Cold Sanctuary (John Decker Series Book 2) by Anthony M. Strong Page A
Authors: Anthony M. Strong
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It’s not safe,” Mina said in a quiet voice. “Later.”
“Fine. When and where?” Decker asked.
“Meet me in the lobby at midnight and I’ll take you there.” She turned back toward the stairs. “Wear something warm and bring a flashlight.”
“Alright.” Decker was itching to press her for more information, but he also wanted to make his escape from the stairwell before they were discovered. “Midnight it is. Until then we should keep a low profile. We don’t want the good sheriff to get suspicious.”
21
Mina Parkinson hurried back to her apartment on Floor 5. She felt a tingle of excitement, a feeling she hadn’t experienced for a long time. She was only nineteen, but at times she felt closer to sixty. That was what the town of Shackleton would do if you let it. It sucked the life from you, fed on you until you were nothing more than a dried up husk. But that wasn’t the only reason for her recent lack of enthusiasm. Since her mother died she had come to realize that there were more important things in life than fun, like keeping a roof over her head, paying bills, buying groceries. The meager amount of money in her mother’s bank account hadn’t made it past the first three months and then things got bad, real bad, especially since writing for the newspaper wasn’t a paying gig.
Before she died, her mother held down a job in the town library, which paid just enough to put food on the table, pay the rent, and keep the lights on, but not much else. Now that her mother was gone, Mina needed a paying job. Desperate, she took part time work in the only place that was hiring, Harbor Pacific Seafoods, a warehouse on the edge of town that gutted and cleaned whatever the local fisherman brought in, and sold it to a plant in Anchorage to be turned into pre-packaged frozen seafood. It was a nasty job, but it paid enough cash to keep her going.
When she arrived back at her apartment, Mina grabbed a bottle of water from the refrigerator and went into the living room.
When she entered, however, she stopped, alarmed. Something didn’t feel right. She glanced around the room and could not see anything amiss, yet the room felt different. It was then, as her eyes settled on the stack of books, that she realized what was wrong.
The books had been moved.
It looked like they had been knocked over and then piled back up, only now they were in the wrong order. The book she was reading, which had been on top, was now three volumes down.
She stopped, nervous, her eyes darting around the room to see if anything else was disturbed, but it all looked just as she had left it.
Maybe she was imagining things.
Or maybe Decker had browsed through them when he was there and she hadn’t noticed.
She decided that must be it. What other explanation could there be? She turned and headed toward the couch, book in hand. As she did so, there was a sound, almost imperceptible, from the other side of the room.
It sounded like a light footfall.
She spun around, her heart thudding in her chest. But the room was empty. No one was there.
She breathed a sigh of relief, and was about to chalk the whole thing up to her overactive imagination, when she noticed the front door, which she was sure she had closed.
Now it was open, just a crack.
A shiver of fear ran up her spine.
Was there someone in the apartment when she got home, someone who was looking through her stuff? Were they still there, hiding, watching her as she entered, waiting for an opportunity to slip out unnoticed?
She hurried across the room and pushed the door closed, then drew the deadbolt and put the chain on. She leaned against the back of the door, and surveyed the apartment.
Suddenly she didn’t feel excited anymore.
Instead she was uneasy, on edge.
In all the years she had lived in Shackleton, she’d never felt unsafe, but right now she did. It was too much of a coincidence that this happened when she got involved with
“Fine. When and where?” Decker asked.
“Meet me in the lobby at midnight and I’ll take you there.” She turned back toward the stairs. “Wear something warm and bring a flashlight.”
“Alright.” Decker was itching to press her for more information, but he also wanted to make his escape from the stairwell before they were discovered. “Midnight it is. Until then we should keep a low profile. We don’t want the good sheriff to get suspicious.”
21
Mina Parkinson hurried back to her apartment on Floor 5. She felt a tingle of excitement, a feeling she hadn’t experienced for a long time. She was only nineteen, but at times she felt closer to sixty. That was what the town of Shackleton would do if you let it. It sucked the life from you, fed on you until you were nothing more than a dried up husk. But that wasn’t the only reason for her recent lack of enthusiasm. Since her mother died she had come to realize that there were more important things in life than fun, like keeping a roof over her head, paying bills, buying groceries. The meager amount of money in her mother’s bank account hadn’t made it past the first three months and then things got bad, real bad, especially since writing for the newspaper wasn’t a paying gig.
Before she died, her mother held down a job in the town library, which paid just enough to put food on the table, pay the rent, and keep the lights on, but not much else. Now that her mother was gone, Mina needed a paying job. Desperate, she took part time work in the only place that was hiring, Harbor Pacific Seafoods, a warehouse on the edge of town that gutted and cleaned whatever the local fisherman brought in, and sold it to a plant in Anchorage to be turned into pre-packaged frozen seafood. It was a nasty job, but it paid enough cash to keep her going.
When she arrived back at her apartment, Mina grabbed a bottle of water from the refrigerator and went into the living room.
When she entered, however, she stopped, alarmed. Something didn’t feel right. She glanced around the room and could not see anything amiss, yet the room felt different. It was then, as her eyes settled on the stack of books, that she realized what was wrong.
The books had been moved.
It looked like they had been knocked over and then piled back up, only now they were in the wrong order. The book she was reading, which had been on top, was now three volumes down.
She stopped, nervous, her eyes darting around the room to see if anything else was disturbed, but it all looked just as she had left it.
Maybe she was imagining things.
Or maybe Decker had browsed through them when he was there and she hadn’t noticed.
She decided that must be it. What other explanation could there be? She turned and headed toward the couch, book in hand. As she did so, there was a sound, almost imperceptible, from the other side of the room.
It sounded like a light footfall.
She spun around, her heart thudding in her chest. But the room was empty. No one was there.
She breathed a sigh of relief, and was about to chalk the whole thing up to her overactive imagination, when she noticed the front door, which she was sure she had closed.
Now it was open, just a crack.
A shiver of fear ran up her spine.
Was there someone in the apartment when she got home, someone who was looking through her stuff? Were they still there, hiding, watching her as she entered, waiting for an opportunity to slip out unnoticed?
She hurried across the room and pushed the door closed, then drew the deadbolt and put the chain on. She leaned against the back of the door, and surveyed the apartment.
Suddenly she didn’t feel excited anymore.
Instead she was uneasy, on edge.
In all the years she had lived in Shackleton, she’d never felt unsafe, but right now she did. It was too much of a coincidence that this happened when she got involved with
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