The Stranger on the Ice

by Bernadette Calonego

  She’d learned as a journalist that it was often best to be honest.

  “Yes, as a matter of fact I was going to. I didn’t know anybody was in the car.”

  She tried to stay calm. Nobody was in the streets at that moment.

  “Can we see the pictures?”

  The men were standing in front of her now. Very close. Threateningly close.

  “I never got that far,” she said. “I didn’t take any pictures.”

  “Were you trying to photograph the license plate?”

  “Yes. Because it’s shaped like a polar bear, and I’ve never seen anything like it.”

  “Anyways, we’d like to take your cell phone.”

  The man stuck out his hand, and Valerie instinctively took a big step backward. Her pulse was racing. It didn’t look good.

  Suddenly, one of the men said something to the other in a language she didn’t understand. The second man uttered a monosyllabic answer, and they disappeared into their vehicle. The doors slammed shut, and the motor kicked in. Half a minute later, she lost sight of the SUV. Then she heard another car coming. She turned to find a patrol car. It stopped beside her, and the passenger window slid down.

  “Everything OK?” one of the cops asked.

  She nodded vigorously and managed to get seven words out: “On my way to a sourtoe cocktail.”

  Valerie waited until she found a secluded spot in the hotel before she let Faye in on everything.

  “Is that all the police asked you?”

  “Yes. I think they thought the men were drunk and were hassling me.”

  “Shouldn’t you have told them what actually happened?”

  “I can’t get dragged into this. I’m traveling with a group I’m responsible for. I’ll keep my eyes and ears open, that’s—”

  “Got it, got it. Why did Clem want a picture of the license plate?”

  “That’s easy. He wants to find Helvin.”

  She suddenly felt very tired. Whereas Faye still seemed to be bursting with energy.

  “It’s kind of funny that Helvin disappeared after Gisèle’s death. And then you see him here in Dawson. Why is he hiding like that and not telling his wife anything?”

  Valerie found other things odd too. Why would Helvin risk being declared a missing person by the police? Or had he counted on Toria putting up with his occasional hide-and-seek games, as she always had? It was an open secret in Inuvik that fur often flew between them.

  “I wonder . . . ,” Faye began. “. . . I can’t get it out of my head that Sedna’s going into hiding is somehow involved with those incidents in Inuvik.”

  “What makes you think that?”

  “Dunno. Kind of a feeling.”

  They came to Faye’s hotel room.

  “My gut tells me that we’ll know more in the morning. Good night.”

  CHAPTER 16

  Valerie and Faye stood in front of a large, sturdy tent the next morning. The tour group inside the tent was enthralled by Curdy Finch, a prospector who loved to have tourists flocking around him. He was the proud owner of a claim not far from Bonanza Creek, formerly Rabbit Creek, and Eldorado Creek. These were the two creeks where gold was first discovered in 1896. Valerie took a big, hot swallow of coffee from her thermos, and Faye tried to smoke one of her rare cigarettes—a project she soon gave up in the relentless cold. For a woman born in Haiti, she was surviving amazingly well in the Canadian North.

  Valerie’s gaze wandered over the frozen winter landscape, which showed no signs of life. Scrawny brush poked through the snow cover as if the twigs were gasping for air. Even the sky seemed frozen. They escaped into the tent where a woodstove in the corner radiated warmth.

  Curdy Finch held a prospector’s pan in his hand and gave a long-winded explanation of how he washed away sand and gravel from the creek in it.

  “The heavy gold particles sink to the bottom of the pan, and that’s how they get filtered out,” he said.

  Curdy emptied a Mason jar into his hand and displayed to the wide-eyed audience five gold nuggets.

  “Last summer I found a hundred fine ounces of gold,” he announced, “but nuggets are worth the most because you can use them in jewelry.”

  Paula couldn’t resist the temptation to touch the nuggets.

  “How much are these five worth?” she asked.

  Curdy grinned, showing his worn-down teeth.

  “Several hundred thousands of dollars.”

  This elicited oohs, wows, and a nervous giggle—that was Trish, who probably figured she could pay for her kids’ education with that much gold.

