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

With Shane at her side, she ducked her head and hurried forward, anxiety a slow, steady drip down her spine. Soon. They had to find Kingsley soon, to possess a remote chance at preventing him from breaking yet another child.

A battered face beneath a shock of short, dark hair materialized behind Ellie’s eyes, and pressure lodged in her chest. The woman pitted against her all those years ago in Kingsley’s Die, Bitch! Die game hadn’t been so lucky.

Ellie would move heaven and earth to ensure that Bethany was.

The ringing in her pocket sliced through the memories of past traumas. Ellie stopped a few feet from the Explorer to dig her phone out and caught Jillian’s number flashing on the screen. “Hello?”

“Hey, it’s me. That podcaster from Far Ridge Boy’s Academy emailed back. He says he’s willing to meet, but he’s not local. He lives in Savannah.”

Ellie started to groan but stopped when an idea popped into her head. “I have a contact there. Maybe she can help.”

“A friend?”

Was friend the correct word to characterize her relationship with Charli Cross, the petite Savannah detective whose prim demeanor hid a cunning, possibly devious mind? Probably not, but now wasn’t the time to quibble over semantics. “Sure. Hey, don’t wait on me for dinner tonight. I’ll be working late.”

“Let me guess, a last-minute work trip to Savannah just came up? No worries, I’ll plan a dinner date with my furry friend tonight. She’s been complaining about our lack of couple time lately.”

Ellie smiled at Jillian’s reference to her goofy Labrador. “Good luck with that.”

“You’re just jealous because Sam has better table manners than you.”

“Whatever you do, don’t tell my mom you said that. She’ll start to wonder what I was doing during all those etiquette classes she forced me to take growing up.”

Jillian snickered. “I’m not even going to ask.” When she spoke again, her voice was soft. “But all joking aside, please, be careful.”

“I will.”

Ellie tapped her foot, waiting on a truck to roll by before stepping onto the crosswalk that led to the parking lot. Rows and rows of cars lined up along the asphalt, with the Explorer parked all the way in the back.

She nodded at the middle-aged couple who hurried past and avoided glancing left at the parking garage that towered five levels up. It would have been a shorter walk to park inside the looming structure, but when Shane had signaled to enter it earlier, she’d panicked and barked at him to use the lot.

The visions of Fortis’s slumped, motionless body threatened to swamp her again, but she shook them off and dialed Charli Cross’s number. Forward, not back. That was the only way to push through this.

The Savannah detective answered on the second ring.

“Detective Cross speaking.”

“Hi, Detective Cross, it’s Ellie Kline from the Charleston PD. I’m headed to your neck of the woods soon to interview a witness, and I was wondering if you might have any information on him already that you could share.”

“It’s Charli, and sure. Give me a name, and I’ll tell you if it rings a bell.”

“He’s a true-crime podcaster, goes by Hank Crawford. First name Nickolas.”

A long pause followed, and the hesitation caused Ellie’s skin to buzz. Charli Cross was nothing if not direct, so the detective’s uncertainty told Ellie that Crawford’s name wasn’t new.

Charli confirmed Ellie’s conclusion a moment later. “Yeah, I know him. Mr. Crawford isn’t especially popular around these parts. His podcast leans pretty hard into victims’ rights, which means he can be a real thorn in our side when it comes to pushing for more resources and effort on cases with no leads.”

Ellie frowned. “That doesn’t necessarily sound like a bad thing. Cold case victims deserve as much effort as anyone else.”

“No argument from me there, but it’s more the way Crawford goes about pushing for those rights that ruffles feathers. He considers himself to be an investigative journalist, and I think his past traumas and enthusiasm can sometimes get the best of him.”

“So, what you’re saying is, he’s another crackpot turned armchair sleuth who sticks his nose where it doesn’t belong and gets in the way of investigations?”

“A succinct yet accurate assessment, yes.”

Laughing at Charli’s droll delivery, Ellie stopped next to the Explorer. “Thanks. I think. Anyway, it’s looking like Crawford might have some information on Kingsley, so annoying or not, I need to have a sit down with him.”

“Mind if I join you?”

Ellie lifted her eyebrows at her bodyguard, who nodded and opened the passenger door. “Please do. When it comes to Kingsley, two heads are definitely better than one. See you there in an hour and a half or so?”

“Yup.”

Charli hung up before saying goodbye, a fact that somehow didn’t surprise her.

Shane walked around the SUV and settled his burly body behind the wheel. “I take it we’re headed to Savannah?”

“You take it right.”

14

On the street leading into the trailer park, Southern live oaks reached across the road with gnarled branches, the Spanish moss dripping down and whispering over the car like phantom fingers. Combined with the dreary gray sky overhead, the overall effect was eerie. Almost like they were driving straight onto the set of a horror movie.

Not the most auspicious start to this excursion. “Let me guess, this is the part where you tell me the trailer park was built on ancient burial grounds full of angry spirits.”

Charli Cross didn’t take her eyes off the road. “Believe it or not, this trailer park hasn’t had much in the way of crime, apart from a few drug busts and domestics. They rank lower than average on crime statistics here, despite the fact that the median income is thirty percent below average for the area.”

Ellie raised a brow. “I’m impressed. Did you know those stats off the top of your head, or did you look them up after I called?”

“We’re detectives. Shouldn’t we know the numbers that are relevant to our jobs?”

The matter-of-fact tone convinced Ellie that the detective