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

of mirrored aviator-style glasses and a pink knit beanie. She paid for the purchases with a one-hundred-dollar bill she found tucked into the wallet.

Less than five minutes later, Katarina hustled out the sliding glass doors, confident she was unrecognizable to the casual eye as the psych patient from the sixth floor. Especially not when she was wearing a pair of pink “New Mommy” sweatpants.

The winter sun warmed her skin, and she paused for a moment to tilt her head back and drink in the natural light and fresh air.

Freedom at last.

Seconds later, she was moving again, losing herself among the other pedestrians and putting distance between her and the hospital.

Now it was time to rescue her daughter.

21

The older woman headed down the sidewalk toward Chez La La’s black and white awning with the high chin and confident strides of someone accustomed to commanding attention. The rose-pink shade of her elegant pantsuit accentuated both a slender waist and taut, unlined skin that Ellie would bet money was thanks to regular Botox injections.

She checked her watch. 10:26. Letitia Wiggins had arrived right on time for her hair appointment.

No surprise there. Hank Crawford’s podcasts and articles, which Ellie had spent all last night poring over in her hotel room, had suggested as much. According to Hank, Letitia cared about appearances—physical and reputational—more than anything else. Ellie had been expecting an immaculately groomed and dressed woman, and so far, the former headmaster’s wife didn’t disappoint.

The morning sun glinted off Letitia’s hair, turning the platinum strands a brilliant shade of white gold. In older photos, her hair had been coppery, more like Ellie’s own, but blonde was much better at hiding gray. If Ellie didn’t know better, she’d guess the woman’s age a decade or two younger than her sixty-some-odd years.

A façade that Letitia obviously invested impressive amounts of money into maintaining.

From the passenger side of the SUV, Ellie tracked the woman’s progress down the sidewalk a little longer, hopping out when Letitia was still about ten feet short of reaching the salon. She’d already argued with Shane about her safety, which was why he was standing over by the salon, pretending to play with his phone.

She took two steps and cupped her hands to her mouth. “Aunt Letitia!”

The woman’s shoulders stiffened. She turned, and Ellie waved and flashed her badge.

“I’m Detective Kline, and I need a few minutes of your time.”

Letitia Wiggins’s forehead remained smooth and unflustered at the announcement. Ellie couldn’t tell if that was because she had ice water in her veins or her aesthetician had gone a little overboard with the anti-wrinkle treatments.

The tap of the woman’s silver kitten-heeled shoe against the pavement displayed her impatience, though. “I’m afraid that won’t be possible. I have an appointment, and besides, unless I’m under arrest, I have no legal obligation to speak to you.”

Ellie strolled forward with an easy shrug. “You’re right. Go ahead inside. I can’t stop you. I was trying to spare you the embarrassment of asking questions about the Far Ridge Boy’s Academy as well as your husband Walter and Lawrence Kingsley in front of all the stylists, but you do you.”

When Ellie first started speaking, Letitia was reaching for the door, but that last name made her hand fall to her side. She sighed before pivoting to face Ellie with her arms crossed over her chest.

Those icy blue eyes traveled over Ellie’s outfit, hair, face, inspecting and dismissing her as unworthy in less than five seconds. Her toe resumed its rhythmic tap.

None of her antics fazed Ellie in the least. She’d attended hundreds of dinner parties with women far more imperious than Letitia Wiggins and had always managed to stand her ground during interactions ranging from disinterested to snobby to downright rude. Without fail, all those individuals suffered from the same mistaken belief that their lives were oh-so-important compared to others’ and loathed having anyone waste their valuable time.

When Letitia cast a pointed glare at the diamond-encrusted watch on her wrist, Ellie lifted the white takeout cup to her lips and pretended to savor a sip of old coffee. She made Letitia wait through two more sips, the other woman’s seething annoyance over her unhurried pace worth every cold, bitter drop. “I’m looking for information that might help lead us to Kingsley’s whereabouts.”

No change in Letitia’s expression, but the silver shoe stopped moving. The woman cast a furtive glance at the sidewalk, as if worried someone might overhear. “My boarding school days ended long ago, Detective. I haven’t been in contact with Mr. Kingsley for many years now.”

“I find that surprising, Ms. Wiggins. I was under the impression that the two of you were…very close once.”

Her lips flattened, and her green-gold eyes turned glacial. “I take it you’ve been listening to that boy.”

Ellie leaned her shoulders against the decorative streetlamp and crossed her ankles. “I’m sorry, I’m not allowed to discuss my sources outside of the department. I’d be curious to know which boy you’re referring to, though.” Setting her cup down on a nearby bench, she fished a small, unused notebook and pen from her blazer pocket and flipped open to the first page.

Letitia’s uneasy gaze remained on the notebook a beat too long. “You coming here and harassing me like this is a form of abuse. I was a victim of my husband’s horrifying behavior. Scared half to death. Did you know I was pregnant at the time all that nonsense happened?”

The quivering lower lip was a nice touch. Ellie pretended to buy the story, projecting sympathy into her voice. “I imagine that was a very difficult situation for you.”

Letitia nodded, blinking in rapid succession. “It was.”

“So, how is your child doing these days? Well, I hope.”

The woman hitched her shoulders up and looked down her nose. “I’m afraid I wouldn’t know because I gave her up for adoption. After that ordeal, I could hardly be expected to keep the child now, could I?”

Her arrogant bearing and calculated delivery tugged at Ellie’s memory.

Kingsley. This woman held