by Vicki Delany
She received a nice note from Morris Lipton, full of praise for her work that went a long way toward keeping her spirits up. That, as well as the last substantial deposit into her bank account which she confirmed through internet banking. If only the dreary days weren’t so long, if only the clouds would break and let the sun out, even a few minutes of sun would be a relief.
She well knew she couldn’t afford it but nevertheless she called up Caribbean and South Sea vacation spots on the Internet. She gazed with green-eyed longing at the vista of a Hawaiian island: blue sky, azure seas, green palm trees and masses of flowers, red and yellow and purple and pink. Smiling people dressed in flowery dresses and short shorts and tiny little tank tops and almost-not-there bathing suits. Not a snow suit or a mitten or toque in sight. Heaven. If she was having this hard a time in Northern Ontario, how on Earth would Wendy and Robert survive a winter in the real north?
The crunch of wheels on the driveway and the sound of a truck door slamming brought Joanna swimming up through visions of her tanned self draped in a beach wrap and grass skirt, body baking slowly on a beach of pure white sand (better make the sand yellow, enough white on the ground around here), a handsome waiter with a smile full of shiny white teeth offering a fruit-laden cocktail. She opened the door to find Jack, his regular scowl fixed firmly in place, clutching a single bag of groceries under his arm.
He grunted at her in his usual friendly fashion and thrust the bag forward.
In a reflex action Joanna took it. But she recovered quickly. “What’s this?” she asked. “I didn’t order anything.”
“You must have. I brung it, didn’t I?”
“Well, yes.” She thrust the bag back toward him. “But I didn’t ask for anything. In fact I was thinking about calling Nancy with an order.”
The bag hung in the air between them. Jack eyed it suspiciously and Joanna made pushing gestures with her arms and smiled encouragingly. Finally, Jack grunted and took the bag back.
She stood in the doorway, still smiling, wondering why he was standing there. Jack seemed to be making up his mind about something. “Saw you at the Last Chance the other night.”
Joanna nodded. Her cheeks were starting to ache from holding the smile. It seemed very much unlike Jack to be making friendly conversation.
“Asking questions, I heard.” He didn’t seem so friendly any more. He bared his stained and broken teeth at her. Joanna took an involuntary step backward.
“I don’t think a city lady,” he fairly spat the words, “ought to be hanging around asking questions where she don’t belong. Why don’t you just mind your own business and don’t be interfering with God-fearing folks around here?”
Joanna made a clumsy effort to explain. “I wasn’t trying to interfere, I wanted to clear up something that was bothering me, that’s all.”
Jack turned his head and spat, when he looked back, his eyes were narrow with malevolence. He shifted the grocery bag to the other arm and took a small step forward. Joanna shut the screen door firmly between them.
“Just stay away.” He spat once more then turned on his heels and stepped off the porch. He stumbled on the broken tread and dropped the bag as he attempted to keep his balance. Tins clattered down the steps and rolled into the snow. He glared up at Joanna, still standing astounded behind the screen door. “Bitch.” He kicked a can of spaghetti in tomato sauce out of the way and returned to his truck.
Joanna watched him go, her heartbeat slowly returning to normal. Cans of spaghetti and pork and beans and processed meat lay on their sides, partially covered by the snow into which they had fallen. The entire scene left Joanna completely baffled. She could not imagine what she had ever done to Jack to make him turn so hostile. He was angry that she saw him the other night at the Last Chance, but if he was trying to cover up some deep, dark secret, he really shouldn’t be doing the nasty deed at the bar in the very next town. Good thing he didn’t see her in Toronto, the day she saw him on the street with the bike courier. She decided not to order groceries over the phone again. She looked at the loose plank on which Jack had tripped. “Good step,” she said as if she was praising a faithful guard dog. “Keep up the good work.”
Friday evening, as arranged, Tiffany arrived for her computer lesson. With some excitement Joanna had planned homemade pizzas for dinner. Her children had always loved homemade pizza with do-it-yourself toppings on a Friday night. She had driven all the way into North Ridge to do the shopping. She didn’t know if she would ever dare to venture back to the little store in Hope River.
