Whiteout

by Vicki Delany

  Joanna smiled, all ready to shake hands and introduce herself as well. The men ignored her. The smile faded and she clasped her hands behind her back.

  “You up to a couple of beers, O’Neill?” Hugh Murphy asked. “I’m too wired up to go on home. How about you, Pop?”

  Santa Claus, presumably Mr. Murphy, nodded.

  “Good idea,” Scott said.

  Joanna was appalled. Could her radar be that far off? She was so sure Scott was sending her getting-to-know-you-better signals that she was busily debating the pros and cons of accepting his offer before it was even extended.

  “You ladies okay to get yourselves home?” Hugh asked, already moving toward his truck. She wondered what he would do if she said, “No.” Ignore her, probably.

  “Of course,” Nancy tittered. Joanna’s fingers itched to strangle her.

  “Good night then.” Scott waved over his shoulder. “See you soon, Joanna.” Without a backward glance he followed the other men to the road. They were immediately swallowed up by the night.

  Nancy and Joanna stood alone in the clearing. “That’s a nice looking man,” Nancy said with a bit of a leer and a sigh. “Wouldn’t kick him out of bed for eating crackers.”

  “Do you mean Scott?” Joanna asked. “I hadn’t noticed. Uh, do you feel like going out for a drink or something?” She was horrified to hear the words coming out of her mouth but they couldn’t be stopped.

  “Oh, I’d love to. But I really can’t. I have to be getting home. Bill’s gonna be wanting his dinner-I’ve already been later than I said I would. He’s like a bear until he gets his dinner. You know how it is.”

  Joanna nodded, she knew exactly how it was. That was why she had never remarried.

  In silence they walked each other to their respective cars. While they were talking, the night had closed in completely. Snow was no longer falling. The moon was so bright it cast ghostly shadows among the trees. A shooting star flashed overhead and plunged to earth somewhere in the far distance. Nancy pointed and exclaimed with delight, but Joanna was so lost in gloom over the disappearance of Luke, the humiliation of Scott’s departure, worries about her work, even Nancy’s rejection of her offer of friendship, that she didn’t even glance up to notice the beauty of the heavens. She climbed heavily into her car, started the lights and switched on the engine. Out of habit she watched Nancy until the other woman’s pickup truck roared to life, and then she shifted into gear and drove slowly home, alone.

  Chapter 13

  Joanna stood up from her desk and stretched lazily. After a few false starts the work for Fred was going well. Her wrist was feeling much better, with only the occasional twinge to remind her that she was supposed to be resting it. She worked hard all day, practically straight through with only a brief stop to make a tuna sandwich and a cup of tea for lunch. If she could keep this pace up she might be able to finish well ahead of schedule. The phone in the living room was unplugged and blissful silence filled the little cabin all day.

  The late afternoon sun was moving west, faster and faster toward its nightly bath in the icy waters of the lake. The soft winter light glistened brightly on thick white layers of ice and snow. Without checking the answering machine, Joanna slipped on her boots and coat and strolled down the hill to the lake. The caress of the fading sun, gently resting on her face, but not quite warming it, felt wonderful.

  She stepped off the bank hesitantly at first, then with more confidence. The lake ice would easily hold her weight; people living around here turned the lakes and rivers into roads as soon as there was a sufficient thickness of ice.

  She walked for a long way, lost in her own thoughts. It was almost a week now, since Luke’s disappearance, and not a sign of the old man was to be found. The search parties were moving further afield, but people were losing their enthusiasm for marching through the winter woods in deep snow. Try as they might, it was hard to keep up the optimism.

  High overhead a hawk circled lazily, his sharp eyes on the lookout for any movement crossing the sweep of white below. He dismissed Joanna as too large to take and broke out of his pattern, climbing higher and higher until he disappeared from sight.

  The expanse of frozen lake was wide and untouched. She looked behind her to see only a single line of tracks disappearing back to the horizon. Before her the terrain was unbroken. She placed one boot carefully into the snow and withdrew it to create a perfect footprint.

