Frost

By Phaedra Weldon

This is not a children's story. 

Detective Jack Frost has everything he ever wanted; a good job, a fiancé who loves him, and his first child on the way. His future looks bright and promising.

When an unprecedented heat wave turns December into the hottest month on record, a victim with Jack's face propels him into the reality of myth and legend as the body count rises.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Caldwell Press
• Release date: Dec 7, 2017
• ISBN: 9781386253310

Book preview

Frost

Frost

A Tale of Jack Frost

Phaedra Weldon

Caldwell Press

"The mistress which I serve quickens what's dead,

and makes my labours pleasures. O, she is

Ten times more gentle than her father's crabbed,

And he's composed of harshness."

---

~ William Shakespeare, The Tempest

One

He wore my face.

How often had I shown that face indifference as I shaved it? Washed it. And on occasion cursed it. I'd seen it green when sick, red when sunburned, and painted for Halloween.

But I'd never seen it dead.

Jack, you okay?

Detective Gawain Crow, my partner on the Fulton County Police Force as well as my best friend, put a hand on my shoulder. He presented a pretty daunting figure with his tanned skin, long dark ponytail and black Stetson cowboy hat. Two thirds Cherokee and one third smart ass, he often overshadowed my more diminutive size. I clocked in at about five foot nine barefoot and never bothered to aid what he called my height-challenged handicap with heeled boots. I was comfy in sneakers—the more worn the better.

I knelt beside the body. He was tucked between the front end of one car and the bumper of another. A couple of the uniformed officers had been dispatched to go house to house to find the owner of the cars so they could be moved, and to discover if anyone heard or saw anything. The whole scene was pretty melancholy in the early morning darkness as Christmas lights winked on and off in the yards and on the houses in the surrounding neighborhood.

Yeah…Happy Holidays and good will toward men.

The only thing visible from the road were his legs. Apparently his killer took his shoes.

It was early morning of December 21st, 11:21 am. Sweat rolled down my forehead and into my eyes, which I rubbed with the bottom of my tee-shirt. The temperature hovered around 83º with little creditable explanation. Of course there were the reports of Global Warming, Glacial Melt and the inevitable Doomsday shows . Either way, it was damn fucking hot. And in December. I don't care how far south you go in the states, the temperature should be in the low to mid 40s.

None of this was right.

With the aggravating heat came the predictable aggravating increase in crime. Not just robbery, breaking and entering, or car jacking—but flashing. Too many streakers up and down Peachtree street, thinking just because it was hot, everyone needed to see their instrument of torture.

Yet these perverted megalomaniacal pinheads weren't far from the truth of how the weather had changed the local fashion. Everyone at the crime scene was dressed for comfort. The officers usually in uniform had adopted a new look: black precinct logo tee-shirts and shorts. Even I'd forgone my usual shirt, blazer and jeans for black cargo shorts and a Rudolph tee-shirt.

It was a present from my fiancé. I did not buy it.

Better not get squeamish at this—or you're not going to make it through that baby's birth. It gets messy. Doctor Elizabeth Noel, Chief Medical Examiner, pushed a thermometer into a jagged wound on the body's right side. Core temp—wow—your double's a cold one, Jack. She frowned. This isn't possible.

What is it? Crow knelt beside me. I think he felt he needed to stick close to me. I mean, we were looking at one hell of a convincing body double.

Noel tapped the thermometer's plastic display. The core temp is lower than the surface temp. Inside he's reading twenty-two degrees. But his surface temp, she pointed to the temp-strip she'd placed over his skin, says he's 95º. If I go by core I'd say he's been dead for a long time. But the surface says he's only been dead a few hours.

I found my voice. Rigor?

Not yet, Noel pulled the thermometer out. Looking at her somehow grounded me because she was as dumbfounded as me. I'd put his death at about two hours ago.

Condensation clouded the crystal, obscuring the hands on my watch so I nudged Crow. What time is it?

Your watch all cloudy again? He laughed and held up his phone, the time glowing 11:23 PM. I told you to get that watch fixed.

I did. My focus returned to the body at my feet. CSU wasn't there yet—and going by their usual schedule—wouldn't show up till sometime between 3:00 am and 6:00 am. Liz, you got cause of death?

