Glare Ice

by Mary Logue

  A knock at the door.

  “Who could that be?” Lily asked.

  Mrs. Tabor remembered that the deputy lady was coming. She didn’t say anything, but started eating her food while Lily went to answer the door.

  Then Lily ushered in the lady, who introduced herself again as Deputy Watkins.

  Mrs. Tabor said hello and continued eating her food. She didn’t want to appear to be part of the questioning.

  “Lily, the bank called us. It appears that someone has been forging some checks of Mrs. Tabor’s. Do you know anything about this?”

  “Why would you even ask me? I just come in and make her a meal every few days. If anything shady is going on, it’s that daughter of hers. She only stops by to take something from her mother. Isn’t that right, Mrs. Tabor?”

  Mrs. Tabor made a noise in her throat. She loved her daughter, but Lily was with her more often. She needed to watch her step.

  “Could I ask you to write out Mrs. Tabor’s name on a piece of paper for me?”

  “No, of course you can’t. Think I don’t know better than that? I watch the TV. I know my own rights. I don’t need to sign nothing.”

  “This is a criminal offense. I can take you down to the sheriff’s office, and we can continue our conversation there.”

  “Let me see those two checks.”

  “I didn’t say anything about two checks,” Deputy Watkins said.

  “Well, the reason I said that number is that I helped Mrs. Tabor with two checks last week. Her eyesight is getting so bad. Remember, Mrs. Tabor?”

  It was hard always to remember everything. Lily helped her with so much. What would she do without her? “I think I do,” Mrs. Tabor said.

  The deputy showed her the two checks.

  “Sure enough. Those are the ones.”

  “Well, the bank is overdrawn as a result of these two checks.”

  “Her social security check should go in today, so they will be covered,” Lily said.

  Mrs. Tabor wondered how she knew that. It went directly into her bank account. Had she told Lily that?

  Deputy Watkins squatted down alongside Mrs. Tabor and touched her arm. “Is that what happened? Did Lily help you write those two checks? And then take them to the bank to cash them for you?”

  “Oh, yes. I’m sure it’s fine, then. If Lily says so.” Mrs. Tabor could feel the deputy staring down at her. She didn’t dare look up and face those eyes.

  Deputy Watkins voice was calm, not sounding like she suspected anything was amiss. “All right. I’m glad we got this cleared up. You call me if you ever need anything. Looks like a good lunch.”

  “Lily’s a real fine cook. She takes good care of me.”

  The deputy patted her on the shoulder, and Lily showed her out the door. Mrs. Tabor waited for Lily to come back into the living room, but she must have stayed in the kitchen. Her potatoes were cold, but she finished them.

  She felt awful sleepy. She hoped Lily wouldn’t be mad at her today. She could be so mean sometimes. She never knew what to expect from her.

  Buck Owens body lay gutted in front of Claire: chest cut wide, head opened up, and body parts removed. She could see that the bags they had placed over his hands were removed and the fingernails clipped down to the quick. Somehow that bothered her more than the chest torn stem to stern.

  She had missed most of the autopsy, but had come in time to have Dr. Lord show her the damage to his neck. And his pièce de résistance—water in the lungs. “Lake Pepin water,” he had told her. “I’m guessing it’s Lake Pepin water. I’ll send it down to the lab. I’ll have to match it. Drive out to the lake later today.”

  “Don’t go in yourself,” Claire warned him.

  “Did you ever get warm last night?”

  Claire ignored his jab and asked the next logical question. “So he was alive when he went into the water. Can you tell if he was conscious?”

  “No conclusive way to determine that, but I would guess, unfortunately, that he was.”

  “How so?”

  “By the damage done to his neck. I think he struggled fiercely to get loose, and I think that probably happened when he went into the water.”

  “Yes, I see.” Claire sat up on a high stool he had given her while Dr. Lord walked around the body, poking and picking and prodding at it. His last task was to draw blood directly from the heart for alcohol determination, toxicology, and blood typing.

