Free Cold As Ice: Novel (A Kristen Conner Mystery Book 3) by M.K. Gilroy

ground.”
    “Maybe that’s what happened, Mom.”
    “I’m not so sure after what I’ve been seeing.”
    She leaves that hanging. Her dramatic pause is pushing my impatient button, which doesn’t require too much pressure to ignite.
    I got booted out of the meeting after thirty minutes by the group of NYPD officers and FBI agents who wanted to confirm what I told Tommy Barnes. I hated getting kicked to the curb but it did give me a glimmer of hope that I can get back to Chicago tonight—and possibly get a hot shower to clean off the gooey mess that still hasn’t completely dried on my clothes and skin. I need to get off the call with Mom if that’s going to happen. Actually, that’s not quite fair to her. I’m hanging around the precinct because Austin Reynolds called to say he’s close and wants to see me before I take off.
    But I need to work the phone. I’ve got to book another flight. Then I’ve got to get packed. I’ve got callbacks to make. I need Mom to pick up the pace. But I’m not asking her what she saw again. I’ll wait her out because she’s not going to be pushed. I let her gather her thoughts.
    “Ed leaves for work earlier than Nancy and gets home later most days.”
    Yes? I wait.
    “I get home from the library after she’s already home but before he gets home.”
    And? The silence is deafening.
    “The same car has been parked on our street a couple times now.”
    “In front of their house?”
    “No. About four doors down. In front of the Yaconelli’s house.”
    “So what does that have to do with the Kelttos?”
    “I’ve seen the same man walk from Nancy’s side yard and go straight to the car. He always takes a look around and then walks fast. I thought it looked suspicious.”
    “Are you watching her house?”
    A slight pause and Mom answers, “Maybe a little bit the last couple weeks. But it didn’t start that way. I’d get home, go inside the back door, and then come out the front door to get mail and the newspaper off the front steps. I didn’t think anything about seeing him the first or second time. The third time, I started thinking something wasn’t quite right. I’m not surveying their house or whatever the word for it is.”
    “Surveillance.”
    “Right. I’m not doing that. But I do take a look out the front window about the same time every day now. It’s not every day he’s there. But it’s pretty regular that he leaves her backyard and walks down the street to get his car by the Yaconelli’s. Does that not sound suspicious to you?”
    I might argue with her for doing surveillance on the neighbor’s house—even if she says she isn’t—though as an officer of the peace I know that is actually a great crime deterrent that is on its death throes. But I can’t argue with her conclusion. Mom’s right. It does sound suspicious.
    “Did you get the make and model?”
    “I did better than that,” she answers, now sounding triumphant. “I’ve written down the license plate number.”
    Keeping an eye on her street is a good thing. But recording license plate numbers? I stifle a laugh.
    “You’re not saying anything, Kristen. Do you think I did something wrong?”
    “Not at all, Mom. You did great. Listen, I have to get to the airport and see if I can catch the last flight out of JFK or LaGuardia. I’ll talk to Blackshear about what you saw tomorrow. He’ll make sure it gets followed up on.”
    “You will?”
    “Absolutely. Email or text me the license number and the description of the car. Anything else you can remember about him.”
    “I will. But I thought you were catching a morning flight back to Midway.”
    “It was O’Hare and I missed it.”
    “You need to pay more attention, Kristen. I told you New York City traffic would be bad on the way to the airport.”
    “It’s a long story, Mom. I’ll catch you up when I get home.”
    I need to pay more attention?

12

    IT WOULD HAVE been easier to head east from Brooklyn through Queens to