by Ann Minnett
A canvas satchel hung from Zane’s shoulder with the contents hidden behind his back. Lark elbowed him. He handed over the satchel. The swords clunked in the moving.
Jack Hensen set his glass on a side table. He gingerly extracted the sword Dan Eidsvoldt had mistreated. "Where did you get this?"
Zane backed away quickly, tripping at the carpet’s edge.
Lark stood up then. "Mr. and Mrs. Hensen, my son used my key to break into your home last week."
Jan’s mouth sagged in horror, but Jack gripped the sword like he might lop off her son's head. Zane was as tall as Hensen but the old man out-weighed him fifty pounds.
"You destroyed our home?" Jan asked.
Zane mumbled something toward his striped socks.
Jack swaggered forward. "What was that?"
Zane cringed, and Lark stepped between the two. "He was sword fighting through the house. The other one is wrapped in the bag."
Jack's arms hung limp in utter disbelief. Lark thought that he might have a heart attack on the spot. She knew what the swords meant to him. He slumped into a wingback chair vacated by Lark and rested both swords across his lap.
Jan's initial shock morphed to agitation. Lark had seen Jan turn manic once before—when their daughter and son-in-law decided to save their marriage by having a child and had started fertility treatments. Jan’s feelings threatened to explode from her fleshy body. She quaked. She spoke with an unusually pinched voice. "What about the TV, Jack's guns, the laptop downstairs, the…"
"I didn't take those."
Lark wished her son would hold his head up, look them in the eye, but since she had difficulty meeting their stares herself, she didn't expect it. "I believe him about the other things. I'm so sorry."
She elbowed Zane.
His voice cracked. "I apologize. It was stupid."
Lark nudged him again, trying not to speak for him. She really wanted to take his hand and run away.
"I'll pay for the cushions." Zane's jaw trembled. Fluttering lids blinked back tears.
"We have an eighty-two-thousand-dollar insurance claim, Zane," Jan said. "How do you think you'll pay that back?"
Mother and son winced. Jan remained stone-faced.
Jack picked at the cloth wrapping the second sword. "And if these swords are damaged, I'll sue your ass." He directed that comment at Lark, simultaneously wounding and infuriating her.
She composed herself and refrained from saying, Good luck with that. He'd do it, knowing she had no money to speak of and no resources except her reputation and client list. All that was about to hit the fan.
"Mr. Hensen, I know what these swords mean to you, but we've returned them, and Zane will pay for the damage to your…" Her voice trailed away, watching Jan fish a phone out of her cardigan's pocket. Her long nails forced her to flat-finger type in three digits. 9-1-1.
Lark's breath caught.
"Hello. This is Jan Hensen at three-zero-one Lakeside Loop." Her wide-set eyes glared at Lark and Zane while talking to the police dispatcher.
Lark tuned Jan out and sat down quietly. She touched Zane's hand and tugged him to sit beside her. When he did, reluctantly, likely thinking about escape, she slid one arm around his back and held on for dear life.
The first police car arrived within minutes and the second moments later. Lark knew both officers to be good guys. The first one, John, had played basketball in high school, and she'd known John's younger sister on the cheerleading squad back then.
So it began.
CHAPTER 3
Rob chose Whalen for a last name before he left Minneapolis, and a variation of that name’s shadow corporation owned the snowy mountainside he gazed at now. He’d spent two hours digging out a path from the porch to his shed through accumulated snow and bottomless drifts. He stroked his bristly black beard, watching helplessly as a whooshing roar cleared the shed’s steep roof, obliterating his hard work. He threw the shovel at the new snow bank.
"Fuck me."
A man’s voice answered, "You're not my type.”
Rob jerked around to see a squat little man, with perfectly barbered white mustache and goatee, scuffing up the drive. "You scared the shit out of me."
"Sorry about that." The man held back, giving Rob time to sum him up. His coat hung open, revealing a holstered gun on his right hip. "Axel's the name. Axel Craig." He shuffled forward slowly. "I live up the road."
"Rob… Whalen." His new name sounded bogus. "Is that your snow blower parked off the road up there?" Rob met the man halfway, and they shook hands.