  “What do you think happened to him?” Claire asked.

  “He got into his car after a beer or two. This is a guess, but given what I know, I think he strapped himself in with his seat belt. He leaned his head back, and someone grabbed him around the neck and tied him from behind to the headrest in his car. Didn’t you say the firemen had to cut him loose?”

  Claire nodded.

  “Then I think he passed out for a bit. His eyes show signs of strangulation. The perpetrator might have choked him first before he tied him up. Then the car was driven into the lake, and he drowned.”

  “I’m trying to figure out how they got the car into the lake.”

  “Car an automatic?” Dr. Lord asked.

  “Yes, it is.”

  “Head it in the right direction, give it enough gas, and it will keep going until the ice cracks under its weight.”

  “Did the strip of cloth fit the marks on his neck?” Claire asked.

  “Yes. I think it was triple-strength around his neck. When it got wet, it really cut into his neck, but he couldn’t break it.”

  “What do you think it is?”

  Dr. Lord brought out the bag with a red strip in it. He held it out for Claire to look at. “I’m not sure. Some kind of rag, but why would it be cut like that?”

  “A rag strip.” She stared at it. Long thin red rag. She remembered where she had seen them before. “I should have thought of this sooner. I think I know what it is.”

  7

  STEPHANIE couldn’t believe she was at work, checking over dog food as it went into big paper bags. There were moments when her blood would turn to ice in her veins and her feet would feel frozen to the factory floor. She would wonder if she could even move if she had to run for her life.

  She hadn’t been able to leave Snooper at home—the thought of anything happening to him made her start to shake—so she had brought him with her. She checked on him a few minutes ago, to make sure he was okay sitting in the car with a big polar fleece comforter, a bowl of food, and plenty of water. She had parked so the car would be in full sun all day long. She had checked on him twice in the morning and then taken him for a long walk at lunch. He seemed quite content and very happy to see her. He had a very sunny personality.

  Nearly as sunny as Buck’s had been. She knew it was stupid, but somehow she felt as if something of Buck lived on in Snooper, some of his kindness. She needed to hold on to that.

  The foreman of the factory had made an announcement about Buck’s death the first thing at the start of the shift. After telling everyone what had happened, he had asked for a moment of silence. Stephanie had felt all her fear and tiredness waiting to drop her to the floor, but she remained standing.

  Afterward, he had walked over and said, “I’m sorry, Steph. I know you guys had something going.”

  She had nodded, accepting his condolences silently. She didn’t want to start crying at work.

  Throughout the day, people had stopped by her station, mainly the women, some she hardly knew, just to say a little something. Most of them were awkward and all they might say was, “Too bad,” “So sorry,” but she knew it was heartfelt. Buck had always had a smile for everyone. Even though she knew they were offering her sympathy because of the way they had felt for Buck, she still appreciated it.

  The one good thing about being at work was that she was safe here. Maybe she should sign on for extra shifts. Two more days, and she would be gone. She just needed to get her two-week paycheck. It would make a big difference on how far she could go.

  She was
even thinking of Hawaii. She had never been there, didn’t even know anyone who had ever been there, but she didn’t think she would ever be found there. She would get a little carry case so Snooper could fly in the plane with her.

  It was hard to do her work when she was so tired. They kept track of how many bags each checker did an hour, and she knew her average productivity was not going to be what it usually was. But she stayed at it, steady as she could be, trying to keep awake on the line. At least nothing dangerous would happen to her if she fell asleep. Some people could get really hurt if they weren’t careful.

  Thinking of Hawaii kept her going. Palm trees—she had never seen a palm tree. Drinking right out of a coconut. Maybe she’d even learn how to hula dance. She and Snooper could go for long walks on the beach.

  She’d legally change her name. Stephanie Klaus—she had never liked her name. Maybe Lorna Lake; that had a nice sound to it. She could be a totally different person. A woman who never took shit from any man. Maybe she would find someone to love her. Maybe she would get married again. Kids were certainly still a possibility.

