In Winter's Grip

by Brenda Chapman

  Gunnar emerged from his bedroom to eat with us, grumbling about the lateness of the dinner hour. With his arrival, we all stopped talking about Katherine and my father and the sad events of the last few days. Claire was particularly quiet, studying Jonas when he wasn’t looking. By the expression in her eyes, I realized that she was beginning to understand the broken part of him. The anger she’d held onto since I’d arrived had eased. Even the way she held herself had softened, and the lines in her forehead were less pronounced.

  For once, Gunnar ate with enthusiasm. Earlier in the day, we’d told him of Katherine’s arrest and the two people she had killed, and he’d shrugged without comment. Still, I thought I’d seen relief on his face, and his appetite reinforced my suspicion. Had he believed one of his parents capable of murder?

  Meal over, Gunnar disappeared into his room again. I cleared the table and made tea while Claire sat and smoked. Jonas was restless.

  “I’m going to the workshop for a bit,” he said at last after circling the kitchen for the tenth time.

  “Sounds good,” Claire said. “Maybe I’ll come see what you’re working on after my tea.”

  Jonas raised his head and looked at her.

  She met his eyes and a smile played around her lips. “But only if you want me to,” she said.

  He looked at her a moment more. “Okay.” He moved across the kitchen with his shoulders higher to pull his jacket off the hook by the door. He stepped into his boots and opened the back door. “See you in a bit then,” he said before clumping outside into the early darkness.

  I set two mugs of tea on the table and sat across from Claire.

  “I’ll be leaving tomorrow,” I said. “The only flight that suited was early Monday morning, so I’ll spend Sunday night in Duluth at a motel near the airport.”

  “You’ll miss Becky’s funeral.”

  “I need to get back to work.” I could have added that I needed to get back to the normalcy of my life and away from the pain that was Duved Cove.

  “We could have an early lunch before you leave.”

  “I’d like that.”

  Claire stubbed out her cigarette in the ashtray with more force than was necessary. Her voice became ragged with anger. “Your father hid a lot. I had no idea. No idea at all. All these years, and you and Jonas never said a word about what went on in your house.”

  “We couldn’t talk about it.”

  “Why not? How fair was that to the rest of us who fell under your father’s charm, his manipulation? Who had no idea? All the young girls...”

  I hung my head. “I didn’t know about Becky and Katherine,” I said. I could have added Claire’s name, but I didn’t. “Do you think I wouldn’t have done something if I’d known? The rest of the things that my father did, well, we just learned to live with it. We took the cue from my mother and never talked about his drinking or...what was going on in our house. We all felt such shame. He controlled us in a way I can’t explain, even now. It wasn’t all bad, you know. When he was happy and feeling in control, life was good for all of us. It was something we clung on to during the bad times. You don’t know how hard we tried to keep him happy, to please him.”

  “Could that be hereditary? That controlling, narcissistic personality, I mean?”

  “Jonas isn’t like my father, if that’s what you’re asking. We both take after my mother, for good or bad.” I had to believe.

  Claire swallowed some tea and stood. She still looked worried. “You are so lucky that you can just leave all this behind and return to your wonderful life with Sam. We will have constant reminders of your father for the rest of our lives.”

  I watched Claire put on her coat and boots to go join Jonas in the workshop. Her movements were jerky and her face distressed. As she bent to tie her hiking boot, I found my voice. “Is Gunnar my father’s child, Claire?” I asked.

  Claire’s hands went still, her boot laces left hanging. She straightened and turned her back on me, reaching for the door latch “I know you think badly of me,” she said, her shoulders hunched. She pushed the door open. “We’ve all been guilty of keeping secrets. They always come back to hurt.”

  Then she was gone, a cold blast of air momentarily replacing the warmth from the wood stove. I could only sit and stare at Claire’s empty chair, my limbs too heavy to move. The other shoe had dropped. If Gunnar was my father’s son, that would make him Jonas’s and my half-brother. It explained the tension in the house...and Gunnar’s fear.

  I tried calling Sam. I suddenly longed to hear his voice. My husband was an opinionated man who didn’t allow for uncertainties or self-doubt. At one time, I’d found strength in his strength, and I needed to believe in that now. I was close to breaking and wanted to hear him tell me life would continue as it had before. If I hurried, I would be home in time to go to the tropical island with him. I would be able to run away from the horror of this past week.

  The operator recording told me that Sam’s cell phone was off and to try again later. I didn’t have the option of leaving a message. I pressed the off button and dialed another number. Fiona answered her phone on the third ring. I could hear music and people talking in the background.

  “Maja! It’s so good to hear from you. When will you be back?”

  “Monday afternoon. Are you having a party?”

  Fiona laughed. It was good to hear her familiar joy across the wire. “Yes. We’re celebrating my father’s seventieth. Can we meet for lunch on Tuesday?”

  “I’d like that, but I might be away with Sam. I’ll call you when I arrive in Ottawa from Duluth to let you know what I’m up to. You should get back to your guests.”

  “I’ll hear from you in two days. Everything going okay?”

  “I’ll tell you all about it when I get home.”

