Snow Light

by Danielle Zinn

  At a quarter past seven, they finally arrived at David’s house. The snow in the driveway was so high that Thomas had to leave his car on the road with its hazard lights on. He emptied the letterbox and led Collins inside. The light arches welcomed them with a warm, comfortable glow.

  The house, which was as big as Thomas’s home, had once been an old farmhouse that David had lovingly restored and renovated. Inside it was equipped with the latest technological gadgets, and a bright modern kitchen led to the patio and back garden. Behind it there was only open fields all the way to Screen Mountain.

  The lounge was small but cosy, dominated by a fireplace and a dark leather couch full of cushions and blankets. Next to it was a library. Collins quietly whistled when she saw the walls lined with books.

  “Some of them are first editions,” Thomas said.

  He led her upstairs where David’s bedroom, Sky’s bedroom and living room, and two more guest rooms with en-suite bathrooms were located.

  “You can stay in one of the guest rooms, and tomorrow we’ll fill up the fridge and the house is all yours.”

  Collins slowly shook her head. “Thanks, but I… it’s probably just another couple of days until the case is solved, and the inn isn’t really that bad, and…”

  “You’re sleeping on the floor in a room where snow doesn’t melt, and you’re telling me it’s not really that bad? Look, I wouldn’t offer this to everybody, and as your superior I’m responsible for your health and wellbeing. I’m sorry this village doesn’t have a better place on offer to stay.”

  “No, I can’t, sorry.” She turned around and stormed down the stairs.

  “Collins! Wait!” Thomas caught up with her at the end of the stairs and held her back softly by the shoulder.

  “What’s the matter? I… I don’t understand you.”

  “You will never understand!” she suddenly snapped at him.

  He gently but firmly turned her around so she was facing him. “You should let go of the past. Your words exactly.”

  “What do you know about my past?” she asked matter-of-factly.

  “As much as you know about mine. And I know for a fact that you have never slept in a house this big and luxurious. Not voluntarily. It probably scares you… brings back bad memories. Houses like these are ostentatious… only for braggarts. You look at them with disgust.”

  “Then why do you want me to sleep here?”

  “Because I care about you. And because I want you to rethink your attitude towards trust and honesty… throw your prejudice overboard. And finally, because I insist.”

  “If it’s an order then I guess I don’t really have a choice, do I?”

  “Look, I don’t expect anything in return… not even a thank you. I trust you, and that’s why I’m offering you this house.” With that, he walked past her towards the door.

  They drove in silence to the inn, and while Collins collected her belongings, Thomas got two pizzas from the only fast food shop.

  They then brushed the snow off her car, put the suitcase in her boot, and drove back the way they had come.

  David’s house was further up in the village than Thomas’s and closer to the road to Screen Mountain. From there, one could see the lights of the fencing equipment manufacturer.

  “Who are my neighbours?” Collins asked when getting out of her car.

  “To your left lives a family with two young children, and to the right an elderly lady with a cat, who Barney loves to chase, and the large house back there,” he pointed to a brightly illuminated and well-kept house a bit further down the road, “belongs to the mayor and his wife, who is a teacher. And speaking of teachers, that small house over there,” now he pointed to a tiny house diagonally across from them, “belongs to Sky’s class teacher, Kate Adams.”

  “So, everybody knows each other?”

  “Sure. This is a small village.” He smiled at Collins’s incredulity.

  Inside, Thomas quickly lit a fire in the fireplace and took her suitcase upstairs to one of the guest bedrooms. He left a pizza box on the kitchen counter and told her to call him if she needed anything else.

  When he made for the door, Collins quietly said, “Thank you.”

  Thomas turned around but could only see her silhouette in the dark kitchen.

  “Not for that.”

  He drove home hoping he had done the right thing. What Collins lacked in trust, he made up for it. He had not even informed David about it, and he certainly had to tell Sky as well.

  Thomas pulled into his driveway, tired from the day, and looked forward to his pizza, some relaxing TV, and a glass of wine.

