Hour of Need (Scarlet Falls #1)(45)

Ellie got the crutches out of the backseat and brought them around. “She’s not supposed to put any weight on that foot.”

Grant frowned at the crutches. “Those are going to be tough with a sprained wrist. How about I just pick you up again?”

Again?

“Oh, all right,” Nan said. Oh. My. God. She was simpering.

“Carson, come on over here for a minute.” Grant gently scooped Nan off her feet. “This is easier.”

Nan wrapped her arms around his shoulders. “Yes, it is.” She looked back at Ellie and winked.

With a mental groan, Ellie carried the crutches into the house behind them. Grant set Nan on the sofa in the family room. “Do you need anything else?”

“No, this is wonderful. Thank you so much.” Nan beamed at him.

“I have to go.” He smiled back. “Call me if you need anything. You have my number, right?”

“I do.” Nan nodded.

Yeah, and Ellie had Nan’s number, too.

“I have to run out, but Hannah is at the house.” Grant turned toward the hall.

Ellie walked him to the door. “Thank you again. For everything.”

Carson waited on the porch, his nose smashed against the glass pane.

“Call me if you need me. I’ll only be gone an hour or so.” Grant leaned closer and lowered his voice. His eyes went serious. “When you get a chance, we need to talk.”

Ellie nodded. “All right. I’ll come over after Julia gets home from school.”

Grant went outside, picking up his nephew and flinging him over one shoulder.

Ellie closed the door to the sound of Carson giggling.

“That is quite a man.” Nan took off her coat and handed it to Ellie.

“Mm.” Ellie made a noncommittal sound. “Let me get you an ice pack.”

“So when are you going to talk to him?”

“What, do you have supersonic hearing or something?” Ellie filled a ziplock baggie with ice and set it on her grandmother’s foot.

“Honey, when a man that handsome talks, I listen.” Nan adjusted a pillow behind her back.

“And let him carry you around?”

“Damned straight.”

“You’re incorrigible.” Ellie’s quick laugh died off. Normally, Nan’s infatuation with the handsome neighbor would be amusing, but the reality of Ellie’s situation wouldn’t fade.

Nan sucked in a sharp breath. “I hate to send you out again, but would you please get my prescription filled? This is really starting to hurt.”

“Of course. I should have dropped it off on the way home. Do you want something to eat?” Ellie checked the time. Two thirty. “We missed lunch.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“OK. Will you be all right here by yourself?”

Nan held up her cell phone. “I’ll be fine. Julia will be home soon anyway.”

What did Grant need to discuss? Maybe he’d found Lee’s files.

She went out onto the front porch, rock salt crunching under her shoes. A shipping box sat on the cement. That must have been what Nan had been retrieving when she fell. Ellie brought the package inside and set it on the hall table. She slit the packing tape with scissors. An odd, raw smell rose from the opening. Ellie lifted the cardboard flaps. Inside, in a plastic bag half filled with ice, sat a red and bloody heart. A knife pierced the organ. Pinned to a board beneath the gruesome package was the enlarged, grainy photo of Julia, Taylor, and Grant that Hoodie Man had sent her earlier. Her daughter’s face was smeared with blood. Bold text printed on computer paper read: JUST SO YOU KNOW I’M SERIOUS.





Chapter Seventeen


Grant parked the minivan in front of the ice rink between another van and an SUV. He dropped the keys and fished under the driver’s seat. Ugh. He pulled out an empty juice box, a granola bar wrapper, and enough crumbs to feed a flock of pigeons before finding the keys. He crossed the parking lot, his boots scraping on the salt-dusted asphalt.

The interior was rough, the decor leaning heavily on concrete. The main office was on the left. A middle-aged woman sat at a desk behind the waist-high counter that separated the waiting area from her workspace.

Grant placed both palms on the laminate countertop. “I’m Major Grant Barrett. I’m here to collect Kate Barrett’s things.”

Tucking her reading glasses into the V neck of her sweater, she approached the partition. “I’m so sorry, Major.”

Grant nodded. People meant to be respectful, but their constant expressions of condolences slammed his loss home dozens of times a day.

“Could I see some identification, please?” she asked.

Grant produced his military ID. She squinted at it for a minute and then handed it back.

“Coach Victor should be next to the rink.” She pointed to an open door.

“Thank you.” Grant exited the office. He followed a hall and emerged in a cavernous open space. A waist-high dented red wall, topped by a Plexiglas shield, surrounded the rink. Parents huddled on bleachers. Some bent over phones. Others focused with painful intent on the oval rink beyond, where figures twirled on skates. Blades scraped on ice.

Two men stood at the opening to the rink, pointing and murmuring at the skaters. A group of teenage boys in pads and black skates burst out of another door labeled Locker Rooms. Hockey sticks clacked as the boys jostled each other.