  Valerie looked at the circle of people. Curdy knew how to fire up his audience’s imagination; it was a gift from heaven. With his creased, weather-beaten face and his rough work clothes he was the very model of a prospector. As always, Valerie would slip him twenty dollars.

  Faye tapped her on the shoulder.

  “We still have to talk to Scott’s girlfriend,” she reminded Valerie.

  But first on Valerie’s to-do list was the giant excavator from the second phase of the gold rush. These electrified giants would dig their buckets into the earth, down to great depths. It was like putting the soil through a meat grinder. Every time she looked from the hill above Dawson City down onto the floodplain below, it pained her to see how this landscape had been destroyed during the feverish search for gold. The damage was still clearly visible, more than a hundred years later.

  After a museum visit and a quick lunch, she dismissed the group for the rest of the day. Valerie and Faye drove to the Downtown Hotel and asked for Grace Wilkins. The nice receptionist informed them that Grace wasn’t on that day. She offered to call her at home and reached for the phone.

  “She’d like to talk to you,” she said, handing Valerie the receiver.

  “We met your friend Scott in Whitehorse,” Valerie explained. “We’d like to ask you about a woman you know and saw in Dawson.”

  “Yes. Scott told me about it,” Grace responded. “Can you come to my place?”

  The receptionist pointed out on a city map where to find Grace’s residence.

  The house, a bungalow with a purple front and lime-green window trim, was at the Dawson city limits. The long-legged woman who opened the door was maybe twenty. She wore an extra-long, soft, cuddly sweater, jeans with glittery embroidery, and knee-high, soft-leather brown boots. She gave them a friendly smile and took them into a living room that looked like a boudoir. Colorful East Indian tapestries were draped on the walls and bedecked two sofas. It smelled of incense.

  “Unfortunately, I have to go in half an hour,” Grace said apologetically. “A rehearsal for our cancan show this summer. Have you ever seen our act?”

  Valerie said she’d seen the cancan dancers in Diamond Tooth Gertie’s gambling hall last summer, with a girl she knew, and that they’d been impressed.

  Grace beamed.

  “This summer’s show will be real cool. New costumes and choreography. It’ll be more erotic. And I’m gonna sing! Just a sec.”

  She disappeared briefly and came back with an ensemble that she held up against her body. Valerie and Faye struggled a bit to admire the sparkling, ruffled bustier and the gaudy, wide, flouncy skirt whose function was to be gathered up to expose what was underneath.

  “You’ve gotta try the tea,” Grace said. “I’ve just had it sent direct from India.” She filled the kettle and asked about Valerie’s travel plans. When she heard the words Ice Road, the smile left her face.

  “You must have heard about Gisèle’s death. Isn’t it terrible? We’re all in shock, devastated. How could that happen? Poor Gisèle!”

  “You knew her well?” Faye asked.

  “Of course! We often hung out. She even danced at Diamond Tooth Gertie’s with us.”

  Grace put three cups down on a painted box that served as a coffee table.

  “Try it. I plan to import tea from India and sell it all over the Yukon.” Her face brightened. “Gisèle was always
interested in these kinds of experiments, you know.”

  “What do you mean?” Valerie asked.

  “She liked novelties. She liked new places. Before she came here, she’d really only been in that hick town in Quebec; I can’t even remember the name. And she’d been to Montreal once.” She brushed her henna-tinted hair over her shoulders.

  Valerie blew on her steaming tea and wondered what it was that drew pretty young girls like Grace and Gisèle to a remote city like Dawson. Even if only for a few months. What was so exciting about dancing the cancan for tourists? Or were there other, much greater temptations?

  “Is that why Gisèle went to Inuvik?”

  Grace stopped moving for a brief moment, and Valerie noticed her moist lips twitching a bit.

  “Dunno . . . She never said she wanted to go to Inuvik. Maybe . . . she just wanted to see the Igloo Church. It’s famous. Gisèle didn’t tell me everything.”

  She looked at Faye, then Valerie.

  “How do you like the tea?”

  “Interesting,” Faye replied diplomatically. “I’ve never tasted anything this exotic.”