As soon as she arrived, Tiffany tentatively pulled a homework assignment from her battered old backpack and held it out for Joanna’s inspection. Joanna read it over quickly. She was delighted, Tiffany actually wanted her help this time. The project was to pretend that she was setting up a new restaurant, and she was to design the menus, business cards and advertising for the venture. Joanna introduced the girl to the elements of Microsoft PowerPoint and then left her to use her imagination. While Tiffany was hard at work, Joanna started work on the pizzas. She sliced onions, green peppers, mushrooms and pepperoni and grated huge mounds of cheese. Only when she ran out of ingredients did she realize that she had prepared enough vegetables and cheese to provide the entire town of Hope River with homemade pizza. Joanna knew from long experience that teenage girls tended to eat like a bird on a bad day. They were so afraid of overeating that a couple of hours after a meal they would be back, filling up on bread or cake to try to get some of the nutrients they should have had with dinner.
She stretched store-bought pizza dough into rounds in a couple of cookie pans and turned the oven on to heat up. Then she went to have a look at Tiffany’s progress. The advertising brochures were almost finished, and to her amazement they were first-class. Although she was limited to the collection of graphics that came with the computer, Tiffany had designed a real work of art. Her imaginary restaurant was a sports bar, one that could be found in any town in Ontario, probably any town in North America, but Tiffany brought it to life with a catchy slogan, clever use of graphics and a bold dramatic font.
“This is amazing, Tiffany. It really is. I had no idea you were so talented.”
Embarrassed, the girl mumbled into her chest.
“I’m serious,” Joanna said. “Have you considered a career in graphic arts, or maybe even computer animation? It’s a rapidly growing field, you know. Great potential.”
“It’s just a poster. Nothing much,” Tiffany mumbled, her cheeks turning pink.
“Well, I like it.” Joanna placed the slip of paper onto the desk. It was difficult, but she managed to control herself from going overboard in her enthusiasm. The girl’s work was excellent. If this wasn’t a one-time fluke then maybe Tiffany had real talent. Joanna would try to encourage her to develop it.
“Come and make your pizza, and then you can work a bit more while they’re cooking.”
They ate dinner in companionable silence. Tiffany ate a great deal more than Joanna would have expected, then she rose from the table, put a new CD into the computer and clicked her way into the magical world of Tomb Raider. Joanna tossed a pile of kindling and logs into the stove to blaze up into a brilliant source of light and heat. With a sigh of contentment she snuggled into the couch, picked up a glass of wine and her book and drifted off into a world of foggy gas lit streets and rattling carriages.
Outside the circle of light cast by the windows of the little cabin, the forest mammals stirred restlessly. Those still exposed to the elements scrambled in search of shelter while the fortunate ones, who had already found a place of safely and comfort, dug themselves in deeper. The ancient great horned owl retreated deeper into the tree hollow she had found for her nest. Creatures of the forest all, they knew what the humans, content in their artificial world, did not: a winter storm was coming the likes of which had not been seen in these parts for many long years.
The rattle and clank of an old pickup truck turning into the driveway
broke the silence of the woods as it held its collective breath waiting for the descent of the storm. The sharp, harsh lights cut through the heaviness of the night like the alien presence they were. The forest animals burrowed deeper into their nests and dens and placed paws tightly over sleepy eyes.
Joanna looked up lazily from her magazine and blinked in an unconscious imitation of the old owl watching over her home. The book she was reading, a Victorian murder mystery that had started out so strong and full of promise, was plodding endlessly to a dull conclusion. The warmth of the fire and the gentle music on the CD player had her nodding off where she sat.
She struggled to her feet and lazily opened the door, blinking impending sleep from her eyes. The truck engine was running, and the lights lit up the hillside.
An arm pushed the screen door aside and shoved Joanna back into the cabin. Her knee cracked against the edge of a table and she barely caught herself before falling to the floor.
