False Impressions

by Terri Thayer

  “Here goes nothing,” April said.

  Rocky shoved her out of the booth. “Just coo admiringly every once in a while. That’s all men need.”

  “Got that figured out, do you?” April said.

  Rocky smiled enigmatically. Her love life was a well-kept secret. “Stay warm,” she said. “You know the first signs of frostbite, don’t you?”

  April shook her head. She felt a small spark of panic. She was going to be standing in the middle of all that ice for hours. Of course, there would be no propane heaters in the sculpting area. “What are they?”

  “How should I know?” Rocky laughed.

  April waved Rocky’s joke away and followed Mitch. She joined him just as the rules were being explained over a loudspeaker. The contestants were to work in teams of two with each person contributing something to the design. The finished pieces would be judged on workmanship and “wow” factor.

  The judges were introduced. There were several familiar faces. Mary Lou’s husband, Councilman Peter Rosen, stood with hands clasped behind his back. He was wearing a gray wool overcoat with a velvet collar and a blue scarf Mary Lou had knit tucked in the lapel. April recognized the guy who owned the local supermarket and a woman from her mother’s church. And Officer Henry Yost.

  April leaned into Mitch’s shoulder to avoid being overheard. “That blows any shot we had. We don’t stand a chance with Yost judging,” April said. It was unfair how often Yost popped up to ruin her day.

  The judges moved off into a heated tent to wait out the contest.

  Mitch shrugged off her worry. “We’re going to be so head and shoulders above the rest, that he won’t have any choice, even if he chooses to be the Russian judge. Besides, your design is going to knock ’em dead. We’ve got wow factor up the wazoo.”

  April kissed him. If only she had as much confidence in herself as he did. She knew what made a good graphic element and what would be easy to carve. The design was deceptively simple but striking. But she didn’t know if it would translate into ice.

  Two entwined hearts. She’d been hoping the romantic element would appeal to the judges. Not so much Yost, though. She had never seen any evidence of a heart in him.

  “I’m going to finish setting up,” Mitch said. “Why don’t you go suss out our competition?”

  April looked at the circle of sculptors. There were a dozen teams, forming a circle with the blocks of ice facing out. “What would I be looking for? The best chain saw? The biggest bicep? The raddest chisel?”

  “I think there’s coffee for us in the tent, smart ass,” he said good-naturedly.

  That sounded more like a job she could do. “Okay.” She leaned in for a kiss.

  Three teams down from their station, April was surprised to see Logan. She nearly didn’t recognize him. He had a hood on and a scarf covering his mouth. April tapped him on the elbow.

  “Logan! Where’s Kit?” April looked around for signs of bundled-up babies in the spectators that walked past. She saw plenty of snowsuits, but none looked familiar.

  “Back at Mary Lou’s. They’ll be here for the award ceremony. What are you doing?” he said.

  “Coffee run.”

  “I’ll come with,” he said, checking with his partner, who nodded.

  Inside the tent, a big urn of coffee was set up for the participants. Yost and Councilman Rosen were talking. Logan didn’t acknowledge his father-in-law. Logan followed April, and they silently filled up paper cups that bore a local insurance agent’s logo. He bundled three packets of sweetener, tearing the tops with his teeth.

  “I didn’t know you did this.” She pointed to the sculptors.

  He took a sip and nodded. “Kit’s uncle taught me. He used to win this every year, back before his hands got too shaky.”

  April poured cream into Mitch’s coffee. “J.B. was an ice sculptor?”

  The more she knew about this guy, the more she thought she would have liked him. Maybe he drank because he was a creative soul, one whose fragile essence couldn’t hold up to the daily pressure of life.

  “He was jack of all trades, master of none,” Logan said bitterly.

  They walked back to Logan’s station and he handed over his second cup.

  Logan’s partner pulled up his goggles. April realized she’d met him at Mary Lou’s party. It was Buck Sienstra. She reintroduced herself.