  “Good. I’ll be waiting. Safe trip, Maja.”

  “Two days,” I repeated and dropped the phone back into its cradle. Nobody to talk to about what was going on. I might as well go pack for the trip home. I’d bring the remaining half-bottle of wine for company, and with any luck, the pain I was feeling would float away after a few more glasses.

  The next morning, I rose early, a headache hovering behind my eyelids. The rest of the family was still sleeping, so after I’d showered and dried my hair, I drove to Frida’s for a final breakfast. It would give me a chance to drink in the beauty of the lake one last time.

  The girl who poured me a hot mug of coffee before taking my order resembled a shorter, plumper version of Hadrian, dark brown curls tumbling down her back, her eyes sharp and brilliant blue. Obviously, Hadrian had done his part to keep the population of Duved Cove from decreasing. His progeny was keeping the workforce well stocked. I’d intended to order the healthy yoghurt and poached eggs on brown toast, but at the last moment switched to French toast and maple sausages, the house specialty, if I believed the menu. Somehow, today, watching my diet didn’t seem so important.

  While I waited for my meal, I mindlessly watched the wind blowing snow across the frozen bay and bending the boughs of the pine trees outside the restaurant window. Chickadees played around a bird feeder that hung on a swaying branch, birdseed scattering on the snow. The sky was flushed pink above the waterline in a thin band, but grey clouds hovered, promising more snow. It was peaceful here, and a calm haven in the emotional storm that had swirled around us all week.

  The front door opened and closed. A woman’s voice made me look toward the entrance. Patricia Reynolds was talking to the dark-haired waitress near the counter. She was dressed head to toe in a leopard-skin coat with brown leather boots that angled down to pointed toes from six-inch heels. Her platinum hair was braided into two pigtails, and large rectangular sunglasses dominated her small features. She looked like a cross between Heidi and a porn star, not a lawyer in a conservative town. She spotted me and removed her sunglasses. She said something to the waitress before crossing the room to sit at my table. The fragrance she was wearing settled around us like a heav
y floral bouquet.

  “I’m so glad I caught you. I was sure you’d gone and was actually on my way to the office to get some documents ready to courier to you tomorrow.” While she spoke, she was shrugging out of her coat. She draped it across the empty chair between us. Under the coat she wore a tight, wrap-around red top and a black skirt. “I just came from the seven a.m. church service. I like to start the days off early even on the weekends.”

  My meal arrived, and Patricia ordered the poached eggs I should have had. The French toast was thick, crusty slices of bread fluffed up with egg batter and capped with strawberries and whipped cream. It was the only good thing that had happened in two days. I didn’t regret my choice, even with Patricia looking at me like I was on the way to joining the seriously obese. I glanced at her as I chewed my first mouthful. I wouldn’t have taken her for the church-going type. I swallowed and said, “I thought we’d completed all the paperwork.”

  “No, that is, some of the tax forms weren’t ready yet and need your signature. Can you drop by the office with me after breakfast?”

  I shrugged. “Sure.”

  She leaned closer. “My god, the news of Becky Wilders’ murder is all over town. We all knew Katherine Lingstrom had gone odd, but this is beyond the pale. Such a relief to know the murderer has been caught, but I’m sorry it was Katherine. I remember what good friends you both were back in grade school.”

  I looked into Patricia’s inquisitive eyes. She was waiting for me to elaborate on the arrest, to give some glimpse into what had really taken place in our lives.

  “It is all very sad,” I said. “I’m glad it’s over with. I’m heading to Duluth tonight to catch a flight home.”

  Patricia straightened and picked up her fork as the girl slid a plate of eggs and toast in front of her. She waited until we were alone again.

  “I can understand you not wanting to elaborate. I suspected all along that there was more to Peter...your father than he ever let on.”

  “Oh, what makes you say that?” I wasn’t sure why I was playing along, but Patricia had made me curious.

  “It was just the way he had of looking at people. Like they amused him. Yes, amused is the word I would use.”

  She’d gotten it about right. My father had toyed with people. It seemed he’d slept with all of the young girls in Jonas’s and my circle for his own entertainment. He got them at a vulnerable time in their lives and used his considerable charm to get them to trust him. Patricia hadn’t been part of our group, but now she packaged a sexuality that would attract any man with an ounce of testosterone. A sick feeling filled me.

  “And did you amuse my father?”

  Patricia laughed. “I probably would have, except I’m otherwise taken.” She leaned forward again, showing off her deep cleavage. “You know, all those years in high school when I was a nobody, I so much wanted to be you. All the boys were falling all over themselves to catch your eye, and you could have cared less.”

  “I never saw it that way.”

  “And that was the beauty of it. You weren’t even trying to lead them on ,and that drove them wild. I had such a crush on Tobias Olsen, and he never even looked my way. All he could think about was you.”

  I shifted uncomfortably in my seat. I hadn’t noticed, because I’d only had eyes for Billy.

  “I’m sure Tobias would be interested in you now, Patricia. You’re beautiful and intelligent...”

  “Don’t patronize me, Maja. I know what I am.”

