“I want to solve this case!” Oscar growled as dispatch crackled to life on the radio at his shoulder.
“Sheriff?” came a man’s voice. “You there, Sheriff?”
“Ten-four,” Oscar growled into his radio.
“It’s Deputy Martinez, sir. We found Allen Gordon.”
“Good. Hold him for questioning.”
“Uh…” Hector paused on the other end of the line. “There won’t be any questioning. Allen Gordon’s dead.”
Allen Gordon was indeed dead, his rotund body in the fetal position in the walk-in freezer of Gordon’s Frozen Custard, his blue eyes turned milky, not focusing on anything. His almost entirely bald head reflected the fluorescent light above, which cast shadows along the pock-mocked acne scars on his cheeks. The CEO of Gordon’s Frozen Custard wore a crisp white collared shirt and red fleece vest with the Gordon’s Frozen Custard logo: a blond girl with blond pigtails, grinning from ear to ear and holding a spoon. A small dot of blood on his neck meant something. Syringe, maybe?
The man wasn’t frozen yet, so he couldn’t have been in the freezer that long, but someone had disabled the interior release lock. He was surrounded by pints and pints of his listeria custard. And right near his body was a lemon—a proper one with a stem and leaf.
“That lemon—with the stem and leaf—is a Sorrento, and it matches the one found at the first crime scene,” I told Oscar at the freezer door. “That matches previous Canceled Killer crime scenes.”
Oscar and his deputy whirled and when he saw me, his eyes widened in rage.
“What the hell are you doing in here?” he growled at me. “Itoldyou to wait in the car.” He saw Jude hovering behind me, and his nostrils flared. He grabbed my arm and walked me to the open door. The only reason I let him do this was because my fingers were numb, and they weren’t doing my bidding.
“Jude, take her home.”
“But, I don’t want—”
“Now!” Oscar shouted and gave me a shove out to the sidewalk.
“Hey, El, let’s go.” Jude offered his hand, just like he did when he had lain flat on the ice when I was seven and tugged me out of the water with the help of his scarf.
I couldn’t believe I didn’t remember him there, but I’d been so young then. Jude led me out of Gordon’s, my Converse so wet, they squished like an old dish sponge when I walked.
I shivered in the cold, or maybe because Lake Sanguis had another dead body, and I might be the third. I didn’t want to think about that. I’d much rather pick apart Oscar’s crime scene. Because then I didn’t have to think about how the Canceled Killer had all the free time on his hands to come after me.
There was no doubt now.
I was next.
I called Russo but got voicemail.
“We need to get you into dry clothes anyway,” Jude said.
“I need to get a look at that crime scene.” My only hope was figuring out who the Canceled Killer was so I could come for him before he came for me.
“Well, good thing I took a picture.” Jude offered his phone to me. I grabbed it and zoomed in on the picture. Gordon on his side. The lemon lying next to him.
“Did you get a good look at the driver of the Wagoneer?” I asked Jude.
Jude shook his head. “It’s got to be Mateo, though, doesn’t it?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “Maybe.” I didn’t get a good look at the man, either. “He did drive like a stuntman.”
“Let’s hurry and get you into some dry clothes. Also, I already called Ted Anderson. He’s meeting us at my house.”
“Oh, golly geez,” Ted said when he arrived to find me sipping hot coffee, hair still wet, but now in dry clothes—mostly Jude’s—his oversized flannel shirt over the cropped tank and leggings I’d worn yesterday. “Really earning that nickname, eh, Thin Ice?”
“Sure am,” I said.
“I tell you what, I basically had to sneak out of the house to get here, because Tammy was so set on coming over to see how you were.”
