Bone Cold by Erica Spindler Page B

tightness around her mouth. He didn’t give her a chance to refuse. “Just think about it. Please. That’s all I ask.”
    Without another word, he turned and quickly left the shop.

13
    Thursday, January 18
8:45 a.m.
    F or Anna, the next twenty-four hours crawled by. She had found herself on edge, constantly looking over her shoulder, scanning the faces in the crowd, searching for the one that didn’t fit. She’d noticed each groan and creak of her old building, had heard each footfall in the hallway outside her door.
    Sleep had eluded her. She’d tossed and turned, remembering the past and worrying that somehow it had caught up with her. When she had managed to drift off, she’d awakened terrified, a scream and Timmy’s name on her lips. Timmy’s name, not Kurt’s.
    A fact she found odd and somehow more frightening.
    Anna was uncertain who she blamed more for her state of mind: Ben Walker for having found her so easily or Detective Malone for planting the seed of doubt about Minnie’s letters.
    She’d decided on a combination of the two but focused the majority of her irritation on Detective Malone.Because until him, she had taken Minnie’s letters at face value.
    Anna muttered an oath and stepped out of her morning shower. Damn Malone for making her jumpier than she already was. For scaring the life out of her yet being unwilling to do a thing to help. She shook her head. Minnie wasn’t some obsessed fan playing a sick game with her, she was a child. She thought like one; she wrote like one. And she needed Anna’s help.
    And help Anna would give her, NOPD or no NOPD.
    Anna checked the time, then dried off and dressed. She didn’t have to be in to The Perfect Rose until noon. That gave her three full hours to do a little investigative work of her own.
    She found her shoes, stepped into them and tied the laces. The night before, she had called the number Minnie had given in her first letter. A man had answered. That had been a disappointment. She had hoped to reach Minnie directly. Undaunted, she had taken a deep breath and asked for the girl.
    The man had been silent for a full fifteen seconds, then had hung up on her without saying a word. It was then that Anna had known for certain that Minnie needed her.
    In the hopes of the child answering, Anna had called back a half-dozen times, including twice this morning, but had gotten no answer. Today, she planned to drive across the lake to Mandeville—a bedroom community on the north shore of Lake Pontchartrain—to check out where Minnie lived. Once there, she would decide what to do next.
    An hour later she saw that there was little she wouldbe able to do with this address. It belonged not to a residence, but a mail and copy store.
    Anna double-checked the number, then went inside. She smiled at the man behind the counter and introduced herself. “I’m a writer and I’ve been corresponding with a fan. She claimed this as her return address.” Anna handed him an envelope. “I’ve responded so I know she’s received my letters, but now I wonder how that can be.”
    The man, who turned out to be the store owner, handed the envelope back, smiling. “Actually, one of the advantages of renting a mailbox from us instead of the post office is that you get a street address instead of a P.O. box number.”
    â€œYou’re saying, this person rents a box from you?”
    He smiled again. “That’s correct. You see, a street address suggests permanence. Permanence equals solvency. Commitment. Believe it or not, a street address helps when applying for a job or credit. There are other advantages to using our box service. For one, you can receive shipments from carriers who won’t deliver to a P.O. box, Federal Express for one. Also, we offer other features, like a forwarding service. For an additional charge, of course.”
    Obviously, this guy believed in his