  Grace once again beamed with pride.

  “So you’re looking for Sedna?” she asked.

  “Scott told us you’d seen her,” Faye replied.

  “Yeah. In the Alchemy Café.”

  “When was that?”

  “About five weeks ago. I also bumped into her last August at the annual Prospectors’ Dance Festival in the hockey arena. That’s where I first met her.”

  Valerie was surprised.

  “At the Prospectors’ Festival. She went there?”

  She’d had no inkling about Sedna’s intentions. How could she allow herself to be so effortlessly deceived!

  “It’s a big event in town. All the mine owners are there, and everybody and anybody with the right status and name. Lots of rich people. You can buy raffle tickets and win a solid-gold bracelet. A thing like that sets you back six grand in the store,” Grace said, rolling her eyes. She obviously didn’t approve.

  “What were you doing there?” Faye held her teacup firmly with both hands.

  “Waitressing. Sedna came with Richard Melville. I know him, and he introduced me. You can’t show up with Richard at a ball and not turn heads. Particularly if you’re a woman.”

  Valerie took note. Richard Melville. Who’d have thought it.

  Grace rattled on.

  “He’s got two or three mines here. Gold. He’s kinda like a big shot in town. And sorta old. Over fifty. Richard’s been in Dawson forever. Everybody knows him.”

  Valerie leaned forward.

  “What have you heard about Sedna since then?”

  “Hmm . . . Just that she wanted to take a chopper somewhere in the tundra. Kinda weird. They cost a bundle here. And why’d she want to go up there all by herself? A bit dangerous, if you ask me.”

  “So did she actually take a helicopter up there?”

  “Dunno. You’d have to ask the guys at Blue Eagle.”

  “And where can we find Richard Melville?”

  “He’s probably long gone by now, off to where it’s warm. The Maldives. Or Barbados. Or Florida, for all I know. Somewhere I’d like to spend the winter. But I can’t leave because of Scott.”

  Valerie pressed on. “Do you know where we can find Sedna?”

  Grace shook her head.

  “Maybe she doesn’t want to be found. People come to Dawson to leave their family sometimes. Or their spouse. It’s par for the course.”

  She looked at her wristwatch. A staggeringly expensive watch, Valerie estimated.

  “Oh, before I forget. Can you take a little package to Inuvik for me?”

  Grace jumped up and took something off a shelf on the wall. Faye accepted the package and squinted at Valerie. The name on the wrapper: “Clem Hardeven.”

  “You know him?” Valerie asked as she stood up.

  “Naw. Somebody left it for me with a note. For me to give it to him. No idea who.”

  “May I see the note?”

  “Threw it out.”

  Grace tugged at her soft sweater.

  “Is there a problem?” she asked.

  “No,” Valerie heard Faye say. “Not at all. Many thanks for the tea.”

  Once they were on their way in the Chevy, Valerie blurted out, “Faye, we simply cannot take this package with us. We don’t have the slightest idea what’s inside. It could be drugs.”

  Faye laughed.

  “I think there was something in the tea, too; it tasted a bit like hash.”

  Valerie looked at her, baffled, and Faye laughed even harder.

  “Val, you know what we’ll do? You call up your good friend Clem and tell him we’d like to open the package before bringing it to him. Then we’ll see what he says.”

  “You are one smart lady,” Valerie acknowledged. “You know, I’m beginning to think girls like Grace have something up their sleeve far more dangerous than Indian spices from Rajasthan.”

  They parked in front of Brown’s Tack and Saddle, and Valerie called Clem. Once again, he answered promptly. The poor man must be desperately bored.

  Valerie came straight to the point with a concise report about the package.

  “May I open it to see what we’re schlepping?”

  He seemed genuinely surprised.

  “A package? Tell me again who gave it to you.”

  Valerie repeated the story.

  “I’m not expecting any packages, and I don’t even know a Grace Wilkins. It’s fine for you to open it. Maybe it’s got something to do with Helvin.”

  “Yeah, but what if it contains a deadly virus or anthrax? Do you have enemies, Clem?”