Tiffany was happily immersed in a thrilling world of magic and mystery and adventure. One more leap and she, in the overabundant form of Lara Croft, would be safely across the temple ruins and onto the next level. It took a long time for her to tear her attention from the computer screen and climb back into reality. She saw Joanna crouched over the little telephone table grimacing in pain and a heavy black form silhouetted in the doorway.
The form slowly came into focus as it moved into the room.
“For Christ’s sake, Jack. What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Joanna shouted. “I haven’t ordered any groceries and anyway, it’s a little late for a delivery, isn’t it.”
Jack seemed surprised to see Tiffany; he must have expected Joanna to be alone. In confusion he stared from one woman to the other. Behind him the door stood open and snowflakes swirled in around him, only to melt instantly under the force of the heat emanating from the old iron stove.
Tiffany carefully saved her game, then moved to Joanna’s side and helped her friend to stand straight.
“What the hell do you want?” Joanna repeated, screaming into Jack’s face. This had gone beyond eccentric, country folk behavior and she was thoroughly fed up. “I think that you had better go, now. Get out of my home. If you want to talk to me, come back tomorrow, but make an appointment first.”
As if she hadn’t spoken Jack strolled casually into the room, not bothering to shut the door behind him. He still glanced uneasily at Tiffany but his focus was on Joanna. He had not yet said a single word.
Suddenly Joanna was frightened. She grasped Tiffany and retreated, pulling the girl along with her. Aside from the fact that this was no time for a delivery from the grocery store, there was something in Jack’s eyes. Something deep and terrifying yet vacant at the same time. She always knew that he, for unknown reasons, hated her, but now she could see it burning in his face, reflected in his eyes. Years of Wen-do failed her as Joanna skittered backward across the room, dragging Tiffany with her.
Jack grabbed the telephone cord and yanked it from the wall. If Joanna still clung to any illusions that this was just a misplaced social call, they vanished in a flash. She gaped at the phone cord, dangling uselessly in his hand. Her cell phone was in the bedroom. There was no doubt that he would get to her before she got to the phone.
“You stupid old man, what did you do that for?” Tiffany shrieked. “My grandma is going to phone to check on when she should come to get me. Now she won’t get an answer so she’ll come right away and I’ll have to go home.”
Behind her daze of fear and confusion, Joanna admired Tiffany’s words of defiance: Maude would not be calling. She knew that Tiffany was here for the night.
She pulled herself together. This man was a country hick, after all. And an old one at that. She breathed deeply and attempted to remember all that she had learned in self-defense lessons. Nothing came to mind.
Tiffany stepped forward, full of teenage bravado and the arrogance of those who thought that they would never die. “What do you want, you stupid old man? Just tell us, then get the hell out of here.” She shoved him in the chest. Caught by surprise, Jack staggered backward. Women weren’t supposed to fight back. They were supposed to take what you gave them. Then clean up the mess afterward.
Tiffany read the confusion on his face and shoved him again. “Get the hell out of here,” she repeated. Joanna edged toward the hallway. Unaccustomed to violence, she did not know that she should be backing up her ally. Rather, she would try to get to her cell phone in the bedroom. That was the first of her mistakes tonight.
Jack lashed out and struck Tiffany across the face. With a cry of surprise, sharper than any pain, the girl fell to the floor. Joanna forgot her plan and rushed to help Tiffany up.
“You stupid bitches,” Jack growled. It was the first time he spoke since arriving at the cabin. “Why can’t you just stay out of what don’t concern you?”
Joanna dragged Tiffany to her feet. This can’t be happening, she thought, this is totally crazy. This demented old man must be talking about a misplaced grocery order.
Tiffany rubbed her cheek but her voice remained steady. “I think you should leave now, Mr. Miller. Come back in the morning and we can talk about this, okay?”
In answer, Jack casually reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a gun. Joanna gasped. She had only ever seen a handgun on TV. It looked very small. Small and shiny and insignificant nestled in Jack’s big, callused hand.
He shifted from one foot to the other, nervous and frightened, but his hands were as steady as rocks. “You stupid bitch,” he spat the words out. In an idle part of her mind Joanna wondered if he knew any other words for women.
