Cold As Ice: Novel (A Kristen Conner Mystery Book 3) Read Online Free
Author: M.K. Gilroy
no pain.
The attacker hissed a curse in the darkness. The plan was to move quick enough to catch Keltto before he fell forward. This had to look like an accident. But the single blow with the heavy steel crow bar with what was hoped to be just enough force to mirror cracking one’s head on icy concrete had done its work well—maybe too well. The attacker wedged between Keltto and the car bumper, secured his limp body in a bear hug before Keltto slumped all the way to the ground, hoisted him upright—a limp body feels heavier than a ton of bricks— turned 180 degrees and duck walked him back a few feet until Keltto’s heels touched the wood threshold. The next part was easy. Just let go and watch him fall backward out the side garage door. However he sprawled was fine. It just had to look natural. A lot of people slip on ice and hit their head. Some die.
When Keltto fell backward his head actually did bounce off theground. How many blows to the back of the head was normal when someone fell?
The attacker looked around. The body looked good. Just like it should. But Keltto’s face was a worry. Would he have a bruise from hitting the bumper? It was ice cold, which should inhibit swelling. Good.
Killing a man. Wow. Is there a bigger leap you can make? Killing. It’s so final. What should I be feeling? Guilt? I don’t. Fear? Maybe a little. Okay, maybe a lot. But I don’t see how I can get caught.
The killer looked at Keltto again. Was he even dead yet? Better double check. If not, just squeeze his nostrils and cover his face until the deed was done. The killer had seen Tony Soprano do that to Christopher on a Sopranos rerun. It wasn’t necessary. There was no pulse on Edward Keltto’s neck. Good. One less thing to worry about.
At this temperature the ground was frozen so solid that footprints shouldn’t be much of a problem. But walking backward in soft moccasins, the attacker used a small mop to brush away any possible trace that a second person had walked beside the garage this morning—the idea came while watching curling in the Olympics—then took one last careful look back to make sure everything seemed natural. Don’t want this to turn into a murder investigation.
Edward Keltto, beloved teacher, father, husband, church deacon, and good neighbor—the kind that shoveled the walk for widows—was dead.
Nancy Keltto looked out the back door of the small house. Edward. Sweet Eddy. He’d probably shoveled snow and ice for half the neighborhood. He was obsessed with being the nicest person in the world. It drove her crazy sometimes. Okay, it drove her crazy all the time. Is it possible for a person to be too nice? And not just for publicconsumption. He treated her like a queen. He deserves better than me, she thought.
She ground the coffee beans and poured them in the triangular brown filter she had ready. The water was already added to the Mr. Coffee machine. She hit the button and listened to the first gurgle of water working its way through the system.
She put the sliced bagel halves in the toaster. Should I start Eddy’s?
She had on a bathrobe and slippers but was still cold. Ed lowered the house temperature to the low sixties when they went to bed. Mr. Green. He was going to save the whole world.
She took another sip of coffee and walked back to look through one of the windowpanes on the back door. It was still dark. What had Ed left by the garage? And why did he leave the side door open? He never leaves anything out or open.
She felt a twist of nerves in her stomach. Today was the day. The papers were prepared. The Cook County Sherriff’s office was to deliver them to him after school let out.
How many times in our marriage have I put this moment off? But now is different. I’ve found someone who makes me feel alive. Is it wrong to want to be madly in love—something Eddy and I never had?
He says he can’t live another day without me.
But how can I do this to Eddy?
I’m a horrible
The attacker hissed a curse in the darkness. The plan was to move quick enough to catch Keltto before he fell forward. This had to look like an accident. But the single blow with the heavy steel crow bar with what was hoped to be just enough force to mirror cracking one’s head on icy concrete had done its work well—maybe too well. The attacker wedged between Keltto and the car bumper, secured his limp body in a bear hug before Keltto slumped all the way to the ground, hoisted him upright—a limp body feels heavier than a ton of bricks— turned 180 degrees and duck walked him back a few feet until Keltto’s heels touched the wood threshold. The next part was easy. Just let go and watch him fall backward out the side garage door. However he sprawled was fine. It just had to look natural. A lot of people slip on ice and hit their head. Some die.
When Keltto fell backward his head actually did bounce off theground. How many blows to the back of the head was normal when someone fell?
The attacker looked around. The body looked good. Just like it should. But Keltto’s face was a worry. Would he have a bruise from hitting the bumper? It was ice cold, which should inhibit swelling. Good.
Killing a man. Wow. Is there a bigger leap you can make? Killing. It’s so final. What should I be feeling? Guilt? I don’t. Fear? Maybe a little. Okay, maybe a lot. But I don’t see how I can get caught.
The killer looked at Keltto again. Was he even dead yet? Better double check. If not, just squeeze his nostrils and cover his face until the deed was done. The killer had seen Tony Soprano do that to Christopher on a Sopranos rerun. It wasn’t necessary. There was no pulse on Edward Keltto’s neck. Good. One less thing to worry about.
At this temperature the ground was frozen so solid that footprints shouldn’t be much of a problem. But walking backward in soft moccasins, the attacker used a small mop to brush away any possible trace that a second person had walked beside the garage this morning—the idea came while watching curling in the Olympics—then took one last careful look back to make sure everything seemed natural. Don’t want this to turn into a murder investigation.
Edward Keltto, beloved teacher, father, husband, church deacon, and good neighbor—the kind that shoveled the walk for widows—was dead.
Nancy Keltto looked out the back door of the small house. Edward. Sweet Eddy. He’d probably shoveled snow and ice for half the neighborhood. He was obsessed with being the nicest person in the world. It drove her crazy sometimes. Okay, it drove her crazy all the time. Is it possible for a person to be too nice? And not just for publicconsumption. He treated her like a queen. He deserves better than me, she thought.
She ground the coffee beans and poured them in the triangular brown filter she had ready. The water was already added to the Mr. Coffee machine. She hit the button and listened to the first gurgle of water working its way through the system.
She put the sliced bagel halves in the toaster. Should I start Eddy’s?
She had on a bathrobe and slippers but was still cold. Ed lowered the house temperature to the low sixties when they went to bed. Mr. Green. He was going to save the whole world.
She took another sip of coffee and walked back to look through one of the windowpanes on the back door. It was still dark. What had Ed left by the garage? And why did he leave the side door open? He never leaves anything out or open.
She felt a twist of nerves in her stomach. Today was the day. The papers were prepared. The Cook County Sherriff’s office was to deliver them to him after school let out.
How many times in our marriage have I put this moment off? But now is different. I’ve found someone who makes me feel alive. Is it wrong to want to be madly in love—something Eddy and I never had?
He says he can’t live another day without me.
But how can I do this to Eddy?
I’m a horrible
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