  “To boldly go where no one has gone before.” She laughed at the thought.

  The shoreline loomed to her side, dark and foreboding. The forest grew thickly right down to the edge of the water. Signs of human habitation were rare: the odd cabin in a clearing in the trees, a few boathouses boarded up tightly for the winter. Several docks had been crushed and twisted by the force of the ice-the annual repair job awaiting the owners who would return with the spring thaw.

  She walked on, enjoying the silence and the solitude. She came up here, to the North, to get as far away from life, from people, as she could; yet over the last few months she had become caught up in the maelstrom of those around her. If she set up residence in an igloo at the North Pole, some lost soul would no doubt parachute right into her frozen front yard looking for a cup of tea or computer lessons.

  But could she really survive, if everyone did actually leave her alone? Probably not. Humans were supposed to be social animals. Although some were certainly more social than others. Joanna always thought of herself as solitary; although people were constantly seeking her out, trying to offer company.

  She and Wendy once went to a lecture on orangutans in Borneo given by the famous Dr. Brute Galdecus. Dr. Galdecus devoted her life to first studying, then trying to save, the wild orangutans and their forest environment. According to Dr. Galdecus, who should know, orangutans are truly solitary creatures. They move through the jungle alone most of the time. A mother and her child might not feel the need for the company of others of their kind for as long as eight years. Sounded good to Joanna.

  An image of Scott smiling at her through the thick brush as they trudged on with the search for Luke leapt unexpectedly into her mind. She pushed it away roughly, then reconsidered and called it back. She had been divorced for a very long time now. At first she eagerly sought out another mate, but as time passed and the perfect man didn’t present himself she came to rely more and more on herself. As the children got older she felt that she could never expect anyone to venture into the trauma that constituted their family life. The years passed and Joanna forgot that men could, sometimes, be fun and also be friends. Several men approached her, but she either ran in terror or simply didn’t notice their intent. The effect was the same: he thought he was rebuffed and did not try again.

  She shook her head and chased Scott out of her mind once again. He was too young. Probably just wanted to be friendly to the old woman living all by herself. After the night of the search, it was clear that he was not really interested in her.

  A small plane roared overhead, startling Joanna out of her reverie. She glanced at her watch. It was getting late and she didn’t want to be out on the ice once the sun went down. It would be awfully difficult, maybe impossible, to locate her cabin in the dark. There were few landmarks along the shoreline and she couldn’t remember if she had left any lights burning in the cabin.

  She followed her footprints most of the way back, although they were fading beneath the long, tireless brush strokes of the wind. She rounded the headland and the frame of the little dock sprung into sight. Joanna let out a deep sigh of relief. She had been unaware of how much she was keeping her worry in check, afraid that she would be unable to recognize her bit of land when she came to it.

  She clambered up the rocks onto the shore and sat for a moment to catch her breath. The dock was designed to come apart for winter storage. The planks were stacked in orderly rows on the rocks behind her. An old boat lay face down beside the pieces of dock. At her approach a squirrel popped up from under the wood and ran f
or cover.

  A sudden gust of wind picked at a piece of fabric trapped under the boat. It waved at her and then flopped back down to lie still. She leaned over to get a better look. She was about to dismiss it as a cleaning rag when some instinct made her move in for a closer look.

  It was a sleeve-of a coat. She tugged on the cloth. It was stuck under the boat. She lifted the boat slightly and the coat pulled free.

  Joanna stood up to examine her find. It was in good condition. In fact, it looked somewhat familiar. She turned it over to see a large Bulls logo stitched onto the back. Rusty brown stains covered the hood and the front of the jacket.

  It was very much like Tiffany’s. The jacket she claimed to have lost. Carrying the garment, Joanna started back up the hill. She would call Tiffany and let her know that her coat was found.

  Halfway to home she stopped. What was it doing out here? She walked back down the hill and stood hesitantly beside the boat. Tiffany may have dropped something else. She should really have a look. But anything could be under there. Dead animals; or worse, a live animal not happy at being disturbed.