  When he opened the garage gate, he was met by a waist-high wall of firewood. Apparently, Sky had been a bit overambitious with the fulfilment of her task. He closed the gate again, hoping for a long winter and an equally cold spring so that he could leave his car inside the garage again by summer.

  Upon opening the front door, he found Sky in her pyjamas in front of the TV holding a big wooden spoon and bowl in her hands.

  “Finally! Come on, let’s bake!” She jumped up and marched past him, banging the spoon against the bowl.

  “Whoa. Easy. What’s the matter with you?”

  “You,” she said, pointing the spoon at him, “don’t want me to use your oven when you’re not here, so I had to wait. And why are you so late anyway?”

  “Erm, I’m sorry. Did we have a date tonight?”

  She smiled at him and raised her eyebrows. “Yes, a kitchen date. Come on!”

  “Why would I want to bake now?” he looked at her uncomprehendingly.

  Sky’s face turned from happy to angry in an instant. “Tomorrow is our bake sale! How could you forget that?”

  Oh dear, Thomas thought. The bake sale. The icing on the cake. Literally.

  “But I see you brought pizza. We accept that as an apology.” She nodded knowingly towards the box.

  “Haven’t you had dinner?”

  “Yes, I did… and ice cream.”

  And now the sugar kicks in, he thought. He scooped her up. “First of all, how was your day?”

  “Good. I did everything you asked me to.” She looked at him expectantly.

  “Yes, I saw that. There is so much firewood in the garage that I had to leave my car in the driveway.”

  “You were very vague with the specifics of how much firewood you wanted in the garage exactly.”

  He couldn’t help but laugh.

  “And my room is tidied for Mrs Smetana tomorrow.”

  “Okay, I’ll check that later. How was school?”

  “All right.”

  “Whatever that means. Anything I should know about?”

  She only shook her head.

  “And I went shopping,” Sky added before Thomas had a chance to go deeper into the topic. “Now you owe me money. Actually, you owe Richie.”

  “Oh, shit. I didn’t give you any money, did I? And I totally forgot to send you the shopping list. Do we have to live on chocolate and crisps for the next couple of days?”

  “No, don’t worry. We also have ice cream, prawns, and scallops.”

  “What? No champagne?”

  “I tried, but they refused to sell it. And Barney got the food he wanted.”

  Thomas looked over his shoulder to find the biggest size of the supermarket’s most expensive dog food sitting in the corner.

  “Just out of curiosity, how much do I owe Richard?”

  “Dunno. He has the bill. And by the way, you shouldn’t use the word shit. I’m only eleven. Dad wouldn’t appreciate it.”

  He laughed. “I believe there are a couple of other things he wouldn’t appreciate either, but thanks for reminding me, I’ll bear that in mind. Do you actually know where the word comes from?”

  Sky looked up at him curiously, but after a while, she shook her head. “Tell me.”

  “Back in the Middle Ages, manure was an important trading commodity. But because of all the moisture in it, it was hea
vy, so they had to dry it before loading it on board the ships, which were made of what, in those days?” Thomas looked at her challengingly.

  “Wood, of course,” Sky replied.

  “Exactly, and because of that, water sometimes came into the cargo hold through the portholes, especially in rough seas, starting the production of methane gases in the manure. Now, when a sailor went below deck to light a cigarette, there was a huge explosion because of the interaction between the fire and the methane gas. To avoid that, the manure bales were labelled ‘store high in transit’ and put on the upper deck, where the sun could dry them off again after a day in rough waters. And when you shorten the label to its initials, you’ve got ‘shit.’”

  “You’re smarter than you look.” She grinned at him.

  “Thanks, cheeky. Now, let’s watch some telly,” Thomas replied, hoping to avoid the cake baking, but Sky pulled him back by his sleeve.

  “No, wait. I’ve bought everything we need to bake a Lumpy Bumpy cake.” She beamed at him.

