Cold Wind

by Paige Shelton

  “The man walks through the woods every day. If anything could get someone in great shape…” Mill said.

  “Maybe … but the sadness.”

  “Tell the police as much. And don’t let them give you any crap. You’re smarter than twenty cops. Make them listen. You don’t need to know why Lane is sad. You don’t need to care, but I don’t disagree that your police force should. It’s not Walker wearing that coat and watching you, baby girl. He hasn’t found you, I’m sure, and I can’t even get a line on if you’re being followed on purpose or it’s just all chance. You yourself just mentioned the small population. Wrong times, wrong places, maybe.”

  She sounded confident and that helped infuse me with some confidence, too. “Okay.” I sighed.

  “As far as people recognizing you. It’s gonna happen. In fact, you should probably own that. Don’t let anyone see that it bothers you. People are assholes. Don’t let them have something up on you.”

  “But I’m trying to hide.”

  “Not completely. Think about it. Yes, you ran far away, and you’re hiding a little, but you’re not living by yourself out in the middle of the woods, because, different than that trapper, you’re a normal human being who doesn’t want to be alone all the time. It’s actually a good thing. Own it, though. Don’t run from running away. You keep the power over your own decisions. Own your own life, Beth.”

  In her messed-up way, she made sense. “Yes, I understand.”

  “Here’s hoping the police check out that freezer tout suite.”

  “I think they will.”

  “Then good. I bet some answers will be found soon. You’re fine. I promise you’re fine.”

  I took a deep breath. “You’ve helped, Mom. I feel better.”

  “That’s what us moms do.” She sucked on the cigarette. “Now, I have some other news. You ready to hear it?”

  “Yes. Please.”

  “I don’t think Levi Brooks needs any further attention at this time. But it seems that Travis and your dad did know each other. They were friends, darlin’; well, more like coworkers, in a way.”

  I felt a new wave of sick, but I didn’t want to hang up. I didn’t want to pass out or have another vision, either. I just wanted to listen and see if her words gave us some answers.

  “Okay,” I managed to say, pretty levelly. “Tell me more.”

  Mill took me back in time, back to when I was about four, and my grandfather had stopped by the house and asked me to go outside while he had a talk with my mom and dad. I had no memory of that moment, but Mill did—though it had only recently come back to her.

  During that conversation, my grandfather told them he’d become aware of a friendship growing between my father and Travis Walker, a man who’d been born in Milton but had left when he was a child. My father had admitted to knowing Travis, having met him because they both sold the same brand of cleaning supplies and their territories bordered each other’s.

  My grandfather had become aware that Travis might be selling more than supplies, that he’d ventured into selling drugs as well. My father had claimed not to be aware of such activity. Gramps was pleased to hear that news, but wanted to emphasize to my father that he shouldn’t ever be seen socializing with Travis—lunch and drinks at bars, those sorts of things.

  My mother told me that my father resented my grandfather’s interference, but he also knew who the boss was. My grandfather ruled our small part of the universe. It wouldn’t do anyone—including my dad—any good to cross Gramps.

  “Dad ended his friendship with Travis Walker?” I asked.

  “I don’t really know,” Mom said, her lips around a cigarette. “But not right away, for sure. That man came over to our house, girlie.”

  I wished I remembered, but I still didn’t. “Okay.”

  “Now I remember him stopping by. You were in the front yard. He picked you up and carried you to the front door. He knocked on the screen, said he’d found a little pretty one on the front lawn and did she belong to Eddy Rivers.”

  “Mutherfucker,” I said, my teeth clenched.

  “At the very least,” Mill said. “I grabbed you from him and took you out to the backyard while he and your dad had a convo. Dad later told me that he told Travis that he couldn’t be buddies with him anymore, but he wasn’t overly convincing. He told Travis that the police were onto him and he might want to watch out.”

  “How did that go over with Travis?”

