brenna always thought she should have been born a boy, but her father had never made her feel that way. “What can a boy do that you can’t?” he’d ask, and hand her a fishing pole and bait.
“You and your father were close?” Nick’s low tone broke through Brenna’s thoughts.
“Yeah.” The old ache settled against her chest. He’d been the main man in her life. The only man to understand her and accept her for who she was, not what she looked like.
“Must have been nice. My father was gone a lot while I was growing up.” He said it without emotion, as if he was stating a fact.
Brenna pictured a little boy sitting on the front porch with a fishing pole and no one to take him fishing. She had been very fortunate to have a father as supportive as hers, who had cared enough to teach her how to enjoy life’s simpler pleasures. The cold days spent on the lake with her father would be forever etched into her heart.
But Eagle Lake had changed.
“I had good memories of this place until today. Now I can’t get the image of Dr. Drummond’s body out of my mind.”
Nick nodded, staring out across the white landscape. “We’ll get him.”
“You bet we will.” Her fingers tightened around the steering wheel. “Let’s just hope we do before he kills again.”
“I’m afraid he already has,” Nick said. “Question is where’d he hide the bodies?”
The restof the drive back to town was accomplished in silence. Sun shone down on the snow and ice, forming a smooth glaze of moisture over the top. When darkness fell, the water would freeze and make a treacherous layer of black ice.
Nick stared out the window without absorbing the scenery. Instead, he combed through what little evidence they had so far and came up with nothing.
Brenna drove straight to Janine Drummond’s little cottage nestled among towering barren cottonwoods on East 32ndAvenue. Yellow crime-scene tape marked the exterior of the fifty-year-old white house with the forest green trim.
As soon as she shifted into park, Brenna climbed down from the Jeep and headed for the house on the east side of Dr. Drummond’s.
Behind her, Nick admired her no-nonsense pursuit of answers and the way her hips swayed as she picked her way across the slippery, wet driveway.
After knocking several times with no answer, Brenna turned to leave.
Nick touched her arm. “Wait.” He nodded toward the front window where a curtain twitched. “Sir,” he called out, “I’m Agent Nick Tarver with the FBI. Could we have a word with you about Dr. Drummond?” Nick pulled his credentials out of his pocket and held them high.
Brenna followed suit.
Several seconds passed before they heard the sound of a deadbolt being unlocked and the door cracked open.
An old man dressed in wool slacks and a gray sweater peeked through the opening. “We already gave our statement.”
Brenna stepped forward. “I’m Special Agent Brenna Jensen. We just want to ask a few questions,” she said softly, extending her hand. “Please, sir, we need more information.”
Nick was impressed with the gentle quality of Brenna’s voice. How different from the tough-as-nails cop back at the station. Whatever she was doing was working on the old man.
“Dean Helmke.” The man reached out and shook Brenna’s hand. “I don’t know what I can add to what we told the police department.”
“We’ll only take a few minutes of your time, sir.” Brenna smiled. “We want to understand the case.”
The man sighed. “You’ll have to talk to me. My wife’s lying down. All the excitement and worry are making her sick.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Brenna said softly.
“Come in.” The man held the door wide and waved them forward. “It’s still too cold to stand outside for long.”
“Thank you.” Brenna stomped her feet on the outside mat before she stepped through.
“Although, the way the sun’s been shining, won’t be long before the spring melt.” Mr. Helmke moved aside to make room for them. “Hope it doesn’t do it all at once. Sure don’t want a repeat of the flood of ninety-seven.”
“No, we don’t.” Brenna kicked off her boots and hung her jacket on a coat rack. Then she nudged Nick in the side, staring pointedly at his boots, before she padded in her stocking feet to the living room.