“You have to go and poke your nose where it ain’t wanted.” He waved the gun in the air. “I warned you off, but you wouldn’t listen.”
Joanna attempted to inject a note of reason into the whole ridiculous conversation. “Really, Jack. I don’t understand what you are talking about. Why don’t you put that silly little gun away and we can talk about this. Like Tiffany suggested.”
Tiffany casually wiped a spot of blood off her lip with the back of her hand. “It’s no secret that you’re the big shot drug supplier around here.”
Joanna gasped.
“I’ve seen you plenty of times, creeping around parties, hanging out where the big druggies can find you. All the kids know where Cliff and Rick and that bunch get their supply.” Tiffany turned to Joanna. “They buy the drugs and sell them to the rest of us. No big deal, Mr. Miller. Nothing for you to make a fuss over.” As she spoke Tiffany stepped slowly forward and held out her hand. A gust of wind rattled the big front window. No one noticed.
“Nothing to you, maybe.” Jack raised the gun a few inches higher, warning Tiffany to stay back. “But to an uptight little city bitch like her…” he waved his empty hand at Joanna. “She’ll run to the cops as soon as look at you.”
“No, I won’t,” Joanna squeaked. “Let’s forget all about this. I won’t tell anyone.” She looked steadily into his eyes trying to convince him of her sincerity. He stared back, his eyes black and cold and empty. Joanna shivered, this was totally ridiculous. She didn’t even know that this crazy little man was the local drug dealer, but he had burst into her home in order to tell her so? Nothing made any sense. Unless… “What do you know about the death of Luke Snelgrove?” Her mouth worked faster than her brain and the words were out before she could stop them.
Jack’s eyes narrowed even further and he tightened his grip on the gun. Joanna realized that her words had struck home. But he didn’t look at all defensive, or even surprised. Tiffany stared between them, dumbfounded. She shut her mouth firmly as she absorbed the knowledge of what she had just heard.
“That clumsy old man,” Jack said. “He kept snooping around, didn’t know when to mind his own business, just like you.”
Tiffany spoke slowly, “Luke was always mad at us for hanging around on his land. But it was a great place for a party, so we just tried to keep out of his
way. We knew he didn’t have any time for the cops. He would never report us, guaranteed. He caught Cliff once, and really scared the hell out of him. So the gang pissed off to party somewhere else for a while. I was leaving the scene around then, Joanna, really I was. It was just so juvenile. But I can tell you that they knew old Luke wouldn’t have called the cops, no way, even though he threatened that he would. He wouldn’t have told the cops about you either,” she told Jack.
“He might have told his brother, though.” Jack kept his eyes firmly fixed on Joanna. He did not notice Tiffany off to one side, moving slowly toward him as she spoke, inch by deliberate inch. “Couldn’t take the chance.”
“So you burned down his home.”
“Damned old fool, still kept hanging around in them woods. Weren’t no home there any more, but he was still poking around in the woods.”
“So you killed him.” At last Joanna realized what all this was about.
“‘Course I killed him,” Jack said casually as if confessing to an accidental placement of meat into the dairy case. “Damned old fool. And now I have to kill you, you stupid bitch. I wouldn’t have bothered you, you know. If you had just kept out of it.”
“I did want to keep out of it.” Joanna kept on talking as Tiffany continued to slide around Jack’s side, trying to move so slowly as not to be noticed. She picked up the only thing that came to hand, the small Haida statue that was James’ Christmas present to his mother.
“But you put the body on my property, how was I to stay out of it after that?”
Jack shrugged. “I didn’t know where the property line was. Musta got confused in the dark. Thought that stretch of shore was government property. Sorry.”
“My jacket,” Tiffany shrieked, launching herself across the room. She brought the little statue down with all the strength of a short lifetime’s rage onto Jack’s outstretched arm. The gun flew out of his hand as he whirled to fight her off. Tiffany struck again with the statue and continued yelling. “You stole my jacket and tried to frame me. You fucking asshole.”
