“Are you feeling better?” I asked Ellen.
“Better than I was,” she said. “Still not good, but better.”
“I understand.”
Ellen pushed the food around on her plate. It was only a guess, but I would have bet that Viola made her prepare all this food just so she would get up and get moving, have something to focus on other than her situation.
“I remember last night, and I’m sorry,” she said as she looked at me. She rushed to add, “I wasn’t always like this.”
I nodded and didn’t ask for further clarification.
“I got in trouble, got into the bad stuff when I was thirty-five. Before that, I was a teetotaler. Really.”
“Happens. Unfortunately,” I said. My heart wanted to go out to her, but my head told me not to be too quick with my sympathy.
“I hurt my back. That’s all it was, a pulled muscle in my back. A doctor gave me some pills, and that was the end of me. I can’t believe it happened,” Ellen said.
“Do you have a family?” I asked. I wasn’t sure if I was allowed to ask personal questions, but Viola didn’t send me a sideways glare.
Ellen nodded. “Well, I did. I doubt I’ll ever get them back. My husband left me, took our eleven-year-old daughter.” Tears filled her eyes. “I didn’t much care. I care today and it hurts more than you can imagine.”
“You’ll care tomorrow then, too. Care one day at a time, don’t try to dilute your feelings with the bad stuff, and maybe you’ll get them back,” I said.
“I doubt it,” she said again.
“They’re worth a try, right?” Viola said.
“Yes. Of course.” Ellen sniffed.
“Eat your eggs,” Viola said again.
Ellen blinked. I sent her a quick smile before I put my attention back to my food.
I hoped she’d find it in herself to stay clean, but her one-day-at-a-times were only just the beginning. I realized how perfect Benedict was for her situation, but the rest of the world would work against her. I didn’t know her, but I wanted to believe in her. Maybe I would in another few days.
She scooped up some eggs and took a bite.
“Your call go okay?” Viola asked me.
“It did. Thanks for that.”
“Beth runs our local paper,” Viola said to Ellen. “She puts in notices about some of the classes offered at our community center. Knitting tonight. Any desire to go?”
“I’ve never been a knitter,” Ellen said.
“Me either,” I said. “The instructor is Serena, and she’s patient. Viola’s sister, Benny, sometimes attends. The town’s best knitter is a young blind woman named Janell who attends with her mother, Larrie. Some guys come, too—when they’re in town between shifts on an oil rig up north. It’s a great group of people. I’ll go with you, if you want.”
“Really?” Ellen said.
“Sure. Want to?”
“Is that okay?” she asked Viola.
“Sure, if you think you can handle it. If you run away, you’ll just die of exposure. Keep that in mind.”
Ellen nodded, her fork in midair. “All right. I’ll go.”
In those few moments, I saw glimpses of the woman she used to be. She’d never be that person again, but she might find a roughed-up version. Who of us wasn’t like that? Life was way too full of opportunities to take some hits, make some scars.
I finished breakfast, and with the address from Viola’s desk on my mind, I offered to help clean up. I was glad when Viola sent me away, saying that was Ellen’s job now and she’d start cooking all breakfasts and dinners as of the next day. Ellen seemed surprised by her new duties, but she didn’t argue.
I made my way back to my room, ready to conquer a new mission.
Eighteen
I had a whole day in front of me, filled with many possibilities. Writing should’ve been my first priority, but I had that address and I couldn’t stop thinking about it.
I stepped outside to find a thin blanket of newly fallen snow. I should have put my snowshoes on and tried to go for a walk, but I didn’t do that, either.
Work and exercise would have to wait.
I looked toward the mercantile. The light was still on in the window, but the door would probably be unlocked. I noticed Randy’s truck out front, not remembering if I’d seen it there the night before.
I made my way over the boardwalk. Someone had cleared away the snow and mud. It was twilight-dark and cold outside, enough so that the chill seeped into my bones before I made it all the way to the mercantile doors, which was less than a thirty-second walk. It must have been well below freezing.
I sensed there would be more wet weather today; I hoped for snow over rain.
A bell jingled above the door as I opened it. Randy was in the back of the small space, stacking some blue enamel camping dishes.
“Beth, hello, come in,” he said, just like he always did. “What are you looking for today?”
I got no sense that he was bothered by anything. Of course, even if Gril had wanted to talk to him about the picture that Annie drew, it might not have mattered once the girls’ father showed up.
The space inside was old-fashioned, made of simple wood planks and old barrels full of goods—Donner had referred to it all as “gear” when I first arrived in town with only a T-shirt and a flimsy jacket, in need of some serious re-outfitting. Now almost my entire wardrobe consisted of gear from the mercantile, including the jeans I’d donned this morning. When I first purchased them, I’d wondered if I would ever be able to bend my knees again, but they’d finally softened some.
“I need some more of those thick socks,” I said.
“White ones or the gray wool ones?” Randy said as he put down the dishes and walked toward the barrels of socks.
“The wool ones.”
“That’s easy. How many?”
“Two pairs.”
He grabbed them. “Anything else? Want to look around a bit?”