  Out of the corner of her eye, Valerie saw Faye make a face.

  “Val, I’ll open it, if you want, and you can stay outside the car until the coast is clear.”

  “What’s that I’m hearing?” Clem asked.

  “That’s my friend Faye. She’s making fun of me.”

  Nevertheless, Valerie gave Faye the package. Faye took off the brown wrapper to reveal a small, shiny box.

  Her eyes widened.

  “Oh, an engagement ring?” she said jokingly.

  Clem heard her.

  “What? A ring?”

  Valerie gave her the finger.

  “No, she’s just kidding. C’mon, Faye.”

  Finally, Faye opened the box. She and Valerie stared at a small object lying on a dark velvet cloth.

  “What is it?” Clem asked.

  Valerie whistled.

  “A gold nugget,” she shouted.

  “A big nugget!” Faye exclaimed.

  Silence at the other end.

  “Did you hear what she said?” Valerie asked.

  “Yeah. This isn’t a joke?”

  “No, it’s definitely not. What should we do with it?”

  “There’s no sender’s name?”

  “Uh-uh.”

  It took him a few seconds before he spoke.

  “Pack the thing up exactly the way it was, paper and all. And bring it here.”

  “You’re going to owe me big-time,” Valerie warned.

  “Is a White Russian in the Crazy Hunter good enough?”

  “I don’t want a drink; I want a helpful explanation.”

  “I’ll try to impress you with a dazzling eye-opener. But my brain’s somewhat fuzzy at the moment.”

  “Clem, did you ever meet Gisèle when she was in Inuvik?”

  “Me? No. No way. Where . . . who said I did?”

  “My inquisitive brain.”

  A pause.

  “Wait till you get here and we’ll talk it over,” Clem said. “The two of us.”

  “Aye, aye, sir.”

  She wished him a speedy recovery and ended the call.

  Faye looked at her and shook her head.

  “Now I’m absolutely sure there was hash in that tea.”

  Both of them burst out laughing.

  Valerie had l
et the group know that evening what to expect on the Dempster Highway the next day. The weather forecast was fantastic: sunny and only thirteen below. She was looking forward to going to bed early and was brushing her teeth when there was a knock at her hotel-room door. It was Faye.

  She had excused herself from joining them for dinner that evening. “I was at that helicopter company Grace mentioned,” she said. “Remember? Blue Eagle. I inquired about Sedna.”

  Valerie gripped her toothbrush; her lips were smeared white. Faye was unfazed.

  “She wanted to fly to a place in the tundra. A very particular spot. Where a man and a woman had camped thirty years ago. Rather well-known people apparently. I didn’t really get what it was all about, but I wrote down their names.”

  She took a piece of paper out of her pocket.

  “We’ve got to find out who those two are. The Blue Eagle guys said Sedna hadn’t booked in the end because it cost too much. What a laugh! Too much! As if she didn’t steal enough of my money.”

  Valerie felt as if someone had kicked her in the guts. She glanced at the piece of paper and sat down on the edge of the bed.

  “No.”

  “No, what?” Faye stared at her.

  “We don’t have to find out who these people are. I know who they are.”

  “Really? Who?”

  “My parents.”

  CHAPTER 17

  Clem awoke with a start. Meteor was growling at the front door. He returned to the sofa when his master got up.

  “Good doggie,” Clem said, patting Meteor lovingly on the head. “Let’s see what’s up.”

  Now he heard a noise. Somebody was prowling around outside. Since the attack, he’d kept the front door locked, for the first time ever. He also kept a revolver within reach. Meteor growled again and shot into the kitchen.

  Whoever was out there couldn’t see any light inside because Clem had turned off all the lights before going to bed. He looked out a kitchen window. Was that a knock? Meteor ran to the door again. Clem opened a window and shouted, “C’mon out, you yellow rat!”

  A familiar voice rang in his ears.

  “Uqaqtaukun uqaruktuami.” I want to make a phone call.

  Clem turned on the light switch, then headed to the front door to open it.

  “Why the hell are you sneaking around out there? Meteor’s balls were in an uproar.”