Angel Of Ice

Edited by Kathy Bosman

Cover Image: Pixabay.com

Cover Design by Iccha Singh

ANGEL OF ICE

By

PRAVINA MAHARAJ

Ablond female was lying facedown, at the feet of an angel toward the rear of the stage, her arms and legs sprawled out. Laura glimpsed one half of the woman’s face. Her blue eyes were open and glazed, her frosted lips parted slightly. An ice pick was lodged in her left shoulder blade. Scarlet blood stained the white ice.

When PI, Nick Holt is hired by wealthy industrialist Reginald Baxter to find out who murdered his granddaughter Cindy Capwell, in the small town of Edenville, the last thing he needs is a meddling florist to distract him with her alluring beauty.

Laura Fenwick is determined to figure out who killed her friend and insists on aiding Nick in his investigation.  In the pursuit of the killer, passion explodes between them, and Laura realizes a danger far greater than trapping a killer: it’s having her heart captured by a man who doesn’t believe in love.

PROLOGUE

Cindy Capwell was certain she was being watched. Her cornflower-blue eyes scanned the park but she couldn’t see anyone out of the ordinary. It was the familiar sea of faces. The residents of Edenville.

She picked up her half-eaten turkey sandwich and then put it back down on her lap. Her stomach felt queasy and she suddenly found it difficult to breath. She wondered if she were having a panic attack of some sort.

It had seemed like a good idea to have lunch outdoors in the fresh air and under the winter sun. But now she felt alone and vulnerable. An icy trickle of apprehension slid down her spine. She just couldn’t shrug off the feeling of being watched. She may have laughed it off and put it down to an active imagination, if she hadn’t begun receiving the sinister gifts over the last two weeks.

First, just a single red rose left on her front doorstep. Followed by a framed photo of herself. The photo had been taken at her friend Laura Fenwick’s birthday party a month ago. And then a red scarf scented with her favorite perfume. The most disturbing gift had appeared on her doorstep that morning. A lock of blond hair in a tiny silver locket. Cindy was sure it was her hair. She’d visited the salon the day before for a haircut. It meant that, whoever was stalking her, had been at the salon and had somehow grabbed a lock of her hair.

But the salon had been full of ladies engrossed in the latest gossip.

So who was stalking her? Was it her ex-husband Mark? He had a fierce temper and Cindy had borne the brunt of that temper over the course of their marriage. And Mark was a notorious gambler. Cindy had spent thousands of dollars paying off his gambling debts and loan sharks. But Mark was a direct in-your-face type of guy. He didn’t have the patience for playing snide games. No. It wasn’t Mark. Cindy’s instinct told her it was someone else. A stranger, perhaps. Or maybe someone she knew.

Cindy thought about her friend Laura, who was strong, smart, and one of the most compassionate people she knew. Laura was also the goddaughter of Edenville’s Sheriff. Cindy decided she would speak to Laura about her fears. Laura could accompany her to see Sheriff Swinton and he could look into the matter. Maybe even arrange for some protection for her. Cindy knew she was treading on a very thin rope. She couldn’t handle things on her own. She had to confide in Laura and the sheriff before things spiralled totally out of control.

Cindy tossed the sandwich into a bin and began walking toward the Town Square. She took in deep breaths, willing her erratic heartbeat to slow. Edenville’s annual Christmas Tree Lighting was taking place at The Square the following night, and Cindy was due to unveil a nativity scene she’d sculpted out of ice. As much as she loved ice sculpting, she now regretted ever taking on the task which felt like an uncomfortable load on her already heavy shoulders. She had to complete the sculpture of the baby Jesus in the manger before tomorrow night. She was glad her sister Caroline was visiting from New York. Caroline had helped her sculpt some of the pieces in the nativity scene. But mostly Caroline was looking after Cindy’s busy bakery, Sugar & Spice.

Cindy looked ahead and cursed when she saw Jack Davison, an arrogant business tycoon, whom she’d outbid on Westerdale, a prime piece of property on the outskirts of town. Davison, known to be a ruthless businessman, was livid when she outbid him three months ago, and since then he’d been constantly harassing her into selling him the property. He had plans to open up a chemical factory on the land while Cindy envisioned setting up a spa and wellness center.

Westerdale was beautiful scenic land and she couldn’t imagine it being turned into a toxic factory. Which was why she’d been holding out firm against Davison. She was not going to allow him to bully her into selling him that land. And she was determined to move ahead with her plans for the wellness center.

Cindy veered off a different path to escape Davison’s attention. She was not in the mood for another face-off with the overbearing man, but it seemed she was out of luck for her other nemesis, Tina Avery, was directly in her path.

