Wicked in Winter

by Jennifer Bernard

  It shuddered and jumped across the floor. His toe throbbed. But damn, it felt good to release a little tension. And what the hell, it was already broken.

  Chapter Seven

  “Mom…mom…hang on. Stop talking for a second.” Gretel adjusted her headset and smiled sweetly at the fire chief, Darius Boone. He was even larger than Zander, and more intimidating if only because he was in his thirties as opposed to his twenties. “What can I get you, Chief? And other chief?”

  She added that bit just in time as Maya Badger stepped next to Darius. Just lately, Maya Badger had been named as Lost Harbor’s newest police chief, after the townspeople got tired of her doing all the work while the old chief spent his time ice fishing.

  “I’m buying,” Darius told Maya. “My way of saying congratulations.”

  “Are you sure it’s not your way of saying you need extra space now that we’re down an officer?” Maya said dryly.

  “You’re so young to be so cynical. But now that you mention it…”

  Maya rolled her eyes and turned to Gretel. “Macchiato, put it on my tab. And throw a muffin in there.”

  “A normal muffin, or a gluten-free sugar-free—”

  “Make it a peanut butter cookie. And get one for the big guy too. I’m in a sweet mood.”

  Darius heaved a long sigh. “Okay, what do you need, Badger? I’ll have a latte, Gretel. Large and hot.”

  “I like your style.” She shooed them both away. “Now please go bicker—I mean discuss town business—at a table. I have a fight with my mother to get back to.”

  The two chiefs both looked at her in astonishment and then at each other. Maya laughed first, her smooth brown face breaking into a wide smile. “You are something else, Gretel Morrison. Glad you decided to stick around. I won’t be at all surprised if you find yourself in trouble, though.”

  Gretel shot her a sassy smile and readjusted her headset. Since Maya was her future brother-in-law Nate’s best friend, she wasn’t too worried.

  On the other hand, she had a reputation for being extra ethical, so—“On the house,” she called after them.

  She flicked the unmute button while she made their drinks. Her mother Aimee was still ranting, as if she hadn’t even realized that Gretel had muted her.

  Kind of the story of their relationship, come to think of it.

  “Mom. Mom. I missed all of that. Can you boil it down to the essentials?”

  “Oh darling, did you miss the bit about modeling the spring collection?”

  “Uh, yes. I missed that. Congratulations, that’s amazing.” Aimee was a former world-class model, incredibly photogenic, and only in her mid-forties. She still got plenty of work, though she didn’t need the money. Her three divorce settlements had left her in excellent financial shape.

  “I don’t mean me, darling. I mean you. They’re looking for someone younger.” Gretel winced at the hurt in Aimee’s voice.

  “Well then, they’re fools. You’re the best. And I’m not a model. You know that, Mom.”

  “You just need to work on your—”

  “No. You know I suck at it. I’m too short and I can’t control my facial expressions enough. No modeling.”

  “Okay. But there’s something else to discuss. That honeymoon fund I set aside for you.”

  “No, Mom. I’m not marrying one of your douchebags. Moving on. What else is going on, Mom? Have you talked to Daddy?”

  “He can’t stop calling me. He’s devastated. He wants you back in the family fold, honey. Would it kill you to just apologize and—”

  Sweet Sofia Coppola, this conversation was a minefield. “He’ll survive. Why isn’t he happy that he has all his money to himself now?”

  “All his money? What do you think I am, an amateur?”

  “Of course not. Prenup, monthly allowance, blah blah blah. You know, you really ought to thank me for being born because that doubled your monthly check.”

  “You don’t need to be so catty. Men don’t like that, you know.”

  “Too bad for them.” She removed two peanut butter cookies from the case and slid them each onto a plate.

  “Baby, I’m worried about your attitude. When I was younger than you, I’d already married a millionaire and given birth to you! I was set for life at the age of twenty-three. And you’re—where are you working again?”

  “The Wicked Brew in Lost Harbor, Alaska, across from Lost Souls Wilderness.”

  “Which might as well be nowhere.”

