In Winter's Grip

by Brenda Chapman

  “Maybe we should head back,” Jonas said. He reached around and grabbed his coat. “Finish your drink, Maj.”

  I studied him over the rim of the glass as I swallowed the last of the Scotch. It burned my throat going down, but not unpleasantly. Jonas seemed to fold in on himself, his shoulders inverted and his hands tucked under the coat on his lap. When I lowered my empty glass, he stood and looked down at me. The expression in his eyes was sad.

  “Becky Holmes,” he said. “If you really want to know, our father was sleeping with my old girlfriend Becky Holmes— known to everyone in town as Mrs. Becky Wilders.”

  SEVEN

  Your father lived a good life,” said Ralph Kreighbaum in a voice as solemn as...well...as a funeral director’s. At ten a.m. the next morning, I was sitting in his office facing him across a deep mahogany desk that glistened like a flat piece of ice. Every time I lifted my eyes to look at Ralph’s emaciated face, I was thrown by the gigantic portrait of his wife and two sons that hung across the better part of the wall behind him. His wife, Sharon, was as plump as Ralph was thin, and unfortunately, both sons had inherited her genes. I allowed Ralph to drone on about coffins and services for nearly fifteen minutes before holding up a hand.

  “I’m sorry,” he said, while frowning at my interruption. I knew he’d been building up to lay out the burial costs. His eyes narrowed but he kept his voice friendly. “Am I overwhelming you, Maja? I know this can all be very technical for someone in your state.”

  I let his comment pass, but it gave rise to the picture of a pregnant woman with the vapors. I kept my voice low. “No, it’s not that, Ralph.” Out of nowhere, I remembered sitting behind Ralph Kreighbaum in grade school and smelling Vicks Vapo Rub that his mother had rubbed into his chest every morning to ward off colds. Back then, Ralph had been a sickly kid who missed a lot of school. He didn’t look much healthier now. His skin was the colour of beach sand, a disturbing contrast to his shoe polish black hair. Maybe Sharon had taken over the role of chest-rubber. The image was not pretty, and I pushed it away.

  “Jonas and I don’t want a big funeral. We’re thinking no service at all, actually. My father was not a religious man, and he wouldn’t have wanted any fuss.” I almost choked on those words. Dad would have wanted everyone in town to come out and honour him. He would have opted for the bloody parade package if there’d been one. But I wasn’t about to let him go out like a hero.

  “Maja, everyone knew your father. He was such a well-liked, outgoing man. They’ll want a chance to say a proper goodbye.”

  “We were thinking of just having the family attend his cremation.”

  “Perhaps a small service in our very own chapel, and then the family can have a private cremation. That might be a nice compromise.”

  Claire stirred in the seat next to me. Up until then, she’d been staring out the window, where the sun glared off the snow-laden bushes. Today, she wore a bulky cable knit sweater and straight black skirt to her knees. She crossed one black-stockinged leg over the other and cleared her throat. “Actually, Maja, your father stipulated in his will that he wanted a service when he died. He’d set aside some money.”

  I turned and stared at her. Her eyes were too bright, and it looked like she’d been crying. She hadn’t taken the usual time to fix her hair, and it was uncharacteristically messy. I’d heard Claire and Jonas fighting upstairs after I’d gone to bed and knew she was mulling over whatever had gone on between them. “How do you know...?”

  “About the will? Your father made me executor a few years ago. Jonas wasn’t in any shape to think about something so complicated, and there was no one else to take it on.”

  “Is Jonas aware of this? He didn’t want a service either when we talked it over yesterday.”

  “He may have forgotten that I was named executor. It’s not something we talked about after your father asked me.”

  My god. My father was manipulating us from beyond the grave. For the first time, I wondered what else was in his will. “Are there any more surprises I should know about?”

  Claire avoided looking at me as she spoke. “He pre-ordered a large headstone and has paid for a plot. He doesn’t want to be cremated.”

  “Shit.” I stood and looked down at Claire. “I think I have to go for a walk. Why don’t you finish up the details? It’s probably better that you do.”

