Ice Cold: A Rizzoli & Isles Novel

she’d tried to be spontaneous, to jump aboard and enjoy the ride, as Doug had urged her. And it had been her chance to put Daniel out of her mind and declare her independence. Convince herself that she was still her own woman.
    Her shoulder bag slipped off, sending her cell phone tumbling into the snow. She snatched it up, brushed away icy flakes, and checked the reception. Still zero bars. Useless piece of junk out here, she thought, and turned it off to conserve the battery. She wondered if Daniel had called. Would he become alarmed when she didn’t return any of his voice mails? Or would he think she was purposefully ignoring him? Would he simply wait for her to break the silence?
    If you wait too long, I could be dead
.
    Suddenly angry at Daniel, at Douglas, at the whole miserable, screwed-up day, she attacked the final drift and charged ahead like a bull through hip-deep snow. She staggered out of the drift and followed the others onto level ground, where they all halted to catch their breaths, gasping out frosty clouds. Snowflakes fluttered down like white moths and landed with soft
tick-ticks
.
    In the deepening gloom, two rows of identical houses stood dark and silent. All the buildings had the same sloping rooflines, the same attached garages, the same porches, even the same porch swings. Right down to the number of windows, the houses were eerily perfect clones of one another.
    “Hello?” Doug yelled. “Is anyone here?”
    His voice echoed back from the surrounding mountains and faded to silence.
    Arlo shouted: “We come in peace! And we bring credit cards!”
    “This isn’t funny,” said Elaine. “We could freeze to death.”
    “Nobody’s going to freeze to death,” said Doug. He stomped up the steps to the covered porch of the nearest house and banged on the door. He waited a few seconds and banged again. The only sound was the creak of the porch swing, its seat frosted with windblown snow.
    “Just break in,” said Elaine. “This is an emergency.”
    Doug turned the knob, and the door swung open. He glanced back at the others. “Let’s hope no one’s waiting in there with a shotgun.”
    Inside the house, it was no warmer. They stood shivering in the gloom, exhaling steam like five fire-breathing dragons. The last gray light of day was fading in the window.
    “Does anyone happen to have a flashlight?” asked Doug.
    “I think I do,” said Maura, hunting in her purse for the mini Maglite she always carried while on the job. “Damn it,” she muttered. “I just remembered I left it at home. I didn’t think I’d need it at a conference.”
    “Is there a light switch somewhere?”
    “Nothing on this wall,” said Elaine.
    “I can’t find any outlets at all,” said Arlo. “There’s nothing plugged in anywhere.” He paused. “You know what? I don’t think this place has any electricity.”
    For a moment they stood without speaking, too demoralized to say a word. They heard no clocks ticking, no refrigerators humming. Just the vacuum of dead space.
    The sudden clang of metal made Maura jump.
    “Sorry,” said Arlo, standing near the hearth. “I knocked over one of the fireplace tools.” He paused. “Hey, there are matches here.”
    They heard the
whick
of a match head being struck. In the flickering light of the flame they saw firewood stacked by the stone hearth. Then the match went out.
    “Let’s get a fire going,” said Doug.
    Maura remembered the newspaper she’d bought at the gas station and pulled it out of her purse. “You need some paper to get it started?”
    “No, there’s a pile right here.”
    In the darkness, they heard Doug rummage for kindling, crumpling newspapers. He struck another match and the paper caught fire.
    “Let there be light,” said Arlo.
    And there was. And heat, too, blessed waves of it as the kindling lit. Doug added two logs to the fire and they all moved close, savoring the heat and the cheery glow.
    They could see more of the room now. The furnishings were wood, plain and simply made. A large braided rug covered the wood floor near the hearth. The walls were bare, except for a framed poster of a man with coal-black eyes and a thick mane of dark hair, his gaze turned reverently toward the heavens.
    “There’s an oil lamp here,” said Doug. He lit the wick and smiled as the room brightened. “We’ve got light and we’ve got a nicepile of wood. If we just keep that fire going, it should start to get warm in here.”
    Maura