  She got giddy when she thought of what her life could be. But when she thought about leaving her house, getting away from him, she started to sweat. She knew he would stay away from her for a while, but then he would come after her. She did not want to think what he would do if he found her.

  “Claire?” Bridget said when she heard her sister’s voice. She hated to call her at work, but she needed to talk to her. “Or should I call you deputy?”

  “Call me madame.”

  “Madame it is.”

  “What can I do for you?”

  “You busy?” Bridget didn’t know why she asked. She could tell by Claire’s voice, the professional remove in it, that she was.

  “Sort of.”

  “I’ll be quick. Is there any chance Rachel and I can come for Thanksgiving?”

  A pause—she could hear papers rustling. “I thought you were going to Chuck’s folks.”

  It wasn’t a good sign that Claire hadn’t immediately been thrilled with the prospect of two more for Thanksgiving. “Well, Chuck and his dad decided they wanted to go deer hunting.”

  “Oh, deer hunting. He’s going to miss his baby’s first Thanksgiving?”

  “You don’t need to rub it in. I’m not happy about this decision.”

  “No, I suppose not. Of course you can join us. Rich’s mother is coming too.”

  This explained the reticence. “Oh, I didn’t know.”

  “Yeah, Rich just asked if she could come.”

  “You haven’t met her before, have you?”

  “No.”

  “Is there any way I can help?” Bridget grimaced. She felt she needed to offer, but she wasn’t known for her cooking.

  “Yes,” Claire said. “Could you bring a nice bottle of white wine, and can you be responsible for the relish tray?”

  “Yes, absolutely. I can do the relish tray. I would love to do that. I’ll make it look really nice. Don’t give it another thought.”

  “Thanks, Bridge. It’ll be nice to have you with us. I know Meg will be ecstatic when she hears that Rachel will be there. How is the little cutie?”

  Bridget looked over at the small sleeping form, curled among pillows on the couch. “She’s fine. She doesn’t seem to like to sleep in her crib. She wants to be with me wherever I am.”

  “That’s sweet.”

  “She’ll get over it, won’t she?”

  “Oh, in about ten years. Then she won’t hardly want to be in the same room with you.”

  When they hung up, Bridget walked over and knelt down by her baby. Rachel was pursing her lips in her sleep. Hungry again? Bridget hoped not for another hour or so. Her breasts ached with their intermittent fullness and then the constant feedings. Rachel didn’t seem to take that much at a time and so was hungry an hour or two after she had fed. Bridget had made the big mistake of figuring out how many hours a day she was breast-feeding. When she came up with four and a half, she started crying.

  Bridget felt like she was living in a dream world; never really awake and certainly never really asleep. She slept with one ear out for the slightest whimper from Rachel.

  She was petrified that Rachel was going to die. She knew it made no sense. She knew that it was a common feeling among new mothers. But none of this knowledge helped her deal with the raw anguish and absolute panic she felt whenever she wasn’t sitting, watching or holding her baby.

  She had dreams that she had forgotten about Rachel, not fed her for days, completely forgotten she had even had a baby, until she found her lying on the floor in her bedroom. The dreams would wrench her from sleep, and she would have to go and see that Rachel was all right.

  At Thanksgiving, she would try to talk to Claire about this. Maybe she would know some tricks to help her calm down.

  Bridget was mad at Chuck for going hunting, but in a way she would be glad to be rid of him for a few days. He loved Rachel and held her and even changed her diapers, but he didn’t like how much attention Bridget gave her. “Let her be,” he would say. “She can cry for a few moments. She’ll be okay.”

  Rachel was almost a month old, gaining weight, waggling her feet in the air, and looking at everything. She was a healthy, happy baby. But sometimes Bridget did wish she were ten years old. Or eighteen, going out the door to live in her own apartment.