  “A what?”

  “I found this recipe on the Internet,” she went on, ignoring him and holding up her tablet.

  Thomas looked at a very sweet and rich chocolate cake.

  “Can we bake it now?” Sky asked impatiently.

  “Must we? Look, we’ll have some pizza and watch telly, then you’ll go to bed and tomorrow we buy a cake at the bakery. How does that sound?”

  “Sounds like I have to cry myself to sleep tonight.” She looked up at him with the saddest face possible.

  Thomas closed his eyes and took a deep breath. All he really wanted was to have a drink, relax, and go to sleep. And he wanted David to come back to deal with this parent homework stuff.

  But in the end, he gave in. “All right, let’s bake a cake.”

  Sky gave him a big hug.

  “But let’s make two things clear. Firstly, as soon as the cake is in the oven, you go to bed. And secondly, I’ve never baked this kind of cake before. If it doesn’t work out, it’s not my fault, okay?”

  She nodded, already busy with measuring the flour.

  “When and where is this sale tomorrow?”

  “It’s in the community hall from nine to eleven, and in the afternoon we go feed the deer. I can go there, right?”

  “I’ll tell you after I’ve seen your room. Sky, listen, I won’t have time to do both activities with you. I’ll go to the bake sale, but then I have to go back to work, okay?”

  “That’s fine. We can ask Ann if she wants to go feed the deer.”

  Thomas was rummaging in his kitchen cupboards, searching for the mixer. He had never used it before, but kept lying to his mother that he could not imagine his kitchen being complete without this extraordinary present.

  “No, sorry. I need Ann at the station as well. Maybe you can ask her if she wants to go skiing with you once this case is closed.”

  “When will it be closed?”

  “What do you guess?”

  “Hmm, probably either after a certain amount of time without a result or when the murderer turns himself in.”

  Thank you for your support and trust in my capabilities, Thomas thought with a smile.

  After some forty minutes and a lot of laughter, the cake was ready for the oven, and the kitchen looked like a disaster.

  “I doubt Mrs Smetana will be impressed by the state of your kitchen tomorrow,” Sky said, pointing her index finger at him.

  “I’ll do some cleaning once the cookie monster is in bed and the cake is in the oven,” Thomas replied.

  “You have to prepare the buttercream icing and the fudge frosting while the cake is in the oven.”

  “What? I thought we were done here!”

  She held her tablet up to his nose and scrolled down to page two.

  “Sky, this is going to take me all night!”

  “Hmm, I don’t know why you’re so slow. Allison and I were done a lot faster.”

  Thomas pointed towards the door. “Get ready for bed. Now.” He was slowly losing his patience.

  While Sky happily skipped upstairs, he texted Collins, informing her she’d have to drive to the police station on her own in the morning — as he would be trying to sell whatever his oven turned out at the end of the night.

  He gathered all the ingredients for the frosting and the icing and went upstairs to say goodnight to Sky. At first glance, her room looked quite tidy, and with the cake looming in the oven, Thomas could not be bothered to take a closer look at the usual hiding places for soft toys and clothes. And as Mrs Smetana, an elderly Bohemian lady he employed to help him with some household chores, came twice a week, he would inspect this room closer next time.

  “Now, what about tomorrow?” Sky looked up at him expectantly.

  “Yes, you can go feed the deer, but you stay at home the day after tomorrow. No grumbling.”

  “Okay, deal. Can you bring me my tablet please when you’re done with the cake so I can call daddy in the morning?”

  “Sure. Listen, Ann Collins is staying at your dad’s house tonight. The County Inn is not as comfortable as I thought it would be.”

  “That’s fine.”

  “All right, goodnight, kiddo.”

  “I think we’ll have the greatest cake of all. Don’t mess it up!”

  “I’ll try my very best. Now go to sleep.”

  “Goodnight. Love you.”

  He gave her a kiss on the forehead. “And you.”