  “You here with Winchester?” Buck said, glancing over at Mitch, who was engrossed in laying out his hammers and chisels. He polished each one before setting them down in a pre-designated order. Mitch’s superstitious side was coming out. April started to head back and see if he was at all interested in the hot drink. Buck’s words stopped her.

  “You’re the one that found J.B., right?” he said.

  “You knew J.B.?” April asked.

  He nodded. His mustache caught the coffee, and he wiped it off, stroking his face with force, his thumb and forefinger moving in opposite directions.

  “Sure, competed against him for years. Now, this guy”—he punched Logan lightly on the arm as though he didn’t want to hurt him, just take him down a peg—“he’s not as good at the artistry, but he’s strong as a bull.”

  Logan grinned and put his head and shoulders down as if he were going to tackle him. Buck held him off with one hand.

  Buck got serious. “I heard he was murdered.” He banged his chisel against his metal toolbox. The sound was loud and ominous. “He never should have come back.”

  Logan nodded, his face darkening. “I told him not to.”

  April looked at him. His mouth was twisted. She hadn’t realized he’d been with Kit when she saw J.B. around Christmas. Given Logan’s position as Mary Lou’s number one yes-man, she wasn’t surprised by his reaction.

  April sensed Buck knew more than he was saying. “So you think that gang was after him?” she asked.

  Logan was saying something. April tuned him out and moved closer to Buck. She wanted to hear what he had to say about J.B.

  To her surprise, Buck laughed. “Gang? There was no gang. Who told you that?”

  Logan jumped in. “That’s what J.B. said. He told Kit he’d gotten involved with the Cretins. They made him get their drugs.”

  April nodded.

  Buck snorted. “That’s a laugh. The Cretins don’t operate around here. No, it was local yokels, that’s for sure.”

  “But who?” All this time she’d thought it was the gang. She’d been picturing guys in leather jackets with tattoos. She remembered the box in Deana’s cupboard. Whose cremains were those?

  April asked, “Did someone else go missing? I mean it couldn’t have been just J.B. and one other guy, making drugs and distributing them. It seems all J.B. did was buy the meds.”

  Buck shrugged. “Heck if I know. The guy who the police IDed that day was Ransom Conway. His mother lives over on South Road. She buried him. But I don’t know every slimeball that lives around here. Could be that no one reported him missing because they didn’t want him back.”

  “Whoever he was,” Logan said.

  “The way I heard it,” Buck continued, “the cops found no intact bodies. The heat was too intense. Everything was gone. Two cars out front had legal registrations. The rest were stolen and had no papers. The two were registered to Ransom and J.B. The cops just sort of split up the remains and gave half to each family.”

  Wow. Stellar police work. April could see Yost chatting up a woman selling hot cocoa. It was Paula from the support group. Today she was sporting a sweatshirt with an anvil on the front. Always his cheerleader, it seemed.

  Logan was shifting from foot to foot, still trying to join the conversation. He seemed to sense his opening.

  “I clocked J.B. when he showed his face,” Logan bragged. “Just hauled off and hit him.”

  April took a step back. No wonder Kit hadn’t wanted her husband around when she met J.B. out at the Dowling Road house.

  Buck said, “You’re always going off half-cocked. J.B. w
as good people.”

  “If you like meth-making drunks,” Logan said, eyes narrowing. He was showing off, trying to impress Buck and appear macho.

  “You really don’t know what you’re talking about, boy,” Buck said quietly. “That man had integrity.”

  Logan rolled his eyes. April reminded herself that he was a twenty-one-year-old father of twins who had probably never been farther from home than Philadelphia. Maybe New York, on a school field trip. He had no life experience outside this little town. He would grow up someday. At least she hoped so, for Kit’s sake.

  Buck said, “J.B. had standards. He had no choice.”

  April caught the sadness in the man’s voice. “What do you mean, no choice?”

  Buck lowered his voice. “He never specifically said, but I got the feeling he did what he did because he owed someone.”

  That was the second time someone said J.B. was in someone’s debt. April stayed quiet, giving Buck the space to say what he wanted to say. She shot Logan a look, hoping to silence him.