Cindy’s heart thudded as she came face-to-face with Tina, owner of Something Sweet. The woman had once reigned as Edenville’s queen of cakes until Sugar & Spice began eating away at her clientele.

Tina fixed her with a furious glare. The Morrison’s always ordered their Christmas cakes from me. But this year, they’re choosing your cakes over mine!

A sheen of perspiration dotted Cindy’s brow. I had no idea they used to deal with you. They just placed their orders and—

Well, you will cancel their orders and tell them you’re no longer in business! Tina boomed, her double chin wobbling furiously. She wagged a plump finger at Cindy. "I said this to you before and I’ll say it again: Edenville ain’t big enough for two bakeries. I’ve been here for close onto thirty years and before that, my grandmama for over fifty years. Something Sweet is part of this town’s history and I’m not going to lose my family legacy over the likes of you."

Cindy gasped, the blood draining from her face. You want me to close down my bakery?

Tina’s mouth curved into a triumphant smile. That’s exactly what I’m saying. She rolled her eyes. Finally the fancy blonde from New York is listening to me, she muttered under her breath before dawdling away.

Cindy sank onto a bench to catch her breath. Her legs had turned to water and her body was limp as a rag doll. She froze at the sound of rustling in a nearby bush. Again. That overpowering feeling of being watched. Terrified, Cindy realized she was prey for an unseen predator.

CHAPTER ONE

Laura Fenwick added a double bow onto the Christmas centerpiece. The fragrance of cinnamon and apples mingled with the fresh scents of pine, ivy, and fir cones. She stepped back and admired her handiwork. The tall, gold candle perfectly complimented the red roses dusted with gold glitter.

Laura caught her reflection in the mirror above the cash register. Her hair was a similar gold to the candle, her eyes a matching shade of green to the ivy, and her cheeks held the same rosy hue as the apples.

She glanced at her watch and realized it was a quarter to eight. She’d be late for the Christmas Tree Lighting if she didn’t close shop. She’d lost track of time while she’d worked on the Christmas orders.

Her assistant, Debbie Stone, emerged from the back room with their coats, gloves, and scarves. Debbie was a retired school teacher and avid gardener whose lively personality and attractive features belied her age of sixty. She was a tall, slim-figured woman with warm brown eyes and burnished copper curls tinged by silver. Debbie had been looking for a job to fill up her hours since her retirement, and it’d already been a year since she’d started working at Fenwick’s Florists, helping Laura with the floral arrangements and deliveries.

Debbie’s eyes sparkled with anticipation. I can hardly believe it’s December 1st. The start of the holidays. My favorite time of the year. And I can’t wait to see Cindy’s ice sculptures.

Laura’s brow creased lightly. Me too. I saw her briefly earlier on. She was relieved to have finally completed the sculptures. But I can’t help worry about her. She seemed tense and on edge. She said she has something important to tell me. We’re meeting for lunch tomorrow.

Debbie clicked her tongue. Poor girl, she’s been working herself to the bone to get those sculptures ready. And of course she’s tense. It’s been rough dealing with that good-for-nothing husband, not to mention those two bullies, Jack and Tina.

Laura slipped on her gloves and wound her scarf around her neck. Yes, she’s been under considerable stress. I just hope things ease up and she gets to have a happy holiday season.

Laura and Debbie got to the Town Square shortly after 8 p.m. The residents of Edenville were already gathered in The Square, drinking hot chocolate and singing Christmas carols. The Mayor Harold Thornton got on stage to deliver his welcoming address. There were gasps of delight when he illuminated the thirty-foot cedar Christmas tree. The burst of twinkling lights and sparkling ornaments dazzled everyone. The crowd broke into enthusiastic applause.

Debbie let out a small cry of pleasure. Isn’t it gorgeous?

Laura laughed. Yes! She gripped Debbie’s arm as the mayor took center stage again. Time now for us to see the sculptures.

"Cindy Capwell, the owner of Sugar & Spice is not just a fabulous baker but she also has a talent for ice sculpting. This year, she very generously offered to put together a nativity display all in ice. Ladies and gentleman, I am so thrilled to present to you, Edenville’s first ever nativity scene carved in ice."

A hush fell over the crowd as the black velvet curtains, around the nativity scene, slowly drew apart.

A thunderous applause erupted from the crowd at the sight of the beautiful life-size ice sculptures sparkling like crystals. While everyone oohed and aahed over the breathtaking display, Laura searched the stage. Where was Cindy? She should be out on stage, basking in the success of her work.