  I grabbed my coat from behind me on the chair and strode to the door. We’d come in separate vehicles, since Claire had to go to work afterwards. Now I understood why she’d insisted on coming with me, even though it meant she had to call in a supply teacher for a few hours. She’d known all along how this was going to play out.

  I drove through town, past the street of little shops with their washed-out clapboard siding and faded signs hanging over the sidewalk—Gerta’s Novelties and Flowers, The Early Bird Restaurant, Meghan’s Foodmart and the Minnesota State Liquor Store. This last building was the best maintained, a red brick exterior with a freshly painted sign. The town had spent money some years back beautifying the downtown to attract the Vermont-type tourist crowd. It looked like that era had ended with a whimper. A decline in fishing and lumber had all but killed the welcoming spirit in Duved Cove.

  I pulled into the parking lot, feeling like a little alcohol might help to fuel me through the next few days. The store was empty except for the man who greeted me from behind the cash register. It took me a few minutes to make my purchases: a French merlot and two bottles of sauvignon blanc for Jonas and Claire and a twenty-sixer of Chivas Regal for myself.

  I got back into the car after depositing my package on the floor behind the driver’s seat, then continued through town to the beach road. Houses clustered along both sides of the road at the turnoff from the highway, but they dwindled to one or two where the road curved to the left and began its descent to the waterfront. Luckily, this road was maintained throughout the winter because of a few homes strung along the point that stretched into Duved Bay. I drove past the last house as far as the road was plowed then parked. The wind was bracing nearer to the lake, but I welcomed it after the stifling air in the funeral parlour. I pulled the parka’s hood up over my head and set out on foot down the skidoo trail to the beach.

  The world was a white wonderland, and the sun glancing off the snow would have been blinding if I hadn’t been wearing my sunglasses. I walked in the ruts of the path through a copse of trees. Exiting the stand of pine was like walking through a gateway to another world. I stepped onto a flat stretch of shoreline at least a mile in length and half a football field wide. The snow-covered beach extended as far as I could see in either direction, reaching around points of land where huge rocks had been tossed carelessly into glacial heaps. Gigantic chunks of ice crowded each other for position close to shore, but further out, the water reflected the crystal blue of the sky. A white lighthouse with a red cap stood guard on the peak of the cliff. It was this landmark that encouraged me to keep going toward the lake. Skidoos had flattened the snow that covered the sand base, making walking uneven but easier than going through deep, unpacked snow. I trudged along, happy to enjoy the fresh, cold breeze on my face, the beauty of the lakeshore and the glorious sense of isolation.

  Perhaps I should have been more wary, since my father’s killer was still running around free. Here I was, far from town with nobody knowing my whereabouts. My anger at my conniving father and his accomplice Claire kept me from being overly concerned. Besides, I didn’t believe that I was a target of anybody’s murderous rage—my father a target maybe, but not me.

  I reached the base of the cliff that rose steeply to the lighthouse, slightly winded but invigorated. Up close, its paint looked more weather-weary. I stopped and breathed deeply, looking across the lake to the line where the sky met the water, soaking in this view that I had ached for long after I’d moved away. Even now, back in Ottawa, I longed for Lake Superior, just as I imagined Maritimers longed for the ocean after they moved inland. I scanned the horizon
—two lines of blue meeting. A sweep of emptiness rose in my throat.

  I miss my mother. I miss my mother. I fought down the grief that I would not, could not allow out. I was too old to miss my mother. The dampness in my eyes was from the wind. I took off my sunglasses and swiped angrily at my eyes before pushing the glasses back into place. I have no parents now. The thought came unbidden. Even though I’d barely spoken to my father for years, I still knew he was living his life in our house in Duved Cove. In some corner of my mind, I’d held to the belief that we could patch things up. It was a flame flickering faintly, if only on those long, lonely nights when I couldn’t sleep. It was an emotion I’d kept stubbornly to myself, half the time not even letting it into my heart. His death would not let me pretend any more. There would be no reconciliation. There would be no happy ending for me.