  “Don’t know. Dad shut up after that, told me we could never talk about it again. Until I let that picture Majors showed me soak in, I didn’t remember any of it. The moments were brief—the conversations. It all seemed resolved. It’s been over twenty years, but I remember some of it now.”

  “Dad refused to talk about him anymore, or did you put a stop to it?”

  “Dad demanded we didn’t talk about him, and he never demanded much of anything. We moved on. You know, meals to make, bills to pay. I never thought it was as serious as I maybe should have thought it was.”

  “You mean that he would eventually take me?”

  “Yes, that, and he might have had something to do with Dad disappearing, too.”

  “Jesus, Mom, did he take me to remind us of Dad?”

  “I don’t know. I just don’t know. We’re only speculating here, but I think it’s all possible.”

  “It’s old news now. No one cares; no one’s paying attention.”

  “There’s some of that. I’m trying to get a local news slut to help me get the story going again.”

  “You might not want to call her a slut.”

  “Well, not to her face.”

  I sighed. “This is pretty big news, nevertheless. Don’t you think you should tell Detective Majors?”

  “No, ma’am. Not yet. You gonna tell her?”

  I thought a long time before answering.

  “No, not yet,” I finally said.

  “All right. Just let me know if you change your mind. I’ll have to change how I’m doing what I’m doing if the police know.”

  I did and didn’t want to know what that meant, but all I said was “Will do.”

  “Now, other than what all this hairy news has done to you, how are you feeling?”

  I took stock of myself. “No promises, but at this moment I feel fine. Sore, but not bad. Somewhat liberated, in fact. This has helped. Thank you.”

  “Yep, truth, knowledge, it’s all powerful stuff. That doesn’t mean we don’t still have work to do, but we’re getting closer.”

  She was correct, and I hadn’t lied completely. I did feel a little more power, but also a little more anger; if that was actually part of the power, it might be a toxic mix of it.

  I thanked her and told her I loved her. Today, she loved me more than the first fireflies on a Missouri summer night, which was more poetic than her normal declarations.

  We disconnected the call. I sat for a long moment. Should I call Detective Majors? I’d told Mill I wouldn’t. So I wouldn’t. Not quite yet.

  Maybe this afternoon.

  Twenty-Eight

  I jumped into work. I didn’t want to think about Travis Walker and my father’s friendship, or whatever it might have been. However, maybe it was the idea of it that sparked a creative explosion. I wrote some good stuff, I thought. My words were creepy, my mood dark. I used it, I threw it all on the page, and I loved every minute of it. We’d see in a few weeks if the words held up.

  Mill had told me I needed to use what had been done to me inside my books. I couldn’t remember most of the details of what had happened inside that van, but, of course, that wasn’t what she meant. Writing what you know isn’t about specifics: it’s about writing scenes that duplicate feelings, with the goal of making your readers feel them, too.

  I went deep today. I lost myself in the frightening world I was creating on the page. If I’d talked to a therapist, she’d probably ask if I was trying to escape something or face something. I wouldn’t have an answer yet, but I
was working on it.

  When I came up for air, three hours had passed, and I felt better than I had when I’d started. I stretched and opened the door. It had been snowing again. I looked down toward Randy’s house. I couldn’t see anything but the white road and woods, but I wondered about him. I crossed my arms and shivered. I turned back and went to the window. I could see Orin was at the library. It was almost lunch and he might be planning to visit me then, but I didn’t want to wait.

  I packed up my pages for the day, locked up the shed, and drove the short way over to the library.

  As usual, the place was packed.

  Though it wasn’t a large building, it offered a wide selection of all types of books. Orin ran the place, but other locals helped—everyone helped out everywhere.

  Except me. I hadn’t offered my services more than at the Petition and light stuff at the Benedict House. I hadn’t thought of my time in Benedict as anything but temporary. But I hadn’t left before August 15, which was the recommended departure date if you wanted to be sure to get out before winter set in.