As Laura’s gaze swept across the sculptures, her heart stopped. She blinked several times, not trusting her vision.

A blond female was lying facedown, at the feet of an angel toward the rear of the stage, her arms and legs sprawled out. Laura glimpsed one half of the woman’s face. Her blue eyes were open and glazed, her frosted lips parted slightly. An ice pick was lodged in her left shoulder blade. Scarlet blood stained the white ice.

Suddenly a woman screamed and pointed to the blond figure.

Mayor Thornton moved closer to the body. His eyes bulged in horror. It’s Cindy Capwell!

There was a cacophony of panic-stricken voices. Laura pushed through the crush of people, fear sweeping over her. Her friend had been murdered.

PRIVATE INVESTIGATOR Nick Holt stepped into his apartment and immediately froze. He had unexpected company. He lived alone. Instinctively he knew that someone had entered his apartment. Nick had long ago learned to trust his gut. Sixteen years as a NYPD homicide cop had taught him never to let his guard down and to always pay attention to his instincts. Especially when they spelled danger.

Nick didn’t immediately sense danger in the air, but then again, he wasn’t going to take any chances. He wasn’t sure what his unexpected visitor had in store for him.

He withdrew his Glock from his holster and proceeded toward the open-plan living room and kitchen. He hadn’t switched on the lights, so the apartment was shrouded in dark shadows. But he knew his way around the darkness. His ears were alert to any sound of movement, his heartbeat steady as he aimed his gun ahead and silently moved forward. Nick paused when he saw the dark figure seated in a chair facing the window.

About time you got here, a man’s voice rasped.

Who the hell are you and what do you want? Nick demanded, his gun steadily aimed at the figure.

You can put down the gun, Mr. Holt. I come in peace. I’m not an enemy, the man said, a hint of amusement in his tone.

Until you show me your face and state your business, this gun is going to be pointed straight at your brain, Nick replied.

I know you are an ace shot, Mr. Holt, but you won’t need to waste a bullet on me, the man said, slowly turning around.

Nick’s grip tightened on his gun. I’m really not in the mood for your theatrics. Who are you?

Reginald Hewett Baxter, the man announced in an aristocratic tone.

Nick’s mind raced. He knew the name. He knew the man standing in his living room only by reputation. What the hell did one of the wealthiest and most influential men in the country want with him? Nick’s heart began beating faster with excitement and anticipation. Whatever the reason Reginald Baxter had sought him out, it had to be huge. Nick had just that day wrapped up a complicated case and he was ready to plunge into a new one. And whatever Reginald Baxter was going to present him with was sure to be even more complex. Just the kind of cases Nick thrived on.

You’ve obviously heard the name, the man said.

Who hasn’t heard of the great Reginald Baxter? Nick replied and then tensed. You’re not alone. Tell the person you’re with to step out now.

Franco, Baxter said in a low voice.

The burly figure of a man materialized from a shadow beside a chestnut bookcase.

Impatient and eager to find out the reason for Reginald Baxter’s visit, Nick swiftly moved to his right and flipped on a switch.

Light poured into the room and he studied his visitors: Baxter, wrapped in a long, black trench coat, and his bodyguard, Franco, a beefcake of a man with a pug nose and shiny bald head.

Nick returned his gaze to Baxter, wondering how the man had breached his apartment’s security. Damn. He would need to re-look his whole security system. How did you get in here?

Baxter smiled faintly. Your landlady, Mrs. Jacobson, let me in. I told her I was your uncle. She’d seen me on TV and in newspapers. Said she was rather miffed with you for not telling her you had such a wealthy and distinguished relative.

Nick made a mental note to give his landlady a piece of his mind next time he saw her. What can I do for you, Mr. Baxter?

Baxter’s gray brows drew together. I want you to find the person who murdered my granddaughter.

Nick lowered his weapon. Your granddaughter?

Yes, Cindy Capwell. She was murdered last night in the town of Edenville where she’d been living for the past three years.

Nick narrowed his gaze. Cindy Capwell. He’d heard the name on the morning news. Her murder was dubbed the Angel of Ice case by the media. She’d carved a nativity scene out of ice for the town’s Christmas Tree Lighting ceremony. Someone had snuck up behind her, sticking an ice pick in her back. Nick hadn’t been paying much attention to the news reports so he’d missed that Cindy had been Reginald Baxter’s granddaughter.

I’m sorry for your loss, Nick began, but why do you want me to investigate? Do you not trust the law enforcement authorities there to track down the killer?

