Frozen Identity

by Sharon Mierke

  Frozen Identity

  (Second Edition)

  A Mabel Wickles Mystery

  Sharon Mierke

  This book is fiction. All characters, events, places, and incidents portrayed in this novel are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the author, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.

  Copyright 2014Sharon Mierke

  Frozen Identity is dedicated to every Mabel Wickles reader. I hope you enjoy your journeys with Mabel Wickles and Flori Flanders as much as I enjoy writing them!

  Prologue

  It turns out that four major catastrophes made this past January the worst January on record.

  First, there was the weather. December was picture perfect; the temperature was mild, the Canada geese stayed longer than anticipated (not that everyone was happy with that), there was only a sprinkling of snow, and the temperature was well above normal. January fifth struck. The temperature plunged to minus twenty. Next, without any warning, a clipper from Colorado dumped over two feet of snow on our little town of Parson's Cove. Then, for no reason at all, a wind suddenly developed over the Great Lakes and the minus twenty dipped to minus thirty. And, the snow? Well, it doubled in depth and it blew like there was no tomorrow. I am sure that many stranded in cars along roads leading in and out of Parson’s Cove probably thought there might not be a tomorrow for them. Fortunately, there were no fatalities but I am certain there were many unimaginable cuss words uttered for several days. I know because I uttered a few.

  Second, there was the ‘intervention.’ The word itself is enough to ruin your day. To me, this was unnecessary and ridiculous. Flori is a crier. So what? She has been crying her whole life. Why, now that she is past her mid-sixties, is everyone all concerned because Flori Flanders cries too much? It’s her personality. So what if she cries ten times a day? What is there, some sort of lamentation law that says you can only indulge yourself on certain occasions? Most of my crying takes place while I’m peeling onions. What does that prove? I’m insensitive? Well, some might say that describes me to a ‘T’, but that’s beside the point. Flori cries enough for the two of us so I don’t bother. We are like a pendulum - she swings one way and I swing the other.

  Thirdly, Sheriff Jim's snowmobile flipped on the ice and landed on top of him. He broke his leg in two places. Everyone in Parson's Cove was upset, not so much that Jim's leg wouldn’t heal, but they were worried Scully, his deputy, might take his place. As it turned out, in order to keep the town from an outright revolt, Reg Smee, now mayor, stepped down to resume his old post as sheriff.

  Fourthly, there was the body. Fred Pollock, Parson’s Cove’s esteemed fill-in mayor while Reg Smee went back to being temporary Sheriff, went out to check his fish shack and happened to come across a frozen body in the shack next to his. It might’ve been mistaken for an accident except the padlock was on the outside. And it was locked.

  It was especially tragic that this was the week for Flori’s intervention because the body happened to belong to her second cousin, Victor. In addition, her eldest son, Jake Jr. happened to threaten Victor at Main Street Café, loud enough for Reg Smee and half the town to hear.

  As I said, January was not a good month.

  Chapter One

  The only positive thing I could think about when I looked outside was the fact that the storm was over; it was Monday, and I didn’t have to stick my nose outside. Not that I didn’t have the urge. Everyone in Parson’s Cove had been holed up inside for almost a week. The reason I didn’t have to trudge through the snow to my shop, Mabel’s Fables and Things, was that on Monday everything in our small town was closed.

  Flori told me that Main Street Cafe was open every day in case anyone needed to get inside out of the storm. However, I’m sure their only customer was Travis Jones. Travis is new to Parson's Cove and Flori told me he is usually three sheets to the wind by nine in the morning so I doubt the cold affects him. Without knowing it, he replaced Amos Grimm. Amos was our town drunk before he found himself murdered last fall.

  Flori said that Jake tried walking the two blocks to the restaurant every morning for his usual cup of coffee but by the time he reached their gate, he gave up and went back inside. Having Jake at home 24/7, would be enough to nullify any intervention.

  Speaking of the intervention, Jake phoned me the Thursday before the perfect storm arrived. If I’d known it was Flori’s husband, I might not have picked up. I took it for granted it was Flori because Jake has never called me in his entire life. At least not to chat. He has called on several occasions to warn me subtly that I needed to mind my own business or to stay away from Flori. I do take his threats seriously but Flori doesn’t so it all works out.

  It was a rather strange interchange of words.

  “Mabel?”

  “Jake?”

  “Yeah.”

  Five seconds of silence.

  “Did you want something, Jake, or is this one of those obscene phone calls?”

  “Right, Mabel. I’m sure you get lots of those. As a matter of fact, I was waiting for you to either yell or hang up like you usually do.”

  “I can do that if you want.”

  (A nervous laugh) “No, no, don’t hang up. I need to ask you a favor.”

  “Really? That’s different. What do you want me to get Flori to do for you?”

  (Another nervous laugh) “Not something for me. To make it simple so you can understand, I guess I'll just spit it out. I want you to get Flori to stop crying all the time.”

  My turn to laugh. “Are you serious? No one can make Flori stop. You know that.”