"Yup."
Rob stood a foot taller than Axel, but they likely weighed the same. “Looks like I should buy one myself.”
"You get settled in?" Axel said.
"Yup," Rob said for the first time in his life. He hadn't spoken to a human in a week since the last time he went into Whitefish, and then he had only communicated with cashiers at Super1 and Nelson’s Hardware.
"I watched your improvements going in." Axel's short arms circled as if a big development had taken place. "You here for good now?"
"Yup." Say something other than yup. "I'll be here full time. Quit my job." Dammit, don't go there.
"Okay, I'm home about half the time these days. Been workin' in the oil fields off and on." Axel adjusted his lapels. "It’s too damn cold over in the Bakkan to stay on full time in winter."
"Colder than this?" Rob had read where it wouldn't reach fifteen degrees this weekend.
"Shit. It’s twenty degrees colder in North Dakota. And the wind. Oh, the wind."
"Well, good to meet you, Axel. I'm not too social, but I like knowing my only neighbor."
"Damn good thing, don't you think?" Axel winked. "Being a loner and all? This is the place for it. Well, I won't bother you." He started to walk away.
"I didn't mean to chase you off."
"That's fine, I know what you mean. Me too."
"Are you up there by yourself?" Rob said.
"Yup. My girlfriend won't stay up here in winter."
Rob would like to meet the woman who chose Axel.
"If you need anything…" Axel didn't finish the sentence.
"You, too." Rob watched his neighbor walk away and then picked up his shovel and went back to work.
* * *
Recluse Axel proved to be Rob's sole visitor, suggesting he'd be left alone. He had time and space in abundance to become Rob Whalen, a righteous man, law-abiding in every way. His third weekly Wednesday trip into Whitefish brought him to a new reality. He fit in—not with the ski crowd arriving for the second week of the season. He fit squarely with the Axels of Northwest Montana. Quiet, if not standoffish. Borderline scruffy. Pretty much polite. He liked it. This would do. When he pulled into his long driveway at sundown Wednesday afternoon, a Walmart plastic sack fluttered on his locked gate.
Litter up here? Rob retrieved and tossed it on the floorboard. A note fell out.
There's a parade and fun in town Friday 6:00. Not my deal, but Sharla loves it. The things I do for that woman. If you care to go, be at your gate at 5:00. Axel"
Hell, no. Rob didn't drop off the end of the world to attend some damn hometown carnival with an eccentric mountain man he hardly knew. The stillness of the forests, the mesmerizing flicker of the dinner candle flame both calmed and reassured Rob. He possessed all he needed in this snowy wilderness. In fact, for the first time in a year he regretted almost nothing.
He ignored a growing restlessness. Here in his remote cabin he turned on the TV late in the day for national news while he cooked, such as it was. Then he determinedly shut it off to appreciate the stillness of where he lived. When the skies cleared, he sometimes stepped out on the deck to wonder at the fields of stars. Looking up made him dizzy, the stars swirled, and the enormity of the universe compared to the pinprick spot where he stood, overwhelmed him.
One night he even cried, much to his embarrassment. Something so important, so big, waited in the boughs laden with snow or in the d
angerous snow wells surrounding their trunks, or maybe in the perfect cold breeze.
Something big loomed ahead. He tried not to think about it.
Friday night arrived, black dark at 5:00 p.m., Rob stared out the window over his kitchen sink. Headlights paused way up on the road, barely visible through the dense swath of lodge pole pines, spruce and Douglas fir. The lights flicked bright, dim, and bright again. Seconds later, the vehicle moved on. Deep loneliness surged in his chest at a tail light’s flicker. He wondered what would draw out a loner like Axel. An hour later, Rob drove in to Whitefish to find out for himself.
* * *
Lark had surrendered the Hensens' house key before leaving their mansion Tuesday night. By noon on Wednesday, not only did Lark have her Wednesday afternoons free, but two more of Jan's friends had emailed, canceling the need for her cleaning services. Neither asked for their keys returned. Their locks would be changed.