  Buck stroked his mustache again. “Sounds weird, I know, but J.B. never was a druggie. An alcoholic, yes. Even as a drunk, he knew the real danger was drugs. His mother had been a diet-pill junkie. She died of an overdose back in the eighties. Accidental, they said, but who knows?” He sipped his coffee again.

  April’s head tilted, and she stole a glance at Logan. Mary Lou’s mother—Kit’s grandmother—had been an addict and died with too many pills inside her. News to her. Logan’s cheeks had two high, bright red spots. His lips were thinned. Looked like that was news to him, too.

  April couldn’t remember Mary Lou ever talking about her mother. Nor had Kit, for that matter. And the stamping group always spent time talking about family. Mothers were an intense—and frequent—topic of discussion.

  “Kit’s like that, too,” Logan said. “Won’t even smoke a doobie with me.”

  April fought the urge to smack a little sense into Logan. Kit had a lot of work ahead of her to turn him into a mature husband and partner.

  April felt rather than saw Mitch looking for her. She’d better get his coffee to him.

  “Good luck today,” April said, shaking hands with Logan’s partner.

  Buck grinned. “We don’t need no stinkin’ luck. We got talent.”

  He yelled over to Mitch. “You’re going down.”

  CHAPTER 16

  An air horn blew, and an announcer said there was five minutes until the contest began. April hurried back to their station. She smiled when she saw Mitch. He was pacing the small space, muttering, swinging his arms in a wide circle. She’d seen this mode before. He was blowing off excess energy.

  Mitch rubbed his hands together and took the coffee from her. His cheeks were ruddy—whether from the cold or excitement, April wasn’t sure. She was feeling the butterflies in her stomach rise up, matching his level of anticipation.

  “It’s beautiful,” April said, pointing to the slab of ice they’d been given to work with. She circled it slowly. The translucent ice gave the piece an ethereal quality already. She could almost understand Michelangelo’s sense that he was freeing the object from the stone. She could practically see her design of entwined hearts inside.

  She began to understand Mitch’s excitement.

  He handed back the coffee. “All righty then,” he said. “Let’s be ready to start the minute the timer says go. I’ve read and reread the rules. There’s nothing that says you have to do an equal amount of carving compared to what I do. Just help me with the base. After that, you’re free to go.”

  April drew back and looked at him. “I want to help.” There was no way she was going anywhere. She and Mitch were in this together.

  “I appreciate that, but once I get going, I’ll be in the zone. There won’t be much to do. You’ll be free to wander the festival. Buy a corn dog.”

  “You know I hate corn dogs.

  “Schmooze the judges. If you see Henry Yost, try not to piss him off today.”

  April grinned. “I try not to make promises I can’t keep.”

  He kissed her cheek. “Find a place to stay warm.”

  Staying warm did sound good. Her fingertips were already aching from the cold. She wasn’t sure she could feel her toes.

  The air whistle blew again. The Aldenville Ice Festival Ice-Sculpting Contest had officially started.

  He indicated a spot on the block of ice. “Put your blade right here.”

  April pushed down her safety goggles and started her chain saw. Her whole body felt the vibration. Tiny bits of frozen water spat out at her. She flinched. Mitch put a steadying hand on her back, and she made the cut.

  She stood back. She could see the beginning of the entwined hearts she’d sketched. She’d nearly chewed off the inside of her cheek, but the sculpture was started.

  Mitch rubbed his hands together and blew on them. He wore leather fingerless gloves, and April liked the look of them. But Mitch wasn’t going to dally.

  Without another word, Mitch put down his goggles and got to work. He dropped into a mode of concentration that she knew too well from spending time with him in his wood shop.

  She held on to her chain saw, waiting for Mitch to give her another chance at the ice. She was getting bored. And cold. Standing in one spot doing nothing was not helping her circulation. She couldn’t feel her toes. She danced in place. Mitch glanced up. She stopped moving, guiltily. She was breaking his concentration.