“No, that’s good.”
I followed him to the cash register.
“On your account?”
“No, I’ll pay. I think I owe a payment, too.” I pulled some cash from my pocket.
He reached under the cash register and grabbed the notebook where he kept a handwritten list of what everyone had charged. He let anyone charge anything, and from what I could tell, he never pushed for payment. I could pay for everything I purchased, but the first time I’d come in, I hadn’t wanted to flash all the cash I had hidden on me from my escape from St. Louis.
“All righty. How much would you like to pay?”
“What do I owe?”
“Total, with the socks, of two hundred sixty-two dollars.”
“I can pay it all today.”
Randy looked at me with raised eyebrows. “You sure? You don’t have to.”
I laughed. “I’m sure. You let everyone charge. How do you do it?”
He shrugged. “I like being able to do it. I have the money.”
“Well, I can’t help but ask, and it’s okay if it’s none of my business, but did you get an inheritance or something?”
“Nah, before I moved here, I managed a hedge fund, got out right before the economy fell apart. I have more money than I should.”
“I’m surprised. I keep forgetting that most people here had significantly different lives before moving to Benedict. You shouldn’t feel guilty about your money. You earned it.”
“Yes ma’am.”
I handed him the cash.
“Where’d you live?” I asked.
“New York City,” he said, just like that old salsa commercial.
“Wow, what a difference—NYC to here. That had to be rough,” I said.
“It wasn’t rough on me,” he said with a sad smile.
“Ah, I hear something in your voice. It was hard on someone else. Did you leave someone or bring someone here who didn’t like it?”
He waved off the question, but then surprised me and answered it. “I was mar
ried back then.”
“Oh. Was? I’m sorry. Sounds like she wasn’t happy here. That would be a tough transition, though. Some people like it, but I can understand why some wouldn’t. Did she just go back to New York?”
Doubt crossed his features, but he probably didn’t think I was watching him closely. “Yes.”
I opened my mouth to ask another question, but closed it again. Enough, I thought. Anything I asked now would only make me seem way too nosy. I just smiled and nodded. But, I admit, I was pleasantly surprised when he continued on his own.
“Divorce. Still waiting on the papers,” he said with a shrug.
I blinked. “Haven’t you been here awhile?”
“Six and a half or so years.”
“She hasn’t signed the papers?” So much for no more questions. I couldn’t help myself now.
“Not yet.”
“Geez, come on, Mrs. Randy, get your act together,” I said, trying to make him smile. It worked for a second. “Hard to move on if that tie still binds, right?”
“Wanda. Her name was … is Wanda. And yes, being married to someone who truly doesn’t want to be married to you does make moving on difficult.”
“What does she say about not signing?”
“Nothing.” His eyebrows came together as he looked down at the counter. He was smiling by the time he looked up again. “Goodness, Beth, I’m sorry to bother you with that old, boring story. I haven’t talked about her in a long time. Forget I said anything.”
I picked up the bag with the socks. “Forget what?” I smiled again.
“Thanks.”
“Hey, I’m here if you ever need to talk. Well, if I’m not here, I’m at the Petition shed or the Benedict House, but I promise to keep anything off the record, if that’s what you want.”
“Very good.” He pulled in a deep breath. “I’m okay, though. Business to run and everything.”
“Oh! You did a good job reporting that sound you heard. You know what’s been going on the last couple of days, don’t you?”
“The girls? You heard it, too, right?”
“Yes, and I’m sure it was them who made that noise outside the Petition. It was just like you described. Did you know I was the one who brought them into town?”
“I’ve heard a few different stories, but that makes sense.”
“It was all so eerie. They weren’t talking. Their father picked them up, thankfully. They’d gotten lost after the mudslide moved things around a bit.”
“That can happen sometimes,” he said absently.
“Which part?”
“Oh, the mudslide.”
“I thought you might mean the not talking.”
“That too, I suppose.”
“That’s freaky to me,” I said. “Why would two girls not talk? And then they drew a picture of your house.”
“They did. Gril and I figured they’d just seen it, passed by and it made an impression. They must have been close when they made that noise.”
It was the first thing he’d said that sounded … not like a lie, but not completely truthful.
“Probably,” I said. “You built it, didn’t you? It’s really great.”
“I had it built,” he said, looking up again with a modest smile, his tone back to normal. “I’m not a builder, not handy at all.”
“Really? I’m thinking of building something, too—well, like you, having something built, but I want a good design. I’ve looked at stuff on the internet, but I can’t find the right thing. I would hate to intrude, but is there any way I could have a tour of your place?”
“Sure,” he said. “How about tonight, after I close?”
“That would be perfect! Thanks, Randy.”
“You’re welcome.” He hesitated. “Come on over about seven.”
“Will do. See you then.” I picked up the socks and made my way to the door. I turned back around when I got there. “You were open late last night?”
“I don’t know if it was late. I just stay open until it feels like it’s time to close.”
“I saw that trapper leaving last night. Lane.”
“Yes. Why?”
“I’d never seen him in town before.”