You are the finest PI in this country with a 99 percent success rate. So naturally you are the best man for this job. You’re right. I don’t trust the authorities to do a good job. Edenville is a small town with only a sheriff’s department to maintain the law and order. I’m not sure if the department is equipped enough to handle this case. I want to know what the hell is going on there and why my granddaughter was killed.

I need to know more about your granddaughter, Nick said. And with those words he realized he’d just accepted the case.

Unfortunately Cindy and I had a falling out over the past five years. Cindy chose to marry a man I didn’t approve of: Mark Capwell, an auto mechanic. I told Cindy he was not worthy of her and was only after her money, but she insisted she was in love with Mark and that he genuinely loved her. I refused to accept Mark and she refused to leave him. Three years ago she and Mark moved to Edenville and that was it. We did speak over the telephone on rare occasions such as birthdays or at Christmas.

Do you know if she was happy with Mark?

Baxter’s mouth tightened. I kept tabs on how Cindy was doing and heard that Mark has a gambling addiction and also a terrible temper. Cindy and Mark divorced a year ago.

So I guess, Mark Capwell is our number one suspect, Nick said. Tell me more about Cindy and what about the rest of her family?

Cindy has a younger sister, Caroline. They are three years apart. Their father, Geoffrey, my son, died when they were very young. Their mother, Susan, died ten years ago of breast cancer. Geoffrey was my only offspring and Susan didn’t have siblings either. Susan’s parents had died before Cindy and Caroline were born. I was the only family to Cindy and now to Caroline, Baxter said, his voice cracking with emotion.

Are you close to Caroline? Nick wanted to know.

Baxter drew in a breath. Yes, we keep in regular touch. She is based here in New York. Owns a bridal boutique in Manhattan. I spoke to her this morning. As you can imagine she is devastated by Cindy’s death.

Are you not planning to go to Edenville?

Not immediately. I will make it to attend the funeral when all the arrangements are finalized, Baxter said. Cindy was a lovely girl and, despite her mistake of marrying Mark Capwell, she was a wonderful human being. She didn’t deserve to die in such a brutal way. His gaze hardened. Find the person who snuffed out her life. I want them to pay dearly.

CHAPTER TWO

Edenville was a five -hour drive from New York. Nick pulled into the town just after 10 a.m. the following morning. Nick discovered an attractive, modern town that was well-laid-out and bigger in size than he’d anticipated. Nick had been to many backwater and one-horse towns. Edenville certainly didn’t qualify as such.

Nick headed straight to the coroner’s office. He was eager to find out if Cindy Capwell’s autopsy had been concluded and if it yielded any valuable clues as to who the murderer could be. Nick met with the coroner, Dr. Henry Granger, who after going over Nick’s PI credentials, allowed him access into the autopsy room.

I hope you don’t have a weak stomach, Dr. Granger remarked.

Nick studied the beautiful lifeless blonde on the autopsy table. I was a homicide detective in NYPD, so I’ve witnessed plenty of autopsies. I’ve certainly seen the worst. Cindy Capwell looks so serene as though she’s in a deep sleep. He tapped his notebook. So Doc, what can you tell me about her?

Dr. Granger flipped a page on his clipboard. Cindy Capwell, thirty-three years old. She’d been stabbed twice with an ice pick above her left shoulder blade. The second wound was the fatal one, puncturing her lung. It appears that the cause of death was asphyxiation. I’ve drawn samples for blood and toxicology.

And time of death? Nick asked as he scribbled in his notebook.

Between 6 and 8 p.m., Dr. Granger replied, covering Cindy’s face with a white sheet.

Did the crime scene techs come up with anything interesting?

They are still processing the scene. And I’ve got techs here processing Cindy’s clothes, Dr. Granger said, looking forlorn.

Just then Edenville’s sheriff entered: Samuel Swinton. He was tall and slender in build with silver-gray hair and brows. He studied Nick closely whilst Dr. Granger made the introductions.

I read about you in the papers. You recently solved the murders of that Chicago businessman Hugh Markham and that teenage boy in Las Vegas. And you located those missing three-year-old twin girls in Florida. That was pretty darn great detective work, Sheriff Swinton said, admiration shining in his light blue eyes.

Thank you, Nick murmured, feeling his cheeks grow warm. He wasn’t comfortable with people remarking upon his successful cases, and he’d done his best to stay out of the media spotlight. But it was impossible with journalists always knocking on his door, begging for comments or interviews.

So who hired you to come to Edenville and work this case? Swinton asked.

Reginald Baxter, Cindy’s grandfather.

Swinton raised a brow and exchanged a look with Dr. Granger. "Oh yes, I should have guessed. Cindy never spoke