  April saw Mary Lou next to her husband in the judging tent. He was in the midst of a large group of people, smiling and shaking hands. She wondered when the next mayoral race was. He certainly seemed to be running for office.

  Mary Lou caught April’s gaze but looked away quickly.

  Carving next to them was a young couple in matching plaid jackets. April admired the way they were working in tandem, moving in and out, each movement seemingly in sync with each other. It was beautiful to watch. Then the woman made a jerking motion with her saw. Suddenly a stream of profanities came out of the man’s mouth. Their block of ice had shattered, leaving them with a pile of rubble.

  The woman put a mittened hand over her mouth. April saw tears glistening before she looked away.

  “Yes,” Mitch said, pulling off his goggles, stopping his chain saw. His hand rose in a discreet victory salute. He leaned in close so she could hear him over the din. “They were our biggest competition.”

  “I thought we were in this for the fun,” she said. She didn’t like this competitive streak.

  Mitch didn’t say anything, just stood back and studied what he’d done so far. A sliver of ice from somewhere landed on the back of her neck, causing her entire body to shiver uncontrollably. She’d known Mitch would lose himself in the work, but she’d pictured herself stoically standing by. The reality was it was colder standing next to the block of ice than she could have imagined.

  “I’m going to go in the tent and warm up,” she said. Mitch’s eyes never left his project. He pushed his goggles back down.

  She blew him a kiss and walked around the circle of sculptors. It was impossible to tell what the sculptures would end up looking like, but some were taking shape. No one took notice of her.

  April moved out into the Ice Festival, passing the casino booths. Violet’s parents were manning the St. John Bosco Catholic Church’s bake sale. Mitch would be bereft if she didn’t bring him back a cookie or two. She had to wait for a family of six to make their choices. After minutes of back and forth, all four kids went for the Rice Krispies Treats.

  Dr. Wysocki nodded at April and smiled warmly.

  “Hi, April,” Mrs. Wysocki said. “I didn’t see your mother today.”

  “She’s still on her honeymoon,” April said. “She’s gathering recipes in Ireland right now.”

  Mrs. Wysocki smiled. “In that case, I can’t wait until the next women’s fellowship potluck.”

  “What’ll it be for you?” Dr. Wysocki asked.

  “How about two
snickerdoodles and a chocolate chip?” April said, pointing to the ones she wanted.

  “On the house,” he said.

  “Oh, no,” April said. “I can’t do that. It’s for charity.”

  He pushed away her money, reached in his front pocket and put a five in the till. “That’ll cover it. We owe you.”

  April thanked him and walked away. Violet clearly hadn’t told them what kind of reception she’d gotten at stamping.

  As soon as she was out of sight, she poked her nose into the bag and inhaled. The snickerdoodles were calling to her. She’d just have one. Mitch wouldn’t miss what he didn’t know he had.

  She pulled out the cookie and bit into it. Yum. She was about to indulge in another bite when her elbow was jostled. The cookie fell to the ground and crumbled. April swallowed a curse and sighed instead.

  “Sorry, April.” Violet was at her side, looking furtive. “I don’t want my parents to see me. My mother thinks I ought to be helping her in that booth.”

  She made herself even smaller and ducked behind a balloon seller. A pair of high-heeled leather boots crushed April’s cookie and ground it into the path. April cringed.

  Still, she knew what it was like trying to avoid getting sucked into a parent’s projects. The older folks in this town did most of the volunteer work. Her generation was falling way behind in that department.

  “Got a minute?” Violet said. She steered them into a space behind the eating tent. It was a good spot, out of the elements and the sight line of Violet’s mother. April could feel a little warmth coming through the wall.

  Violet looked down at the ground, out into the crowd over April’s head and back to the ground again. April was getting nervous. Their spot was a little isolated. Was Violet waiting for someone else? She pulled out her cell phone, checking the time, but mostly making sure it was on.

  Violet’s shoulders heaved, and April realized she was struggling to find the words she needed. She forgot her uneasiness and put her cell away. She waited for Violet to get the courage to say what she had to say.