  I could still leave. The weather wasn’t terrible yet. But I decided—partly because my conversation with Mill had eased my earlier panic—that I wasn’t leaving until Travis Walker was found. Maybe it would be soon now, but if it wasn’t, how long should temporary be?

  Should I offer to help out at the library? The crowd today was a good combination of people reading books and people looking at their laptops. I smiled at some of the familiar faces that looked up as I came inside. I snaked around the rows and shelves of books and knocked on Orin’s door.

  “Entrez.”

  Orin had been smoking in his office. It was all I could do not to wave my hand in front of my face.

  “Beth, I was going to come see you at lunch. Come in and close the door. Hang on, no, that’s impolite,” he said, as if he realized the smoke might be too strong. “We’ve got a break room.”

  “No, I’ll be okay,” I said as I closed the door, glad I’d already gotten my writing done for the day.

  “Okay,” he said as we both sat again. “It’s medicinal, in case you were wondering. I probably shouldn’t smoke in here, but it doesn’t spread out there too much, and I have work to do.”

  He was correct. It didn’t spread out there too much. I nodded. It was the first time he’d ever really even talked about it.

  He continued. “It’s for pain. I was shot, hit by a couple of bullets in my back. It’s a miracle my spine wasn’t severed, but it still hurts.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  He shrugged. “I manage it well. I’m able to still function, and isn’t that what it’s all about, functioning?”

  I smiled. “Yes. And I really am sorry you have pain.”

  Orin waved away my comment. “I do all right. Anyway, stuff is going on in Benedict. I can’t believe the ancient history that’s being dredged up, but first of all, did you hear? The body was not Wanda Phillips.”

  My eyes opened wide. “What? Not Randy’s wife?”

  “Nope. I talked to Gril this morning. The body remains unidentified. Randy’s coming back over from Juneau, probably as we speak.”

  “The tattoo?”

  Orin shrugged. “Not Wanda’s.”

  “One of Wanda’s friends?”

  “No one knows yet.”

  I was thrown. I’d been so sure. If I listened closely, I’d probably hear my grandfather’s admonishing laugh.

  Orin said, “While I was talking to Gril on the phone this morning, Viola showed up at his office. She sounded like she really needed to tell him something. He told me he had to go. Sounded urgent. Do you know why?”

  “Yes, I saw a freezer,” I said. “I mentioned it and she took off. I suspected she was hurrying to tell Gril. He might have wanted to check it out.”

  “Oh, a freezer where the body could have been kept? We have lots of those, I suppose.”

  We did, indeed, have many freezers throughout town. The airport, the back of the bar and café, as well as a place where caught seafood was prepared and kept frozen until tourists left for home.

  “But this freezer was next to Tex Southern’s home.”

  “Right, and his girls … I don’t know.”

  “Me either, but Viola left the Benedict House in a rush when I told her.”

  “Maybe she knows more about Tex than she told you.”

  “I wouldn’t be surprised. Orin, is there a way to figure out who the girls’ mother is? I don’t buy that they’re fraternal twins.”

  Orin’s fingers moved to his keyboard.

  “I’ve tried to get in touch with the Hortons,” Orin said as he typed. “I couldn’t find them on social media, but I left a message with their apartment manager in New York. I couldn’t find a phone number, which is something I can usually locate easily. Gril knows all of this, too.”

  “Do you think their New York address has anything to do with Randy’s and his wife’s?”

  “How could it not? Whether it’s something as simple as the Hortons learning about the apartment because of Randy or his wife—who’s back to just missing, according to other things I’m not finding, by the way—or if there’s a deeper connection, I want to know. So does Gril. He told me he was going to ask Randy more questions about the Hortons, but I’m not sure when that will be.”

  “Randy has no idea where his wife is?” I asked.

  “According to Gril, with the help of the Juneau police now, too, Randy is searching the world over for her, trying to reach her family. He thought she just didn’t want to talk to him. He hasn’t really tried hard to get ahold of her for years, and he’s not been in touch with any in-laws.”