  Not nowhere. Just very far from her parents. And yet, maybe not quite far enough.

  “Bethany’s here too. You should stop worrying.”

  “You shouldn’t be so trusting with Bethany. Do I have to remind you that—”

  “No! You don’t have to. Please don’t.”

  But this was Aimee’s favorite story, so she couldn’t be stopped. Gretel screwed her eyes shut and hoped she would tell the short version. “I was just the mistress, but I always knew the key was to be patient. Then after Bethany’s mother died, God rest her soul, Lloyd turned to me, like I always knew he would. It was best for everyone that we got married, but poor little Bethany had a hard time. You can’t trust—”

  Gretel had heard enough. “Bethany loves me. She always has. You should just stop right there.”

  Aimee knew when she’d crossed the line. “Will you think about Fiji, darling? We had such fun there the last time.”

  Gretel pressed her lips together to keep the truth from spilling out—she’d spent most of that vacation completely buzzed.

  “I have commitments here, Mom. I’m not leaving.”

  “Excuse you? I didn’t catch that. You have what?”

  Hmm…maybe Aimee wasn’t actually familiar with the word ‘commitment.’ Come to think of it, Gretel had never heard her use it.

  She put the cookies and drinks on a serving tray and stepped from behind the bar to bring them to Maya and Darius. The two of them were deep into an argument. All she overheard was “S.G.,” who was a mysterious runaway who had turned up in Lost Harbor last fall.

  “I can’t leave,” she said firmly. “I’m very busy here and there are people depending on me.”

  Her mother gave a trill of laughter. “Depending on you?”

  Gretel bit her lip, wounded despite herself. As she unloaded the tray, Maya caught her expression. In a raised voice, the police chief said, “A lot of people depend on you, Gretel. We couldn’t do without you.”

  Maya nudged Chief Boone, who spoke up in a deep rumble. “That’s right. Lost Harbor needs you, Gretel. Please don’t leave us.”

  A burst of sunshine warmed Gretel’s heart. How sweet that two such professional and respected town officials would stand up for her. How unexpected.

  “Who was that?” her mother was asking.

  “That,” Gretel answered proudly as she finished delivering their order, “was the police chief and the fire chief of Lost Harbor.”

  She mouthed ‘thank you’ to Darius and Maya and stepped back behind the counter, where Toni, the bartender from the Olde Salt Saloon, was waiting to place an order.

  After a pause, Aimee laughed again. “I do hope they don’t get too attached to you, baby. Have they seen your passport? When’s the last time you stayed anywhere for more than two months?”

  Gretel slammed the tray down harder than she meant to. “Goodbye, Mom. I can’t spend all day getting insulted, I’m working.”

  “So I’ll book the Fiji trip?”

  She ended the call and rested both hands on the counter, heaving in deep breaths to get a grip on her emotions. Then she plastered on a smile and faced Toni. The slim, tattooed bartender looked like someone who never took shit from anyone, including her mother.

  “Coffeemaker at the Olde Salt still broken?” Gretel asked her.

  “Yep. Black coffee to go, hold the drama.”

  Still a little shaky from that conversation with her mother, Gretel filled a large to-go cup with coffee and snapped on the lid.
>
  Toni handed her a five dollar bill, along with a sympathetic look. “If you need to let off some steam, come on out to the Olde Salt. I’m working all night. Haven’t seen you out there lately.”

  “Yeah, I’ve been pretty busy. But thanks, a break might be nice.” A champagne cocktail, maybe. She’d float on a cloud of bubbles into the sky, where nothing could wound her. Where her mother couldn’t remind her that her primary reason for existing was to cement Aimee’s relationship with a millionaire. Where she could chase away that sense of shame always lurking under the surface.

  Not even playing Robin Hood had gotten rid of it. And now she couldn’t even do that. Her wages and tips weren’t doing much to fulfill the pledge she’d made.