  “I know that and you know that, but all the kids are upset with her.”

  “Whose kids?”

  “Our kids. Whose do you think? And here's the problem: they say she’s crying too much in front of her grandchildren and they want to have an intervention to make her stop.”

  “You’ve got to be kidding. If my children and grandchildren got into as much trouble as yours do, I’d be crying too. Besides, whoever heard of an intervention for crying? That’s the craziest thing I’ve ever heard. Why don’t you tell your kids to keep the grandchildren at home and leave their grandma alone?”

  I believe I heard a cuss word muttered under his breath.

  “You know what, Mabel? I expected you to come out with something stupid like that. I told my son not to include you in any of this but they all insisted. What could you possibly know about having a family when you don’t have one? Unless, you count all those cats you have. Honestly, how can you suggest keeping Flori’s grandchildren away? She loves them.”

  His exasperation with me was coming through loud and clear.

  “You know what, Jake? Probably for the first time in my life, I agree with you one hundred percent. I know nothing about families. I don’t even know anything about cats so I see no possible reason for me to get involved in this absolutely ridiculous plan. I give you permission to tell your family that you tried your darndest to get me to come but I would not budge. You gave it your best shot.”

  I hung up the phone. Let those crazy Flanders’ people solve their own problems. The more they try to stop Flori, the more she’s going to cry so why bother. No sooner had I finished with that thought when the phone rang again.

  “Mabel,” Jake continued, as if there had been no interruption. “I agree with you, one hundred percent, but if you don’t come, they’ll blame me. Besides, if you come I think Flori will feel better.”

  “Does Flori want me there?”

  “She doesn’t know. That’s what an intervention is. We spring this on her.
She thinks everyone is coming over for supper tomorrow night. Nothing more. Then, when everyone is there, we’ll take her into the living room and kind of surround her.”

  “Kind of surround her? Wow! That sounds exciting. That would make me stop crying for sure. I would probably have a heart attack.”

  “Don’t be sarcastic, Mabel. This is what my daughter told me. She wants each one of us to say why we want Flori to stop and why it upsets us. But, you know, we'll say it in a nice way. You’ll have to take your turn too.”

  “But Flori’s crying doesn’t upset me. It might cost me in boxes of tissues but it doesn’t upset me.”

  There was a big sigh. “Then pretend it does. Pretend it’s too expensive. Tell her Kleenex has gone up in price.”

  “You have to be kidding. I can’t pretend something like that, even if Kleenex has gone up in price.”

  “All right, all right, just come over. Say whatever you like but please come. Okay?”

  It’s hard to resist Jake when he says please.

  That was January, the fourth, and the lull before the storm. It was a beautiful wintery day. Amy Hunter, who has a daycare in her home, came into the store that morning to pick up a few used children’s books. She mentioned there was a winter storm warning on the weather channel but no one paid attention. Since when did the person on the weather channel know anything about the weather? We were planning to have a perfect winter and nothing would deter that. Besides, the year before we’d had the worst blizzard since 1928 or something, so there was no way there would be another one so soon. That is known as the law of averages.

  When I walked home at five, the wind had changed from the south to the north-west and it penetrated right through my down-filled coat. The days were shorter now. Dusk at five. It was a good thing our spring, summer, and fall were so amazing because otherwise our State would be uninhabited.

  Of course, we did have lakes, rivers, forests, and cheese. Not to mention corn that reached almost to heaven. In addition, underground caverns that some kids discovered when they were playing golf. What more could a person ask for? Besides warmer winters, that is.

  With much trepidation, I left at seven for Flori’s place. (Perhaps you noticed that no one invited me for the meal.) This was something I was not looking forward to but I was afraid if I didn’t go, she would be completely overwhelmed. At least, I could give her the assurance that one person had her back.

  It was a mystery to me how callous her family could be. If they only realized that most of the tears she shed were caused by their actions, they would shut up and make a few needed changes in their lives. Flori and Jake have at least five kids and twice that many grandchildren.

  I’m sure it seems strange that I don’t know exactly how many children she’s bore; especially, since we’ve been best friends since we were both five years old. Some of those years are just a blur for both of us. I guess if I sat down and concentrated, I could come up with a number but I’ve never bothered to do that. Just as she doesn’t know how many cats I have. She usually says I have about a dozen.

  I did have seven at one point but I am now down to five. Hopefully four, if the old tomcat doesn’t show up and decides to stay at Main Street Cafe.

  Flori's offspring have all left home and have their own families but she is so softhearted, she never says no to anything any of them ask. I know she babysits when she really doesn’t feel like babysitting. She runs errands when she’s worn out and tired.

  When her family feels like partying, they all traipse over to their momma’s house to have a good time. I’ve known her to spend three days cleaning the house and preparing the food. Of course, very few people can cook as well as Flori can so I really don’t blame them for that part. She uses real butter, real sugar, and real cream abundantly. Unfortunately, the result is that the whole family is, shall we say, on the ‘real’ heavy side.