  “Does that seem odd?” I said.

  “Who knows? It appears, and is consistent with his personality, that he’s just lived his life, thinking she was doing the same. Gril is also trying to work with the airlines to see if they can check if she was a passenger back then, but it was a long time ago.”

  “Bizarre. No one else has lived with Randy since then?” I said.

  “Not that I know of, but I’ve never been to his house. He really keeps to himself.”

  “That, in itself, could be something weird.”

  “We’re all pretty weird that way, Beth. You know that. We all keep to ourselves.”

  “Okay, what about Tex?”

  Orin typed a minute. “Tex Southern. No social media, but that’s not surprising. I can’t find a record anywhere that he’s been married. I’m familiar with Brayn. It’s struggled over the years, trying to keep the Tlingit traditions and ways of life going. It’s tricky—this world isn’t made for that, unfortunately.” Orin paused and sat back and then forward again. “They’re currently trying to raise funds for a museum; there’s an idea.” He typed some more. “Here’s a list of donors. Yep, here’s his name. Along with his daughters’ names.” Orin shook his head. “There’s one other Southern here. Grettl Southern, but I don’t know the relation. I would say chances are slim this is the girls’ mother, but it’s a possibility. There are no in memoriam listings.”

  “What about old marriage records?”

  “That’s where I was headed next.”

  I waited. A few minutes later, Orin shook his head slowly. “Nothing. No record of anyone named Tex Southern getting married in Alaska. I doubt he got married in another state, but I could be wrong.”

  I thought about the toothbrushes in Randy’s house. I thought about the three messy beds. I thought about what Gril’s reaction to my trespassing would be. He’d be angry, but he probably wouldn’t arrest me, not right away, at least. Was there a connection between Tex and Randy? As I thought about it, it felt tenuous, but anything was possible when nothing was definite, right?

  “Maybe I’ll go check in with Gril,” I said.

  Orin’s eyebrows came together as he peered around the screen. “I don’t know if you should bother him right now.”

  “I’ll tread carefully.”

  “Okay. How
do you feel after your adventures last night?”

  “Fine, thank you, and I’m not telling anyone else what I did.”

  “I can keep a secret.” Orin smiled.

  I was standing up to leave when his landline rang. It was old-school, just like Viola’s and Gril’s; each ring took me back to my grandfather’s small table and the stool in his front hallway where the one phone sat, with its forever-tangled cord.

  “Hello?” Orin answered. “Yes, thank you for calling me back.” He grabbed a pen and poised it on a notepad. “Are you sure? Yes, I see. Okay, well, thank you. If you find any way to get in touch with them, would you mind calling me back? No, I’m not the police, I’m the local librarian and we’re doing some research on their old property. It burned down, but we’re trying to find plans or blueprints.” He sent me a lifted eyebrow and shrugged. “Thank you very much.” He hung up.

  “What?” I said as he stood, too.

  “That was the Hortons’ apartment manager. He said they’ve never lived there, but their names are still on the lease. He’s never seen them. Ever.”

  “Two New York City apartments without residents, close to each other. Now, that simply can’t be a coincidence,” I said.

  “I suppose it could be, but I’d better tell Gril.” Orin looked at the time on his phone. “I’ll close a little early for lunch and come with you.”

  As happened frequently when Orin couldn’t find someone to cover for him if he had to leave for lunch, he announced that the library would be closed and locked up for an hour. He said everyone could leave their things where they were, and he’d be back.

  Without grumbles, everyone left, some heading over to use the airport internet, some leaving their stuff where it was until Orin returned.

  That was just how it worked.

  Twenty-Nine

  We drove separately, in case Orin ran out of time and had to hurry back to the library, but we parked next to each other on the small parking strip on the other side of Donner’s and Gril’s trucks.

  Donner was seated at his desk in the front part of the building when we went inside; Gril was back in his office.