Ice Cold: A Rizzoli & Isles Novel

cost of repairing the roof, the drop-off in donations. It was a church budget meeting.
    “How is it out there?” he asked. Pleasant and neutral.
    “A lot colder than Boston. There’s already snow on the ground.”
    “It hasn’t stopped raining here.”
    “I’ll be landing Sunday night. Can you still pick me up at the airport?”
    “I’ll be there.”
    “And afterward? We can have a late supper at my house, if you’d like to stay the night.”
    A pause. “I’m not sure I can. Let me think about it.”
    It was almost the same answer she’d given Doug earlier that evening. And she remembered what he’d said.
Sometimes you just have to jump in and trust in the universe
.
    “Can I call you back Saturday?” he said. “I’ll know my schedule then.”
    “Okay. But if you can’t reach me, don’t worry. I may be out of cell phone range.”
    “Talk to you then.”
    There was no parting
I love you
, just a quiet goodbye and the conversation was over. The only intimacies they ever shared were behind closed doors. Every encounter was planned in advance, andafterward repeatedly analyzed.
Too much thinking
, Doug would have said. All that thinking hadn’t brought her happiness.
    She picked up the hotel phone and dialed the operator. “Can you connect me to the room of Douglas Comley, please?” she said.
    It took four rings for him to answer. “Hello?”
    “It’s me,” she said. “Does the invitation still stand?”

T HE ADVENTURE STARTED OFF WELL ENOUGH .
    Friday night, the fellow travelers met for drinks. When Maura walked into the hotel cocktail lounge, she found Doug and his party already seated at a table, waiting for her. Arlo Zielinski looked like someone who had eaten his way through the Michelin guidebook—chubby and balding, a man with a hearty appetite and just as hearty a laugh.
    “The more the merrier, I always say! And now we have an excuse to order
two
bottles of wine at dinner,” he said. “Stick with us, Maura, and I guarantee a good time, especially when Doug’s in charge.” He leaned in and whispered: “I can vouch for his moral character. I’ve done his taxes for years, and if anyone knows your most intimate secrets, it’s your accountant.”
    “What’re you two whispering about?” asked Doug.
    Arlo looked up innocently. “Just saying that the jury was
totally
rigged against you. They should never have convicted.”
    Maura burst out laughing. Yes, she liked this friend of Doug’s.
    But she wasn’t as sure about Elaine Salinger. Though the woman had sat smiling during the conversation, it was a tight smile. Everything about Elaine somehow seemed tight, from her skin-hugging black ski pants to her eerily unlined face. She was about Maura’s age and height, and model-thin, with a waistline to envy and the self-control to maintain it. While Doug, Maura, and Arlo split a bottle of wine, Elaine sipped only mineral water garnished with a slice of lime, and she virtuously shunned the bowl of nuts that Arlo was so enthusiastically digging in to. Maura could not see what these two had in common; she certainly could not imagine them dating.
    Doug’s daughter, Grace, was yet another puzzle. He had described his ex-wife as a beauty, and her fortunate genes had clearly been passed on to the daughter. At thirteen, Grace was already stunning, a leggy blonde with arching brows and crystalline blue eyes. But it was a remote beauty, cool and uninviting. The girl had contributed scarcely a word to the conversation. Instead she’d sat with her iPod earpieces stubbornly in place. Now she gave a dramatic sigh and uncurled her lanky body from the chair.
    “Dad, can I go back to my room now?”
    “Come on, sweetie, hang around,” urged Doug. “We can’t be all that boring.”
    “I’m tired.”
    “You’re only thirteen,” Arlo teased. “At your age, you should be raring to rock-and-roll with us.”
    “It’s not like you all need me here.”
    Doug frowned at her iPod, noticing it for the first time. “Turn that off, okay? Try joining the conversation.”
    The girl shot him a look of pure teenage disdain and slouched back in her chair.
    “… so I scoped out all the possible restaurants in the area, and there’s nothing worth stopping for,” Arlo said. He popped another handful of nuts into his mouth and wiped the salt from his pudgy hands. He took off his glasses and wiped them as well. “I think weshould just go straight to the lodge and eat lunch there. At least they