  Chapter Eight

  After her shift ended, Gretel bundled up in her blue fake fur shortie coat and her Burberry beret. Even though most of the Olde Salt regulars were crusty fishermen and hardcore drinkers, they’d accepted her as one of them from the very beginning. She liked to amuse them with her outrageous outfits. She rarely paid for her own drinks there, but she’d never felt in any kind of danger.

  To them, she was just another drinking buddy—with some extra flair.

  She was still all jangled up from her conversation with her mother. She hated this feeling—it made her want to run, to flee, to escape, to get high, to blot out everything and find some fun.

  As she scraped off the ice that had formed on the windshield of the old Nissan Frontier the Noonans had given her, she could already taste the prickle of champagne sliding down her throat. She’d been so busy lately that she hadn’t had time for partying, or even a glass of wine.

  When was the last time she’d had a drink? Jeez, she didn’t even remember.

  She snapped back the windshield wiper and chipped away at the ice under it.

  When was the last time she couldn’t remember the last time she’d had a drink?

  Never, she realized with a shock. Because she didn’t generally go long without one.

  Was that a problem?

  But she didn’t have time to think about it because a small figure down the street caught her eye. She recognized that particular bright red parka.

  Petey Ross was just emerging from Eller’s Drugs. Eller’s carried everything from fishing gear to housewares, birthday cards to crochet supplies. Before he’d taken more than two steps onto the sidewalk, a large man stepped from inside and grabbed him by the shoulder.

  Petey tried to run, but the man tightened his grip. It looked as if he was furiously scolding Petey, who yelled right back at him. Gretel knew Petey well enough to predict what would come next—nothing good. Petey never shied away from a fight.

  She tossed the ice scraper back into the truck and ran down the street.

  “Hey! Hey you! Mister! What’s going on here?”

  The man wheeled on her as she skidded to a stop before him. Literally skidded—her zebra-striped boots had very little traction.

  “This kid stole something. Are you his mother?”

  She shot a quick glance at Petey, who was a red-faced ball of misery. But at least he wasn’t throwing any punches.

  “No, I’m not, but I was supposed to meet him here and do a little shopping with him. I was late, so that’s on me.” She dug in her coat pocket for her tips. “I’m happy to cover whatever he may or may not have taken, though it was probably by mistake and you should give him a chance to tell his side of the story. Petey, was there something you wanted to buy here?”

  Petey nodded slowly and pulled an object from his coat pocket. It was a bottle of nail polish. He handed it to her and she turned it over. Kir Royale—a gorgeous shade of purple.

  “Excellent choice,” she told him. She turned back to the man. Without a coat, he was starting to shiver in his flannel shirt. “How much do we owe you?”

  “Five dollars and seventy-nine cents, but that’s not the point. Shoplifting is a crime and—”

  “And he’s a kid and that’s a very important lesson to learn from his parent…al figures.” She handed him six dollars and put the nail polish in her pocket. Petey would get it back once she’d sorted this out with him.

  She put her hand around the boy. “You ready to go? I’m sorry I was late.”

  He nodded, then ducked under her arm and marched toward the truck. “We’ll handle this,” she told the man. She pulled a scrap of paper and a lipstick from her bag and wrote down her number. “Please call me if you have any more trouble.”

  “I should report this,” he grumbled.

  “Why? He’s ten. Is this because it’s nail polish? Because discrimination based on sexuality is illegal and—”

  At the word ‘sexuality,’ the owner shuddered and backed toward the door. “Let’s call it good. But straighten that kid out before he gets himself in trouble.”

  “Straighten him out?” But he’d already pushed open the door and disappeared inside.

  In her truck, she found Petey with his arms folded defiantly across his chest. “You gonna tell Zander?”

  “Well, I was thinking you should tell him. But if you don’t want to, I will. One of us is going to have to. But it could be both of us. We can do it together.” She turned the key in the ignition. “Wasn’t Chloeann’s dad doing the carpool today?”

  “Yeah, but I had to work on a project with Trent. Zander’s coming to get me.”

  That phrasing sounded extra morbid. “I’ll text him and let him know you’re with me.”

  “Okay.” The relief in his voice told her that he wasn’t quite ready to face his brother yet.

