Cold Death by Mary Stone (best e reader for android TXT) 📕

shut with my hip and headed out of the parking garage, with my hands in my pockets and whistling the tune of a favorite Queen song from my younger days.

Two uniformed officers passed me in front of the precinct, but I was no one to them. Just another person reporting a crime. I smiled and kept walking until I reached the street, taking a left on the sidewalk. Once the brick building that housed the precinct disappeared from view, the jacket came off. The medical-grade putty I’d inserted into my cheeks to create jowls was dislodged with a few hard pokes of my tongue.

Two blocks away, I spied the thrift store I’d scouted the day before. The large box labeled “Donations!” sat in the same spot beside the entrance, so I tossed the jacket inside without breaking stride.

The next block up, I pretended to cough, spitting the putty and dentures I’d used to alter the shape of my jaw into my hand. Regret slowed my pace as I approached the trash can, and my hand clenched around the tools. This new disguise hadn’t lasted as long as I’d hoped, but that couldn’t be helped.

My mind flashed back to the shocked expression on the detective’s face when he’d reached for his side, and his hand came away bloody, and my spirits soared. Short duration or not, the disguise had been worth every cent I’d paid, and then some.

Whistling once more, I tossed the putty and dentures into the bin and continued my stroll through the city, my footsteps lost in the rumble of car engines and tires that streaked up and down the streets. Exhaust mixed with Indian spices and another sweeter scent, perhaps chocolate, drifted past and I inhaled the heady ambrosia while soaking up the riot of colors that painted Charleston at night.

As I neared the next corner, a black and white patrol car cruised by, slower than the surrounding traffic. A shiver raced over my skin. Had they discovered the body so soon, and if so, were they searching for me?

Not that they’d find me. The average police officer’s intelligence didn’t come close to mine. A few cities even put a cap on the maximum IQ an aspiring cop was allowed to have to join the force, and the courts had upheld that decision. I supposed it made sense in an odd sort of way. Higher IQs led to independent thinking, which led to questioning authority. Like the military, the success of law enforcement relied in large part on group think.

That was one of the reasons why Ellie Kline had been such a breath of fresh air.

My hands curled into fists. Until she’d thwarted me, like all the rest.

Ahead, the patrol car stopped at the red light, so I turned down a side street and headed for the bustling open-air market one block over. Just because most officers couldn’t begin to match wits with me didn’t mean I should make their job easy for them. Within minutes, I’d merged with the crowd milling through the stalls, turning myself into just another shopper on a chilly winter night.

I feigned interest in a jewelry vendor’s gaudy silver and turquoise wares before moving along to the next booth.

“But I don’t want to shop anymore. I’m tired! I want to go home!”

A young boy, from the high-pitched voice.

Another youthful male voice piped up. “Me too! I’m bored. I wanna go home and play Minecraft!”

“Stop whining! This is the first time I’ve left the house at night in over a month. You two will survive if we stay another twenty minutes!”

I craned my head until I spotted the thin woman with her hands on her hips. She stood by a booth that advertised handcrafted bags and purses, glaring into the tear-streaked faces of two elementary-school-aged children. Based on their almost identical heights, the kids were no more than a year apart in age.

The temptation to scold the young mother that perhaps her children would be better behaved if she didn’t take them out shopping past their bedtimes was near unbearable, but sadly, I couldn’t risk the unwanted attention such a scene might generate.

Almost like she had a sixth sense, the woman glanced up and narrowed her eyes at me, as if warning me to mind my own business.

One of the boys started to cry while the other one sniffled. The whining reminded me of another boy I’d known many long years ago…

I stood with my head bowed in the headmaster’s office while his wife, Letitia Wiggins, prowled around me in a tight circle. I could practically feel the anger radiating off her, even though when I chanced a quick glimpse of her face, her expression gave little away. Another student would have been too distracted by the mounds of fiery red hair and those lush lips to notice the tiny signs of her rage, but not me.

Not when I knew her better than anyone.

A sniffle drew my attention toward the two boys standing shoulder to shoulder before the headmistress. Both of them were much younger than me. Only year-six students, while I was in year ten. The snot-nosed one’s shoulders trembled like he was one sniffle away from sobbing, unlike the sandy-haired boy next to him, who curled his fingers into fists and glared holes into the headmaster’s wife.

“Well, Mr. Kingsley? What do you suggest we do with these rule breakers? We can’t allow fighting to go unpunished, wouldn’t you agree?”

I did, although they hadn’t been fighting, not really. Along with most of the school, I’d witnessed the so-called battle in the cafeteria. The tough kid had been picking on the wimpy one by grabbing the milk and apple off his tray, the same way he did every day. The wimpy one’s whine had been the same as usual too. More of an annoyance than anything.

I licked my lips and searched for a clue in the beautiful face that, even after all the terrible things I’d watched her do, still made it difficult