  We both lifted our coffee cups at the same time. Patricia set hers down and looked out the window. A skein of frost had crept up the glass, making gossamer patterns.

  “I went away to university and got all this work done on my body and came back with every intention of winning over Tobias Olsen, but he was engaged to Lindsey Schnerring. That didn’t stop me from trying, though. I drank enough one night to get up my courage and tracked him down. I let him know that I was the one he should be with, not Lindsey. He wasn’t interested. Oh, he was kind enough about turning me down, but you can’t fake that kind of disinterest.”

  “I’m sorry, Patricia.”

  She waved a hand in front of her face. “It’s nothing. I’m over it.”

  “You said that you’ve met somebody?”

  “Yes. Life always works out one way or the other. You just have to give it time.”

  “I’m glad we ran into each other this morning too,” I said. “I was going to phone you before I left, but now I won’t have to. I want you to draw up papers to give half of everything my father left me to Jonas. You can courier the papers to me in Ottawa, and I’ll sign and return them. I’d like you to take care of this as soon as possible.”

  Patricia lowered her piece of toast. “Are you sure about this, Maja? We’re talking a large amount of money. Your father was quite clear that he wanted the house and land to go to you.”

  “I’ve never been more sure of anything.”

  She studied me as if she was seeing me for the first time. Finally, she nodded. “All right then.”

  We ate in silence for a few minutes. She drank from her coffee cup and wiped her mouth on her napkin. I felt her watching me and raised my eyes.

  “Your father said one odd thing to me the last time I saw him. He asked that I tell you, but it slipped my mind until now.”

  “Oh, what was that?” Probably one last piece of nastiness. I immediately regretted asking.

  “Let’s see. He said to tell you that if he died to remember the last place you’d ever look. He was adamant that I remember to tell you. Sorry that I forgot.” She shrugged. “Does that mean anything to you? Because it means absolutely nothing to me.”

  I shook my head. “Not really.” I looked down and made a pretense of straightening my plate and cutlery. My hand was shaking. I lifted my fingers from the fork and slid my hand under the table. “My father and I lost our connection many years ago. I have no idea what would make him say anything to me at this point, let alone why he would have thought that I’d understand some cryptic message.”

  I reached for my parka. We both stood to leave.

  “This is on me,” Patricia insisted. “I’ll meet you at the office, and you can sign those documents. It won’t take but a minute. I’ll draw up the other papers and get them to you by end of week.”

  “Okay,” I agreed, “and thanks for breakfast. You’ve been a bright light in this dreary town.”

  Patricia’s smile flashed. “You’re welcome. I’m glad you’ve made the trip home, even though I wish it had been under happier circumstances. Next time, maybe we’ll have a chance to visit longer.”

  I sat in my car waiting for the heater to rattle out something besides cold air. I’d go sign the papers before making one last trip to my father’s house, a place I’d intended never to step foot in again. That had all changed with one sentence.

  Patricia had no way of knowing the importance of what she’d forgotten to tell me. Somebody had torn the house apart looking for something my father had concealed in Jonas’s and my childhood hiding place. It was now up to me to find it. My father had been frightened of someone before his death, in all likelihood because of what he’d been hiding in the secret spot. I needed to find whatever it was and lay the last of the mysteries to rest.

  TWENTY-SIX

  I knew Jonas and Claire would wonder what had happened to me if I was away too long, so after I left Patricia’s law office, I drove directly to their house. I’d eat the lunch Claire had promised, load up my suitcase in the rental car and then stop at my father’s on the way out of town.

  The smoke rising from the chimney led me to Jonas and Gunnar in the back workshop. Their blond heads were bent over a canoe paddle that was taking shape from a planed piece of cedar. Both looked up at me as I entered. For the first time since I’d arrived at their house, Gunnar smiled at me and said, “Hello, Aunt Maja.”

  “Hello, Gunnar. What are you up to?”

  “Dad and I are making a paddle for my s
chool project,” he explained. He rubbed his hand lovingly over its smooth reddish surface with something close to reverence.

  “It’s a beauty,” I said, moving closer to inspect their handiwork.

  Jonas put an arm around my shoulder. “So how are you today? Did you have one last tour of the town?”

  “Something like that. I’m good, Jonas. How are you doing?”

  “Getting there. Gunnar and I are just planning a spring canoe trip.” He ruffled Gunnar’s hair. “We’re thinking we’ll make more trips this year and start doing some wilderness camping.”

  “You make me want to move back. I miss Minnesota in the summer.”

  “Well, why don’t we plan a trip in August? Could you get a week off?”

  “I’ll see. I guess we should make time for what we want to do.”

  “Not good to keep putting things off,” Jonas agreed. “Claire’s up at the house fussing over a couple of ham and cheese quiches. She said she wanted to see you when you got back.”

  “I’ll head up then.”

  “Tell her we won’t be far behind.”

  I found Claire bent over the stove, putting the pies into the oven. She straightened when she heard me come in. Today, her black hair was held back with a paisley scarf, and she’d applied makeup liberally to bring colour to her pale cheeks.