“He comes in about every other month. A good enough guy. Not the friendliest. A loner; lots of those out there. Came in last night to pick up a sharpening stone he ordered a while back.”
I’d told everyone I’d talked to about the body on Lane’s property, but I suddenly realized there was a chance I wasn’t supposed to be sharing that news. Did Randy know about the body?
“His property became more exposed after the mudslide,” I said.
If Randy wondered how I knew that, he didn’t ask.
“He mentioned that. Told me he could get here easier now, might come in more. It took him a while to pick up his order. Honestly, I think he’s worried about the legality of living there. He said that Gril told him that land belongs to the state.”
“I heard that, too.”
“Gril will take care of everything. He’s gone to bat for folks before. He knows how to convince the state to change a policy or a rule. I’ve seen him work his magic. Are you concerned for Lane?”
“No. Until a few days ago, he was a stranger, that’s all. I thought I’d seen almost everyone who lives around here by now.”
Randy laughed once. “Nope. You’ll constantly be surprised by who emerges from the woods when they need something. We’re small in population, but spread over lots of land.”
Gril must not have suspected either Randy or Lane of doing anything wrong, or they wouldn’t be free. I decided I needed to be done asking questions for a while, if only to keep myself from further oversharing, if, in fact, that’s what I’d done with others.
I laughed, too. “I’ll keep an eye out. Thanks for helping with the socks, Randy.”
“My pleasure. Thanks for paying off your account.” He looked down at the notebook on the counter. “I’m used to seeing mostly red ink on this page. You added some black.”
I left the mercantile and walked back toward the Benedict House. I was going to put the socks in my room and then see if I could track down the address from Viola’s desk. Instead, I walked directly to my truck. Another change of plans. I decided to swing by Randy’s house now. I couldn’t pinpoint what felt off about our conversation, what wasn’t the complete truth, but I knew he wasn’t there right now. It would be a good time to have a look.
A close look.
Nineteen
My ancient truck had both four-wheel drive and four good tires. As I drove along the snow-covered road surrounded by the freshly snow-covered trees and then past the Petition, I felt almost invincible.
It took parking in front of Randy’s house for me to realize I wasn’t going to be able to do anything secretly. Unless it snowed some more by the end of his work shift, my tire tracks would be obvious and easy to identify.
I looked out my windshield up to the patch of gray sky above the tall spruces and willed the snow to come down—just as soon as I finished my reconnaissance mission, that was.
I stepped out of the truck and made my way to the front door. The wide porch was welcoming, though there wasn’t any furniture on it. I noticed hooks in the wood plank roof above and thought a swing must sometimes hang there. It was the perfect spot for one. I looked at the view it would offer and could envision myself swinging the day away.
Two big windows framed a wide front door. I walked to one window and peered in. A bedroom. Something right out of a woodsy home decorator magazine. A big bed filled the center of the space. The chunky log frame matched the wood used for the other furniture—two nightstands and a dresser set. The bedspread was red-and-brown zigzag, and cut-out moose marched all the way around the brown lampshades.
The bed wasn’t perfectly made, and there were some familiar-looking clothes—gear—here and there. It was a comfortable and well-used room.
I walked to the other window. This side was the kitc
hen and dining area. More wood was used for the long dining table, the island counter, and the cabinets. The appliances were stainless, top of the line five years ago, I thought. They must have ferried them over from Juneau.
I went to the door and turned the knob. It wasn’t a surprise to find it unlocked and easy to open. Why would Randy lock the door way out here? I hesitated, not because I’d never gone into someone else’s house uninvited, but because I hadn’t done it in a long time, and it wasn’t … who I thought I was. Though Mill had left me with my grandfather when she’d done most of her “investigating,” she’d also taken me with her a few times.
“Stick close to me and don’t touch anything, girlie.”
“Do you think Dad is in this house?”
“Dunno what we’ll find, but according to his log sheet, this was his last sale. The police haven’t done anything. We’re just going to look. Hush now, and stick with me.”
We hadn’t found anything leading us to Dad, but it had been … fun. It was exhilarating to be somewhere we shouldn’t be, but only because we weren’t caught. My grandfather had lost his mind when he heard my mother had taken me with her.
“Mill, what in the hell were you thinking?” he’d yelled.
“That that house needed to be looked through and I was the only one to do it the right way. Beth wasn’t in any danger. Take a chill, Pops.”
“You will never, ever do that again. If you do, I’ll turn you in myself.”
“Whatever.”
She had done it again, but my grandfather, the police chief, never knew. Mill always was extraordinary at being sneaky.
Was that why it was so easy to consider walking into Randy’s house—because I’d talked to my ballsy mother today? Had that call infused me with her inclinations, reminded me of them, or just brought my own inherited tendencies to the surface?
I wanted answers—even if I wasn’t quite sure what the exact questions were, and dammit, I didn’t trust anyone else to get them as well as I could. Boy, that was typical Mill. Was it typical me, too? I didn’t want it to be, but here I was, and I didn’t seem to be able to stop myself from pushing the door open.
“Shit,” I muttered, and went inside.
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