  I turned and started retracing my steps, head lowered. So here it was. Somebody had killed my father in cold blood. Thwacked him across the back of his head and left him in the snow to die like an animal. For a reason bigger than myself, I needed to know why. I had no faith in Tobias Olsen’s ability to untangle the truth. My father had been a complex man who did not reveal his true self to the outside world. If Jonas had killed our dad, I would find out before Tobias and would make sure he never learned the truth. It would be my turn to help Jonas heal.

  By the time I reached the car, I was feeling chilled, but the new resolve in my belly felt good. Dad had been sleeping with Becky Holmes. She was the person with whom to start my investigation.

  I checked for Becky Wilders’ address in the payphone booth at the gas station near the highway turnoff. The Wilders’ name was listed twice, but only one Kevin at 27 Rose Lane. It meant backtracking through town, but even at that, it was only a ten-minute drive.

  I pulled up outside the Wilders’ bungalow. Hunter green siding with mocha-coloured trim looked to have been recently installed. A child’s red plastic sled lay in the pathway next to a snow blower. A green van was backed into the driveway.

  I stepped carefully around the snow blower and climbed the front steps. Before I had a chance to knock, the front door opened. A more faded version of the Becky I remembered stood with one hand on the door and another holding the hand of a little boy who looked to be about three. He had the same red hair and hazel eyes as Becky.

  Becky had been three years behind me in school. She and Jonas had been an item from the sixth to twelfth grades, and she’d been as close to a sister as I’d ever had. She hadn’t been very happy when Claire pursued Jonas and lured him away. I recalled Becky’s drunken crying on my shoulder at various parties over that summer when she’d found out that Jonas had been with Claire. In hindsight, Jonas and Becky might have been happy together if they’d stuck it out. Becky had suited him in a way Claire never would.

  “Maja,” Becky said, “come in.” She reached her free arm around my shoulders and gave me a hug as I stepped inside. I hugged her back. She’d lost weight since I’d last seen her, and I felt her bony shoulders through her sweatshirt. Her face was thin, with high cheekbones and light brown eyes that seemed not to have any lashes. A black elastic held back her shoulder-length red hair in a ponytail that started at the top of her head. When she smiled, she revealed the same gap between her two front teeth that I remembered.

  “It’s good to see you again, Becky,” I said. “I’m lucky to catch you on your day off.”

  “Timmy and I were about to have a snack. Would you like a cup of coffee?” she asked as she took my coat.

  “A cup of hot coffee sounds wonderful.” I straightened my black turtleneck over my jeans before following her and Timmy into the kitchen. “Do you have just the one child?” I asked.

  “I have two older daughters, Leah and Gabrielle. They’re twins, aged fourteen and the apples of their father’s eye. Their picture is on the fridge.”

  I dutifully went over and lifted a photo of two dark-haired girls with hazel eyes and attractive smiles. They were identical and pretty. “Great-looking kids,” I said.

  “Thanks. Please have a seat. Just push aside Tim’s colouring.”

  I sat at the kitchen table and began putting crayons into their box. Tim had been scribbling with a red crayon over the picture of a bunny. “Where is Kevin working?” I asked.

  “The garage coming into town. He bought it about five years ago from Lance Gibbons. You remember Lance, don’t you, Maja?”

  “How could I not? He was always, trying to take us for rides in his truck. ‘Need a lift home, me lovely’?” We both laughed.

  “Lance’s moved to Florida.” Becky slid a cup of coffee across the table with a jug of milk. “Sugar’s there if you’d like it.” She returned to the counter to get her coffee and a bowl of Cheerios for Tim, who was sitting on the floor playing with his toy trucks. She placed the bowl next to him. “Here, darling boy,” she said, then straightened and plunked herself in the chair across from me with a sigh. “Geez Maja, I haven’t seen you since your mother’s funeral. How’ve you been all these years?”

  “Good. Living in Ottawa. I’m a plastic surgeon there. I married a Canadian, so we ended up north of the border.”

  “Jonas told me you were a doctor. You always were smart— too smart for this hick town.”