  It wasn’t that Bridget didn’t want to enjoy all the years of Rachel’s growing up, it was that she could hardly wait for the time to come when she would know that she had done her job, raised her darling daughter to adulthood. She hated feeling so responsible for another person.

  Two people sat hunched up over the long wooden bar and didn’t even turn around to look as she walked in the door. The bartender was smoking a cigarette near the one window at the far end of the bar.

  With an incredible view of the lake, Claire couldn’t understand why they didn’t have any windows overlooking it. Instead there were two small windows at the front of the bar looking out into the parking lot.

  The place smelled like a wet ashtray—beer and cigarettes—what a mixture. In a neon sign, the Budweiser beer horse team was galloping over the cash register.

  “What can I do for you?” the bartender asked, walking over to where Claire stood by the bar.

  Claire would have guessed his age to be mid-fifties. It was hard to be sure as drinking and smoking had obviously taken their toll. The skin around his eyes sagged so much that it was hard to see his pupils. His thinning hair was greased across his balding head.

  He looked pointedly at her uniform, then asked, “You in here about what happened at the lake last night?”

  “Yes, were you here?”

  “I wasn’t, but Norm filled me in.”

  Claire took down the name of the bartender who had been working the previous night. “Do you know Buck Owens, the man who went through the ice?”

  “He died, didn’t he?”

  “Yes, he died. Did you know him?”

  “Not really. I knew who he was to see him and all.”

  “Did you ever see him in here with a woman? I’ve been told her first name was Stephanie.”

  “Yeah, I know her. She’s not bad looking. Comes in now and again. Doesn’t even drink too much. I think she and Buck worked together or something.”

  “Do you know where she lived or what her last name was?”

  “I think she lived in Fort St. Antoine. And I remember her name. Someone teased her about it. Klaus, like Santa Klaus. But I think she pronounced it differently.”

  So it was Stephanie, her neighbor. Felt odd to have it be someone she knew. This never happened to her when she worked in Minneapolis. “How did she and Buck get along?”

  “They weren’t a big item. Seemed almost more like friends. They’d meet here sometimes. Never caused a commotion, if that’s what you’re asking.”

  “Did Buck ever cause any trouble?”

  “Buck?” The ba
rtender laughed. “You gotta be kidding. Couldn’t have been a nicer kid. If you ask me, almost too nice. Helped anybody out. Even when he got drunk, he stayed nice. Some guys do that. They get kinda sweet and slobbery. Know what I mean?”

  “Yes, I do. My husband got sentimental if he had a drink.” Claire was surprised to hear herself say that. She didn’t talk about Steve very often, but that behavior reminded her of him.

  “Sorry to hear that Buck was killed. I’m also hearing it might not have been an accident. Is that true?”

  “We’re checking into that.”

  “Take it to mean it’s true, otherwise you’d deny it.” He looked Claire over. “I’ve heard about you—the woman deputy. Guys talk about you in here. You’re even prettier than they say.”

  Claire nodded her head at the compliment. Before she turned to walk out the door, she couldn’t resist saying, “Smarter too. Thanks for the info.”

  8

  STEPHANIE didn’t care if she didn’t finish the rug. She had to weave. She needed something to keep her hands busy, and weaving soothed her like nothing else. The only other thing that worked for her was drinking, and she didn’t want to start doing that. She had to keep her wits about her. That was something her mother would say. Her mother had lived with a man who was very similar to Jack, Stephanie could now see. Very similar.

  Snooper sat next to her on the couch and watched her as she moved the shuttle back and forth. His head moved as her hand did, and she could have sworn that he was trying to learn how she did it. He was such a smart dog.

  She hadn’t paid much attention to him when Buck was still alive and had always been rather astonished at the degree of Buck’s attachment to the dog, but now she felt like she understood it better. He seemed like a remarkable animal to her: devoted to his master, whoever that might be, and attentive in a way that she had never experienced before. She felt utter love coming off the dog, but sometimes he gave her the willies. Like he was reading her thoughts.