  By the time I reached Flori and Jake’s house, I’d lost some feeling in my cheeks. I’m sure the temperature dropped ten degrees in five minutes. A silver Ram truck, a shiny black Silverado, and a Jeep with last fall’s mud all over it, filled the driveway.

  I don't know if they build smaller versions but all of them appeared to be massive. I’m almost five foot two and about the same height as the tires.

  It looked like an orange 1995 Dodge Charger had tried to mount the two-foot snow bank along the side of the street and right snug up behind it was a rusted out Ford Mustang with two child car seats in the back and one smashed tail light.

  One look at what they drove made me want to turn around and run home.

  I knocked on the back door and hoped no one would hear. Chances were in my favor too because the din penetrating through the walls could be heard two houses away.

  It seemed 'chance' was not in my favor. The inside door, and then the frosted-up storm door, swung open and there stood Flori. Along with her came a cloud of steam from the warm inside air meeting the frigid outside air.

  It was obvious she’d spent a long time in the kitchen because her bright orangey red hair was drooping from the humidity and most of her makeup was blotchy. Mascara was beginning to dribble down her cheeks.

  She stood at the open door and stared. I’m sure she thought she was seeing an apparition.

  With hands on her heart and the usual tears in her eyes, she exclaimed, “Mabel, what are you doing here? I can’t believe you just dropped over. You never do that.” She looked past me at the blowing snow. “And in this terrible weather too!”

  Her joy suddenly turned to horror and she clutched the bib on her apron to her heart. “Oh no, something is wrong, isn’t there? Are you all right, Mabel? What's the matter?”

  “No, Flori, I'm fine.”

  Before I could offer any explanation, she swept me through the door, crushed me to her chest, wiped tears and mascara from her eyes, and rushed me into the kitchen.

  “Mabel, you have no idea how happy I am to see you,” she gushed. “Come into the living room and say hello to my family. This is the first time you’ve seen all of us together in ages.” She pulled me closer and whispered, “This is a surprise for me too. Everyone brought something for supper. All I had to do was cook the turkey. They’ve never done this before.” Another hug. “They don’t know how happy they’ve made me. I’ve been dreaming of this day.”

  I pulled myself away. “Flori, this might not be the day you’ve been dreaming about.”

  Before I could give the poor woman any warning, someone yelled from the living room, “Hey! Mabel’s here so let’s get started.”

  Flori gave me a questioning look but there was no time to explain. Before I had time to remove my boots and coat, someone grabbed my arm and steered me into the other room. I glanced back and saw one person on each side of Flori. Someone had pulled out a dining room chair and set it in the middle of the room. Before she could say anything, one of her daughters plopped Flori into it.

  I know how my friend thinks so I knew why she looked so excited. She believed this was a special gathering just for her. Flori is the type of person who sees only the good in everyone. To think that they were all there only to find some flaw in her character and stamp it out would be devastating.

  She looked over at me with eyes beaming, and tears running down her cheeks. That’s what Flori does - she cries. I could do nothing to warn her. It was the most helpless feeling I think I have ever had.

  Her joy soon turned to perplexity, however, when everyone started talking at once. Two of her sons, Jake Junior and Alfred, who had several empty beer bottles sitting neatly on the coffee table in front of them already, started arguing about who should start it all.

  “Get up there, Jakie. You have to start us out because you’re the oldest. That’s how it goes.”

  “How the devil would you know? You’re an authority on interventions? Whose bright idea was this in the first place? Whoever came up with this brainwave is the one who starts.”

  Two of the girls began talking at the same ti
me. It sounded like they were also arguing over who would begin the procedure but unlike their brothers they each wanted to be the first. The only thing they agreed on was how stupid the brothers were and why they were even asked to come.

  Then, the youngest daughter, Janet, began screaming and saying, “Why don’t all of you shut up? You’re scaring Momma.”

  She was right about that. Flori wasn’t crying; she looked terrified. I’m sure she thought her family had gone mad (in the Shakespearian way). You could tell she had no idea why her darling children were tossing her name back and forth from one end of the room to the other. I did notice that there were no grandchildren present. Thank heavens for that. Unless they were hiding huddled under a bed somewhere. It would be rough for those poor children to start life out with PTSD.

  Fortunately, they stopped tossing her name round and started tossing their own. At this point, it became quite entertaining. Flori kept turning her head from one cluster of brainless family members to another. It wasn’t long before the daughters-in-law and sons-in-law got involved.

  Somebody’s wife stood up, grabbed somebody’s hair, and yelled, “You can’t talk about my husband that way.” The unknown woman (as I said, I don’t keep track of all Flori’s family) screamed and started kicking and punching her opponent.

  I remember when Jake used to wash his kids’ mouths out with soap and water whenever they said a swear word. Well, I don’t think it had the lasting results he had anticipated.

  Before chairs started flying, Jake put two fingers into his mouth and whistled. The room was silent.

  Well, except for Flori’s crying - which was now in full swing.

  Intervention time!

  I came out from my place of security under the table and walked over to Flori. I am sure she thought of me as her knight in shining armor at this point.