  She could relate to that. She’d been in trouble almost constantly since about his age. But unlike him, she always got away with it. Probably because her mother knew how to sweet-talk authority figures.

  After she’d alerted Zander, they drove through the town in comfortable silence. Petey ignored the picturesque storefronts with their profusion of twinkle lights that apparently stayed up all winter long.

  She didn’t try to quiz him about what he’d done. That wasn’t her job, she figured. Her job was to keep him company while he worked it out in his own mind.

  As they passed the turnoff that led to the harbor, where the Olde Salt perched like a drunken sailor at the end of the boardwalk, she waved a wistful goodbye to her hypothetical champagne cocktail.

  Sure, a drink would have been nice. But this was much more important.

  “Ravens steal,” Petey said abruptly. “They’re really good scavengers.”

  “Oh yeah?”

  “Sometimes they wait for other birds to bring down their prey, then steal it away from them. They’re really smart birds. If they find a carcass, they’ll call to the wolves or the coyotes to come in first so the meat will get exposed.”

  “Gruesome. You like ravens?”

  “Ravens are awesome. They’re my favorite bird.”

  “That’s cool.” Did the boy see himself as a raven, scavenging for nail polish? “I’m not sure that comparison is going to work with Zander.”

  “Zander’s more like a bear,” Petey said gloomily. “He’s going to ground me to the den.”

  The boy knew what he was talking about. Zander was even more furious than Gretel could have predicted.

  “You shoplifted from Eller’s?” He laced his hands on top of his head and tilted it back with a groan. “Of all places. That man is a hard-ass.”

  “Exactly!” Gretel loosened her scarf so the melting ice crystals didn’t drip down her shirt. “I paid him back and he still wanted to make a big deal out of it.”

  “Yeah, well…why shouldn’t he? No one wants to be stolen from. Petey, you want me to go into your room and steal your stuff?”

  “I was going to pay it back! I just didn’t have my allowance with me.”

  “No excuses.” Zander dropped his hands and planted his fists on his hips. “You’re going to write a letter of apology to Eller’s. You’re going to do Jason’s chores and your chores for the rest of the week. And I’m
going to confiscate that nail polish. You shouldn’t be able to keep something you stole.”

  Storm clouds had been building on Petey’s face from “letter of apology” on. But that last part broke open the dam.

  “Zander! No fair!”

  “It’s completely fair. Hand it over.”

  “I don’t even have it! Ask her!” Petey ran to his room and slammed the door shut.

  Jason snorted from his perch next to the woodstove, where he’d been waxing his skis. “Nice.”

  “Zander.” Gretel drew in a long breath. “Can I speak to you in private?”

  Once again, Zander found himself closed up in his bedroom with Gretel. This time, he wasn’t the only furious one.

  “You are being way too harsh on him!” she cried. “It’s just a bottle of nail polish and I paid for it.”

  “That’s not the point. He shoplifted. That’s not okay.” His jaw tightened and his gut roiled. This was exactly the kind of thing that could be a red flag for the caseworker.

  “Then we’ll say it’s my nail polish and I’ll just give it to him.”

  “The hell you will. He needs to get this. Don’t get in the middle of it, Gretel.”

  Her eyebrows drew together in an offended frown. Turquoise daggers flashed from her eyes. “You should be grateful I did get in the middle of it. That idiot would have hauled him off to the police.”

  What a disaster that would have been. “Thank you,” he managed stiffly. Truly, he did appreciate it, but his worry about Susan Baker blotted out everything else.

  “Very gracious of you.” Sarcasm radiated through her voice. “I’m overwhelmed.”

  “I’ll pay you back the money for the nail polish. I’ll buy it from you.”

  “And do what with it?”

  “What does that matter?”

  She took a step toward him and tapped him on the chest. Her touch reverberated through him. “Because it does. Because Petey wanted it enough to break the rules, and he knows how you are about rules. So he must have wanted it really badly.”

  Flabbergasted, he stared at her while his thoughts churned. He hadn’t thought about it like that. He was entirely focused on the potential threat to their family.