  She crouched down and pushed the boat a few feet to one side. A human hand, unnaturally white, flopped out. It lay on the ground, palm up, perfectly still.

  Joanna screamed and fell back, rolling down the hill to crash to a halt up against a tree. A broken branch ripped through her coat and sliced into her back but in her shock she didn’t feel the pain. She scrambled to her feet, gasping for air. The boat had fallen back to the ground, trapping the hand under it. Images from all the horror movies she had ever seen flashed through her mind. It looked as if someone was trying to crawl out from under the boat.

  She gathered her breath calmly and with nerves she didn’t know she possessed, walked slowly back to the boat. She took a deep breath and placed both her hands firmly on one side. With a burst of strength pulled from heaven-knows-where, she threw the boat over onto its back. A flurry of activity erupted as beetles and mice scurried out of the unexpected light.

  Old Luke lay face down. She knew all along that it was Luke. She couldn’t see his face but the clothes were clearly his and the size was right. There were no visible marks but the black hair on the back of his head was thickly matted with a dark brown substance.

  Joanna moved slowly up the hill, clutching the jacket to her chest. Behind her the insects and mice crept out of their hiding places to resume their gruesome task.

  Chapter 14

  Joanna hugged a steaming mug of red zinger tea tightly in her hands, seeking to draw some warmth into her shaking body. She stood at the living room window and tried not to watch as poor, old Luke was carried on a stretcher up the hill to be laid in the coroner’s van. But like a moth to a flame she was unable to turn away.

  The two men carrying the stretcher slipped and slid on the snow and ice covered path. The front man tripped on a tree root and dropped his end of the load. It crashed to the ground accompanied by loud curses. The thick blanket they placed loosely over Luke’s body flopped aside revealing the blood-encrusted head. The man at the back of the stretcher bit his tongue as he caught sight of Joanna standing stiffly in the front window, watching them. He flipped the blanket back into place; they resumed their burden and continued up the hill, out of her sight.

  “Ms. Hastings, why didn’t you search your property before this?” Constable Jenkins turned away from the window to resume his interrogation. “Everyone around here was looking for Luke.”

  “Well how was I supposed to know that,” she snapped, the shock of the discovery breaking through her composure. She had to find someone to blame. “You didn’t tell me to. No one told me. I’m from Toronto,” she hissed. “We don’t regularly search our property for dead bodies in Toronto. Maybe it’s a rural custom I’ve missed.”

  Jenkins scratched his head. He didn’t quite understand what being from Toronto had to do with anything but he knew that if this tea-drinking city lady had done what was expected it would have saved everyone a lot of time and trouble.

  “It’s all right Jenkins. Why don’t you go down and see if the forensic boys need anything. I’ll talk to Ms. Hastings here.” Bob Reynolds came into the cabin, stomping snow off his boots.

  Jenkins agreed eagerly and slammed the door on his way out.

  “Come over here and sit down.” Reynolds motioned to Joanna. “You’ve had quite a shock.”

  She looked at him suspiciously, but slid into a seat.

  “I don’t think we’ve met, properly. I’m Bob Reynolds. Staff Sergeant in charge of the OPP detachment in these parts.” He held out his hand.

  Joanna shook it, still suspicious.

  “We’re interested for now in that jacket you found.” The garment had been carefully bagged and taken away by one of the fresh-faced forensic “boys” from the nearest city. There appeared to be no “girls” in law-enforcement in this part of the world.

  Reynolds was watching her. “Have you seen it before?”

  “Plenty of times,” Joanna replied before she could think it through. “Half the men and boys in Toronto are wearing jackets exactly the same as that one these days. Why they are so loyal to the Chicago Bulls, whoever they may be, I have no idea.”

  “Great basketball team,” Reynolds said.

  “What’s the matter with Canadian sports teams?”

  “What’s that? Oh, well, nothing I guess. But didn’t you say that a jacket just like that was on one of the people you saw running away from the Southland’s property?”

  “The what?”

  “The break-and-entry you saw. It was at Mr. and Mrs. Southland’s summer cottage.”