  After the cake had cooled down for a quarter of an hour, he put the buttercream icing on it, briefly left the half-finished masterpiece in the freezer, and then applied the fudge frosting — that was followed by another trip to the fridge.

  Finally, Thomas poured himself a large glass of red wine, got his drawing pad and pencil, and sat on a kitchen chair.

  He began sketching a gravel road, followed by some trees and bushes.

  A park bench and a lamppost.

  Then a young woman lying on the grass.

  Her hair a mess.

  Her clothes dirty.

  A shoe and an open handbag were scattered in the background.

  Her eyes screamed silently, and the corners of her mouth were distorted.

  Thomas put the picture aside and gazed into the dark lounge where Barney was snoring peacefully in his basket.

  Then he looked at the paper next to him again.

  Ann Collins was staring back.

  Quietly.

  Accusingly.

  Broken.

  He gulped down his wine, ripped the paper off the pad, balled it up, and threw it onto the embers of the fire. It turned into grey ash in an instant.

  Thomas finished the cake and quietly slipped the tablet on to Sky’s nightstand.

  Eventually, he managed to go to bed before midnight.

  Collins had not replied to his message, and so he fell into a restless sleep wondering whether she had gone back to the inn after all or if she had summoned up the courage to stay at David’s house.

  He just hoped she would feel comfortable wherever she was.

  20

  WHEN his alarm clock rang, Thomas felt as if he had not slept. Again. The scar on his temple burned, and he had a throbbing headache. Note to self, he thought, stick to whiskey before going to bed.

  On his way downstairs he heard Sky talking to her father.

  Thomas made some coffee and prepared breakfast. Sky had bought croissants to be heated up in the oven and his favourite strawberry jam. What a thoughtful girl. He smiled to himself.

  “Good morning! Daddy says hello to you. He wants a picture of our cake!” she said, poking her head into the kitchen.

  Thomas carefully took the masterpiece out of the fridge and placed it in the middle of the table. “Wow! You’re great!” She beamed at him. “That looks fantastic.”

  She took a photo and sent it off to Australia.

  He had outdone himself, Thomas thought with a smile. Maybe he should participate in one of those baking contests on TV.r />
  Sky reached towards the cake with her index finger, and Thomas gave her a playful slap on the hand. “Hey! Stop it, sweet tooth!”

  After breakfast, he carefully carried his precious cargo to the car. To slip on a patch of ice would mean the end of the world to him now.

  A dark and grey sky hung low over them, but at least it had stopped snowing sometime overnight, and he only had to brush some fluffy snow off the car.

  At the community hall, there was a buzz of parents carrying cake cartons, teachers directing them to their respective tables, and children running around in sheer excitement. The large hall was festively decorated with papier mâché stars and snowflakes, and a huge Christmas tree stood in a corner. Fresh and sweet smells rushed in from all directions.

  In total, there were about ten tables, each equipped with one adult, several children, and five cakes.

  The mayor’s wife, a stout and short but resolute woman, led Thomas and Sky to a table where three cakes had already been placed and five children sat around it.

  “You’ll be responsible for this table,” she said, slamming her fist down hard and making the cakes jump up half an inch. This prompted Thomas to hold on even tighter to his beloved cake, like a mother protecting her young. “The sale starts at nine o’clock sharp. Make sure you’ve got all cakes sliced, and stock up on napkins and plastic forks from the kitchen back there. You’ll sell one piece for one-and-a-half euros. With the money, Christmas presents for children in need will be bought and delivered. We’ve advertised the bake sale in the entire village, and the citizens from the senior residence in St Anna will stop here on a day trip to Spruce Mountain. We finish at eleven o’clock on the dot. You’ll clean up the cutlery you’ve used, the table, and the floor. Remember, you sell the cake. I don’t want to see you or the children eating it! Any questions?”

  Thomas looked down at her alarmed. He felt like he had just entered an army boot camp for youths with behavioural problems, but he managed to nod slowly. “Erm, no, thanks. I guess it’s all clear.”