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

her, not the donor who hadn’t bothered to show up to their meeting on time. After a round through the entire second floor without a sign of him, Helen decided enough was enough.

Her nails drummed an annoyed beat on her forearm as the elevator descended to the first floor. Chin high, she marched past the museum store and stopped at the Visitor’s Service desk.

The pretty young clerk smiled a greeting. “Hi, Mrs. Kline. Is there something I can help you with?”

Helen returned the smile despite her irritation. When she was a little girl, her mother had taught her that there was no excuse for bad manners. “Greta, would you be so kind as to contact me immediately if a Mr. Ray comes looking for me?”

“Of course, Mrs. Kline.”

“Thank you, I appreciate it.”

When she exited the museum into the dreary day and descended the first three steps, her mind had already moved past the missed meeting and onto planning out the remainder of the afternoon’s activities. No sense dwelling on events over which she had no control. Like her grandpappy always said, that was a recipe for unhappiness and a broken ticker.

There was always a positive to every negative if one searched hard enough. Like now, for example. Suddenly, she had ample time to fit in some shopping before the one o’clock lunch date with Eleanor. And if her daughter canceled at the last possible minute, as she was wont to do? Helen shrugged her slim shoulders. Well, more shopping time for her.

She descended the last two steps and headed for the parking lot at a brisk pace. This afternoon, she had phone calls to make about two fundraisers scheduled for later in the month to ensure the events were proceeding without a hitch. Early evening was dedicated to dinner with her husband, of course, followed by a warm bath and a few chapters of the current romance novel she was reading.

The sun peeped out from behind the cloud cover, warming her cheeks as her heels clicked across the pavement to the parking area. All in all, a good day beckoned. With or without Mr. Ray’s donation.

Her Mercedes was in sight when the child’s cry reached her ears. Helen ignored the caterwauling at first. Museums weren’t most children’s first choice of entertainment options, and Helen could scarcely recall a visit that hadn’t included one sobbing preschooler or another.

When the volume climbed higher, though, Helen’s confident stride faltered. With four children under her belt, she prided herself in being rather adept at distinguishing phony, attention seeking cries from sobs of genuine distress.

The child cried out again, and the shrill wail sent a chill feathering down Helen’s spine. She paused, scanning the grounds for the source. No small, shivering bodies jumped out at her until her gaze swept along the deserted alley that led to a catering entrance on the side of the building. There, huddling in the building’s shadow, was a petite figure. Almost certainly a child based on the height and slim build.

After a quick glance of the surrounding area didn’t produce any other adults, Helen took a hesitant step toward the alley. “Hello? Do you need some help?”

As Helen’s voice echoed off the concrete, the girl’s head whipped in her direction before she went rabbit-still. She whimpered and scrambled two steps back, as if even more terrified now.

Good going, Helen. You all but frightened the poor dear away.

Helen sighed and continued down the alley in the girl’s direction. The waif held her ground this time as Helen approached the deserted area near the wall. As she drew closer, she clucked her tongue in growing concern.

The girl’s pasty skin stretched taut over spiny cheekbones, like she hadn’t eaten a good meal in weeks, and her eyes were so shadowed that they almost appeared bruised. Helen’s maternal instincts clicked into overdrive. She knelt on the pavement to make herself less intimidating.

“You poor, poor thing. Are you okay? Are you lost?” No response, so she tried again. “Where’s your mommy or daddy?”

Helen extended her hand to the urchin, who hesitated, staring at her with wide, cautious eyes before placing her small hand in Helen’s palm. Something about the elfin face framed by lank blonde hair tugged at her memory. Where had she seen those delicate features before?

“Are you here with your class from school?” Helen recalled the frazzled teacher leading the small army of kids. If this girl was part of that group, Helen wanted to have a word with the principal to see how to go about donating food and supplies to needy students. This child appeared so frail that a light breeze might pick her up and blow her away.

Helen frowned when she recalled the students in that group wearing matching orange shirts. Not part of the school trip, then.

The girl tugged at Helen’s hand. “My papa fell and needs assistance, please.”

Alarm bells surfaced in Helen’s head. The girl’s intonation was stilted, almost robotic, as if the line had been fed to her and rehearsed. And she voiced the request without urgency. More like she was being forced to carry out an unpleasant chore than seeking emergency aid for her injured father.

The clouds blotted out the sun, and another chill swept across her skin. Something was very, very wrong.

Helen checked her surroundings again but didn’t notice anything odd. Still, the little voice in her head kept insisting that she hurry back to the car. “Sweetie, what’s going on here? Don’t be afraid. I won’t hurt you.”

The girl stroked her left arm, inadvertently drawing Helen’s eyes to the dark bruises marring the fair skin. A quick scan revealed similar marks on the opposite side.

Helen’s eyes narrowed as her worry gave way to anger. Hurting a child was despicable behavior. Whoever did this had better believe she’d unleash some choice words on them if they dared to show their cowardly face. “Poor baby, who did this to you?”

Helen lifted her gaze back to the gamine face, and this time, recognition hit. She inhaled