  “Oh, right. I just didn’t know the name. Yes, I thought I saw one of those Bulls jackets, but as I say, every man and his dog is wearing one these days.”

  “But not every man in Hope River or even in North Ridge,” Reynolds answered. “We’ll be looking for someone who owns one of those. Well, thanks for your time, Ms. Hastings. I know how difficult all this is for you. But I’m afraid I’ll have to ask you to stay away from the lake front, for a day or two, until we’ve had a chance to look over the area in the daylight.”

  Joanna nodded dumbly. As if she would want to venture back down to the lake any time soon and face the canoe, the stains underneath it, and the little animals and insects digesting who-knows-what. She fell into her chair. It was much more than she could take in. All she wanted now was to go to bed. She would process it all in the morning.

  Sleep had little chance of coming. She could hear the shouts of the men as they worked, the steady rustling of dead and decaying leaves as they carried bags, full of evidence presumably, up the hill. Far off in the distance Joanna heard the deep growling of dogs. The police must think the-culprit? scum bag? perpetrator?-was still in the area. The thought didn’t bother her, with the woods full of police officers and dogs they wouldn’t be around for long.

  She popped the cork on a bottle of French wine, her very best, the one she was saving in expectation of one day having a big contract to celebrate. She poured a glass almost to the rim and swallowed without tasting. She served herself another, forced thoughts of sweet sleep out of her head, ignored the lateness of the hour and picked up the phone to call Maude.

  “It’s Joanna. I want to come over and speak to Tiffany. Is she there?”

  “Why yes, she is.” Concern crept into the elderly woman’s voice. “What’s happening up there? We saw all the police cars go by with their lights flashing. Are you all right?”

  “Me? I’m fine. I’m coming over. Tell Tiffany I want to speak to her.” She poured the full glass back into the open bottle and placed it in the fridge.

  Maude was anxious, Rocky enthusiastically friendly and Tiffany characteristically defiant when Joanna arrived. Maude was wearing a heavy, red velour housecoat, fluffy pink slippers peeking out from under the hem. Masses of hairpins held her hair into tight gray rolls. Despite the urgency of her visit, Joanna was fascinated-she hadn’t seen pin cur
ls since she was a child visiting her grandmother for a sleepover. Tiffany was still fully dressed, watching the television with a steady, unblinking stare. Rocky danced about in delight-nighttime visitors were a rare treat. He sniffed at Joanna’s crotch, a proper display of good manners, but was pushed aside with a snarl. Offended, the big dog crept off to his blanket by the fire.

  Joanna got straight to the point-she was well past polite. “Tiffany, turn off the goddamned TV. I have to talk to you and I have no intention of competing with whatever rubbish that is.”

  Tiffany looked up in astonishment, but she leaned over and pushed a button on the machine. The yellow cartoon character with the big eyes was cut off in mid whine and the picture faded to black.

  Joanna walked across the room until she was facing the girl. “Tiffany, I want to know where your jacket is. The Bulls one. And don’t lie to me. It’s in your interest to tell me the truth.”

  Maude opened her mouth to protest, but one look at Tiffany silenced her.

  “I told you, I lost it.” The girl sunk back into her chair, crossed her arms over her thin chest and glared.

  “I’ve seen you wearing that jacket. I thought it might be you I saw a few weeks ago. Someone very short, probably a girl, with a jacket just like yours was breaking into the Southland’s cottage to steal liquor. And her companion looked a lot like that scruffy boy I’ve seen you hanging around with in town. But I wasn’t about to accuse you.”

  Tiffany’s eyes widened in surprise, and she started to chew at her fingernails.

  “But I don’t want to talk about that now. That jacket is about to get you into a lot more trouble than a little break-and-enter. So I will ask you again, where is your winter jacket?”

  Indecision wrestled behind the girl’s eyes. Joanna stood her ground but didn’t say a word. She left it up to Tiffany to struggle with her own demons. If the girl rejected her, Joanna would leave the room and never come back. Maude glanced from Joanna to her granddaughter and back and remained silent.