No doubt she did poorly on her two finals exams Thursday, but she was glad to have them behind her. Already Friday, two houses cleaned for clients who had been with her from the beginning, and now she faced this damn Winter Fest Parade. The last thing she wanted was to cavort in a parade while waiting for the Hensens to file charges.
She tugged on her skimpy costume, zipped her boots and examined herself in the bathroom mirror. Lucinda Williams channels Wonder Woman. Why the hell did I agree to this?
She hollered, "Goodbye," to Zane's closed door, hoping he'd stay grounded in his room. There were no guarantees, and she had no way to monitor him.
Knowing she’d never find a parking place, she walked the three blocks toward Central Avenue with her costume camouflaged by a scarf, hat and heavy parka. She shivered, regretting leaving the sweat pants at home.
Previous Winter Fests had been colder than the twelve degrees flashing on First Interstate Bank's billboard, but Lark had been dressed for the weather as a spectator then. The Wonder Woman costume she now wore seemed stupid and not too festive at that. Her teeth chattered with the parka zipped tight and hood up against the spitting snow. Their float stood tenth or eleventh in line. She found the others waiting in First Presbyterian Church's alcoves, taking respite from the bitter breeze. She'd hold out for the last moment to toss her jacket into Kirk's truck before their three-block performance.
She, Lulu, Dee and Nora were supposed to be female superheroes pulling Santa's truck in the parade. Kirk (Santa) sported a red velvet Santa hat and red fleece shirt. His scruffy white beard lent him authenticity, and Dee insisted on rouging his cheeks. Kirk would drive the truck and toss candy out the open windows. Meanwhile, the four women would pull on long ropes strung with lights, supposedly towing Santa’s sleigh.
The truck's impressive sound system blasted Christmas carols before they took the first step. "Electronic Steamroller" or some such carol preferred by Kirk played because he could turn up the bass line. Last minute attention to details included Christmas tree lights draped over the truck’s windshield and grill. Kirk climbed inside. He shouted encouraging words from the cab and reminded the four women not to think about his warm butt sitting on a heated seat in his truck.
“Very funny,” Lark shouted. She smushed a long black wig onto her head, hoping it might provide more warmth.
Central Avenue looked like a postcard featuring red bells, garlands, and lights strung from lamppost to post. A light snowfall and Christmas carols enhanced the ambiance. Bundled families lined the parade route as far as she could see. Many stomped their feet, roared with laughter, and sipped hot cider in tiny cups doled out for free by Glacier Bank employees. Kettle corn cooked nearby. Despite the cold wait to get going, Lark was happy her friends had made her come out.
Lark scanned the crowd for Zane near the beginning of the parade route. He hadn't wanted to watch the parade with her since the age of twelve. Now that she had grounded him, no telling. She decided to stop looking for him and enjoy herself.
The high school band led off, striking up "Jingle Bells" in front of the church. The teenagers marched in haphazard time on the snow-packed street. Each wore a flashing red nose and antlers.
Kirk hopped out of his truck. "It's time, ladies." He helped Nora remove her coat and made the rounds to each super woman. None of them screamed, but all four hopped in place and sang to maintain their body heat until time to go.
Typically adorable, Lulu’s costume featured pink tights, feet enveloped by Uggs, and leotard with tutu. She struck a pose with sparkling wand on high. "I can't believe you talked me into this."
"You'll get a date out of it," Lark said. "You wait and see." She reluctantly handed her coat to Kirk. Dee dressed as a hybrid Wonder Woman, voluminous ankle-length cape, crown, fancy bracelets and white patent leather, smooth-soled boots. She'd break her neck on the icy street. And Nora masqueraded as a frumpy Catwoman, completely covered in black sweats with a tail and ears. She'd chosen a formless outfit to hide the effects of a hearty appetite and giving birth to twins. Nora admired Lulu’s exposed curves and muttered about “the old days.”
They had undressed too soon. Preceding entries crept off the starting line. A crepe paper-covered float with children pretending to ice skate in pairs moved slowly so the kids wouldn't tumble. A rendition of "Santa Claus Is Coming to Town" threatened to collapse because the brass band made up of seniors wearing Santa hats seemed more intent on handing out candy than playing their instruments. Harvey's Sled Dogs stuck their heads out of holes in a homemade tiny house on wheels and barked their heads off. Delighted families clapped and laughed. Meanwhile, the super heroines numbed with the cold.