  I’d thought it would be easy to bring up the subject of my father, but it took me twenty minutes of reminiscing about our youth before I mentioned him. It was a little odd to skirt around the reason I was in Duved Cove, but Becky seemed determined not to bring up his death before I did.

  “I understand my father was in the hospital the day he died,” I said at last.

  Becky coloured slightly and lowered her coffee cup onto the table with both hands. “Yes. I...that is, the doctor thought he was doing fine. The tests for a heart attack came back negative, by the way.” She faltered. “He was in good health, which makes what happened so much more tragic.”

  “Did you speak with him while he was in the hospital?”

  “Yes. I was the admitting nurse. He seemed not quite himself, you know, agitated and upset, even after we knew he wasn’t seriously ill or hurt from his fall.”

  “Did he give any indication why?”

  “No.” Becky shook her head, and her ponytail tossed from side to side. “He was supposed to stay overnight but checked himself out. I thought afterwards that if he’d stayed, he wouldn’t have disturbed the burglar, and he might still be alive.”

  I studied her face. “You think it was a burglar?”

  “It had to have been. Everybody adored your father.” She held my gaze, but her eyes seemed filled with secrets. I could tell that she was keeping something from me.

  “Is there something you’re not telling me, Becky?”

  “About what?”

  “Did Kevin know you were sleeping with my father?” I asked softly. “Because Jonas sure did.”

  The impact was immediate. Becky’s eyes widened, and she covered her mouth with one shaking palm. Tears rolled down her cheeks. “Oh my god,” she wailed. “Jonas knew about me and your dad?”

  I nodded.

  “Oh my god.”

  I gave her a minute to recover. Timmy glanced at his mom a few times and pushed himself to his feet. He walked over and rested his head on her knee, whimpering in soft gurgles. Becky covered his head with one hand and smoothed his hair. The motion seemed to soothe her. “Kevin had no idea. It...we only got together a few times. Maybe ten in all. I’m so sorry, Maja. I never meant for it to happen. I know what it must look like, but we just sort of fell into it. Your father was so there for me, you know, and I was lonely, I guess. Kevin is just so wrapped up in that damn garage and I’m stuck here all day with Timmy. Your dad said nobody would ever know. He...he talked about taking me away from all this because I deserved a better life. Sometimes, I thought it might be nice to let him take me away and live the high life, but I never said that I would go.”

  My father had never been there for anybody but himself. I’d bet money he
’d purposely let word of this affair slip to Jonas. He wouldn’t have been able to keep something this flattering to himself.

  “What makes you think my father would give you a better life than Kevin?” I asked, curious to know what hold he’d held over her.

  A sly look crossed her face but quickly disappeared. “Your dad was resourceful, let’s just say that. He tried to convince me to leave Kevin, and I was flattered, I guess. I might have strung your father along more than I should have, but I never intended to actually go with him. His life was just way more exciting than mine, and I got caught up in it for a while.”

  “Are you sure Kevin didn’t find out?” I asked.

  Becky sat motionless, and her bottom lip began to tremble. “Anything’s possible,” she whispered. “Oh god, Maja. What have I done?”

  You’ve made a big fat error in judgment, I thought, but I said nothing.

  EIGHT

  I left Becky’s without any clear plan, but by the time I reached the highway, I’d decided that I needed to see Kevin before Becky made some tearful apology and I missed the element of surprise.

  I found him behind the counter, rubbing his hands on an oily rag and talking to a customer. I waited a few steps back and watched Kevin’s double chin wobble when he spoke and the way his hands never stopped moving. He’d been a plump kid who’d grown into a massive adult. Yet there was something endearing about his friendly face and the way his straight brown hair fell into his eyes, like a boy of twelve. When the older man with whom Kevin had been discussing transmissions finally left, Kevin turned to me. It took only a second for his face to register recognition, but he grinned and stepped from behind the counter to envelop me in a hug. He stepped back and said, “Maja Larson, well I’ll be darned. I was beginning to think you’d never come back to Duved Cove. I’m sorry to hear about your dad, by the way. An awful thing.” He didn’t look me in the eye until he said, “Becky will be pleased to know you’re in town anyway.”