I'd say from the wound in his side and the position of it—he was stabbed up close. Whoever it was came up behind him and slipped it in. And—though I won't know for sure until I get him on my table—the asshole twisted it. She looked up at me. Jack this is creepy. Is it possible you have a twin?

Crow slipped his phone back in his coat pocket.

I guess anything's possible. I was adopted so—maybe?

Jack, you okay? You're paler than normal. I didn't mean to upset you about childbirth—Sarah's what—3 1/2 months at most? You've got time to build up that stamina. Noel narrowed her eyes at me a second before she looked at Crow and pointed her witchy finger at him. I think he's heading for another attack. You know the drill. If he stops sweating—

I got it. I'll be watching him, doc.

The doc's concern wasn't without merit. I'm one of those lucky people fortunate enough to have experienced heat exhaustion. After the first experience I became susceptible to heat—more than the average guy. Don't worry, Liz. I think I'll be fine.

She moved her finger from pointing at Crow to pointing at me. You'd better. You've been in the hospital eleven times for heat exhaustion since I've known you. I'm already uncomfortable looking down at this guy.

I'm not exactly enjoying myself here. I stood before Crow did. Who found the body?

Donna Blankenship. Captain's talking to her over there.

The Captain? I turned in time to see Captain Sheila Rucker marching toward us, wearing a yellow tank top and gray linen pants. The color made her easy to spot in a crowd. That and her voice, which sounded like crunching gravel. She rounded on me when she was close enough. You got an explanation for this? Rucker pointed at the body.

I wiped my forehead with the back of my hand in a sort of unintentional salute. Sweat continued beading along my hairline and my shirt had a permanent pit-stain. No Captain.

Rucker handed me a small plastic baggie. This was the only item found on the body. Take a look.

Crow yanked a pair of latex gloves from his pocket and gave them to me. Once they were securely on I took the bag and dumped the simple brown leather wallet into my hand. With a glance at Rucker's unreadable—if not a bit perturbed—expression, I opened it up.

Georgia Driver's license. A MARTA Breeze card. A few singles and a ten. I narrowed my eyes as I read the license. Jason Frost. Twenty five. Lives at— I looked up from the wallet. How do you have a driver's license with no address?

She reached over the license and tapped the surface. That tells me it's faked. What concerns me is the name. His name's Jason Frost. Your name is Jackson Frost.

He's Jason and I'm Jackson. Frost is a common enough name.

Not when two Frosts have the same face.

I licked my lips and tasted salt. I don't understand any more than you do why this guy looks like me. I looked down a the picture—at my face—and it was like looking at my own license. Same stats, birthday, age. I slipped it back into the wallet, then zipped the wallet in the bag.

She didn't say anything as she took the bag back and dropped it into her front pocket. The high powered lights set up around the area jacked up the heat but didn't reveal anything about what she was thinking.

Follow me. Both of you. She turned on her heel and stalked off.

Crow shrugged as we filed in behind her. She moved between two parked cars directly opposite of the body to the sidewalk. Rucker turned once to make sure we were behind her before she ascended the walk up to a well lit front porch. We kept pace with her up those steps to the porch and I noticed the multicolored blinking garland wrapped around the porch railing. The light from inside, shinning through the window was warm and inviting. A young woman with long dark hair stood up from the porch swing when she saw us climb up.

Captain, she crossed her arms over her chest. Was there something else? I told you all I know about Jason.

I have two detectives I want you to meet. They'll be working this case. She pulled Crow up first. This is Detective Gawain Crow. Crow this is Donna Blankenship.

Crow shook hands with the doctor. It's a pleasure to meet you. Did you know the victim?

The question in his voice was something we were both thinking. Was she related to the deceased? Married? Dating? Coworker? Or was it just chance she found Mr. Frost?

It's nice to meet you detective, she recrossed her arms. Jason was a good friend. We met a few months ago at a local coffee shop. He volunteered at the hospital where where I work, in the children's wing. We—he was coming over tonight to eat pizza and watch a movie.

Dating then. I hung back out of sight, thinking