Kirk hollered, "We follow the pig. Pick up your lassoes."
Three men set a giant pig on wheels in motion. It displayed an ad for BBQ Heaven and received cheers. Its nod to the holidays consisted entirely of tinsel looping the pig's fat neck and dangly red ball earrings in each pointed ear.
Welcome to our small town, Lark thought.
Kirk gunned the engine. The four women picked up their ropes attached to his front bumper. They set off. Watchers along either side of the street clapped and cheered. Some hollered out their names, and the four women waved while supposedly straining against the weight of pulling the truck. Lark couldn’t feel her fingers or toes. At the one block mark, several roller derby queens from Flathead Valley Bombers snuck in behind the pig float. Their nod to the holidays consisted of elf caps, lots of bells, and flyers advertising a roller derby match at the fairgrounds with Polson Pixies on Saturday.
Lark envied their puffy jackets.
Kirk gunned the engine in front of the Wolf Pack Bar and spun his wheels as they passed. Slack in the rope sent Lark lurching forward. Already unsteady in her ankle boots, Lark slipped onto one knee, but a bystander reached out to steady her before she landed on her rear end.
"A clever float, if unrelated to the holidays," the man said.
"Ack! Thanks." Lark righted her crown and wig, shouldered the twinkling rope, and soldiered on.
She heard her name shouted from the crowd a couple of times, and she grinned and waved without searching too hard for the sources. People called out, Lulu, Dee, Nora. The locals knew them all. The tourists simply enjoyed the spectacle.
Within a few minutes, Lark saw the Festival King and Queen’s bonfire blazing up ahead near the train depot. The crowd swelled. Only one block to go!
* * *
Rob hadn't seen this many people in one place since leaving Minneapolis. He felt lonely in crowds, even with the holiday merriment of the parade. The couple holding each other next to him spotlighted his loneliness as corny marching bands and floats on truck beds passed by.
What the hell were those four women supposed to be? They appeared to be pulling a truck, but the driver tapped the gas, and Wonder Woman (he now saw that all were dressed as super women)… staggered. Rob lunged forward, catching her elbow before she tumbled.
He tweaked his back with the quick movement. A brief regret about getting old at thirty-eight passed before h
e noticed a tattoo on the woman's bare left calf. Something familiar about it made him sidestep down the sidewalks in front of festive storefronts along the parade route, trying to catch another glimpse. He hurried to the Second Street intersection, found a crack in the wall of spectators, and waited for Wonder Woman to pass again. She had tangled with one of the others and now pulled her rope toward the center of the street. A heavyset woman in all black walked closest to his side now. In the street lights, Wonder Woman's left leg showed the shapes of a bird with wings spread around her calf. He saw spiky flower petals above the top of the woman's short boot. He knew to look for it. He visualized a hidden stem curling around her ankle.
* * *
By the time their float reached Railroad Street, even Lulu screamed from the pain of cold. Kirk jumped out and untied the ropes from his front bumper while all four women zipped up their jackets and jammed wool hats over their heads.
Lark turned to see the Festival King and Queen arrive at the coronation bonfire in front of the library, but a man’s silhouette partially blocked her view as he approached her.
"You're going to think I'm crazy," he said.
Dee shouted from the truck, "Wonder Woman, c'mon. It's freezing."
"Wait!" The man's bearded face came into focus when he stepped into storefront lighting.
She recognized him, but from where? "Me?"
"Right, you." He stuck his bare hands into his pockets and ambled closer. He smiled. "You didn't go to Mizzou by any chance?" He was mid-to-late thirties, bearded, and no hat. Thick black brows frowned over dark eyes.
"I was there my freshman year. Do I know you?"
"I recognized your tattoo." He pointed at her bare leg.
"You recognized my tattoo from college?" She edged toward the truck.
"I thought so." Hands back in his pockets, he shivered. His breath rose around his face and lodged droplets of moisture in his mustache. "Was that you?"
"Maybe."
