A Whisper of Bones

by Ellen Hart

Butch made a move to get up, which sent them scurrying, slamming the door as their last parting gift.

  * * *

  By nine that night, the majority of the cars at the Nelson house had gone. Butch parked across the street and walked up the winding sidewalk to the front door. Even in the cold, his hands were sweating. For just a moment he wondered if he’d gone crazy in some quiet, undetectable way. This was it. Now or never.

  He rang the doorbell.

  When the door was drawn back, the Jenny in the photo taken on the dock, older but clearly the same woman, asked, “Can I help you?”

  “Um, yes,” said Butch. “You’re Jenny, right?”

  She nodded.

  “I want to tell you how sorry I was to hear about your dad.”

  She nodded again, offered a quiet thank-you. When she also offered a kind of half-smile, he saw that her front teeth weren’t completely straight. He liked that. It made her seem human, not just a sad, old photo. “Look, I’m wondering if your brother, Paul, is here?”

  “I don’t think he’s left yet,” she said. Turning around she called, “Paul. Someone’s here to see you.”

  A moment later, a trim, curly-haired man in a crewneck sweater and jeans appeared at the end of the long entrance hallway, sipping from a glass of wine. “Who is it?” he called back.

  “What’s your name?” asked Jenny.

  “Butch. Butch Averil.” As he said his last name, he caught Paul’s eyes. “Hi,” he said, feeling his entire body tense. “I probably should have called before I came over.”

  Paul slowly shifted his eyes from Butch to his sister.

  “Do you have a minute?” asked Butch. “I was hoping we could talk.” The waiting was over. It was now or never.

  “Would you excuse us?” asked Paul. “Tell Mom I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

  “Sure, take your time,” said Jenny, shutting the door behind them.

  Alone on the front steps, Butch said, “Surprise.” He hoped his silly smile would break the ice.

  “Come here,” said Paul, grabbing his hand. They walked quickly to the end of the garage, then down the hill toward the backyard. Pushing Butch against the side of the garage, Paul kissed him so hard and deep that it made Butch’s knees nearly buckle. “God, I’m so glad you’re here. How did you find me?”

  “Wasn’t easy,” said Butch, his eyes half closed.

  “I thought you’d never want to see me again after the way I left. I just got … scared. I knew what you wanted—”

  “I suppose an engagement ring was the tip-off.”

  “Do you forgive me?”

  “Depends.”

  Paul scrutinized Butch’s face. “But you’re here. That must mean something.”

  “You didn’t make finding you easy. All I had was a photo of your sister and a few other facts.”

  “How—”

  “You had a picture of her in your room. I took it.”

  “I wondered what happened to it.” He held Butch at arm’s length. “How long have you been here?”

  “Three weeks. I gave myself four to find you, and then I was going to head back to Montana. It’s the Christmas season. The resort is booked solid. And the skiing this year is incredible.”

  “Oh, God,” said Paul, crushing Butch in his arms. “You don’t know how much I’ve missed you. But I needed this time. I’ve done a lot of thinking. Dad spent several days in the ICU before he passed. My mom and sister and I sat at his bedside. One night, when Mom was gone, I told Jenny the truth. About me. About us.”

  “And?” whispered Butch.

  “She said she’d suspected I was gay for a long time. She also said she understood how hard it would have been for me to come out.”

  “Because of your dad.”

  “Yeah.” He looked puzzled. “How did you know?”

  “I don’t really know much of anything,” said Butch. “I’m just beginning to see the bare outlines of your life. I mean, you’ve been coming to the resort for years. How long have we been together? Four at least. And in all that time, you never told me your real name or anything about yourself.”

  “I told you everything about me,” he said, looking hurt. “Everything that was important.”

  “Okay, fine. I figured you’d tell me the rest when you were ready. But that time never came. We had what? Maybe six weeks together each year. Two weeks in the summer. Two in the winter. One in the spring and fall. I was happy, but when you came out to stay in October, I realized that it wasn’t enough. Not anymore. I wanted a life with you. A real one.”

  “I know,” said Paul, folding his arms over his chest and stepping away.

  “You’re shivering.”

  “I’ll survive. Look, we need time to talk, but not here. Not now. I’ll explain everything. Just give me a chance, okay?”

  “When? When will this talk happen?”

  “Tomorrow is the funeral. Most of the family will be staying at my mom’s house in Stillwater tomorrow night, and then the out-of-towners will leave on Sunday. Mom’s planned a meal for those of us who live in the area on Sunday night. I want you to come.” He slipped his hand around Butch’s arm.

  “And how will you introduce me? Your friend? Your old ski buddy?”

  “No,” said Paul, tugging Butch’s arm until they were facing each other. “If you still have that ring, I’ll introduce you as my fiancé.”

  His words gave Butch’s heart a hard twist. “Of course I still have the ring.”

  “Dinner’s at six.”

  “On Sunday?”

  “On Sunday. Where are you staying?”

  “A house in Saint Paul.”

  “Give me the address and I’ll meet you at your place at four.”

  “So we can be officially engaged?”

  “That, among other things,” said Paul, moving in for another kiss.

  36

  Jane was in a filthy mood. She’d been summarily tossed out of Julia’s hospital room shortly after eight because visiting hours had ended. Rules were rules, the nurse had stated. Now home, Jane had been kicking around the house, obsessing over the Skarsvold case, which caused her even more frustration. And then there was Stew Ickles’s North Carolina girlfriend, Dixie, no last name, who had never called her back.

  Grabbing a couple of marrowbones from the refrigerator, Jane, followed eagerly by her dogs, walked down the hall to her study. The bed they shared in one corner of the room was the only place they were allowed to chew on meat bones. Once they were settled and blissfully content, Jane opened her briefcase and removed the Skarsvold folder. Sitting down, she paged through her notes until she came to Dixie’s phone number.

  “Let’s hope three’s the charm,” she said to her pups as she picked up her landline and tapped it in. Almost immediately, a woman’s voice said, “Hello?”

  “Is this Dixie?”

  “Speaking.”

  Jane explained once again who she was.

  “Oh, it’s you,” said Dixie, her friendly tone turning wary. “Yeah, I got your messages. This is about Stewie, right?”

  “That’s right. His daughter, Britt Ickles, hired me to look into his disappearance.”

  “Oh, gosh. I’d forgotten he had a daughter.”

  “So you knew him.”

  “Yeah.”

  “You two dated?”

  “For a while.”

  Dixie wasn’t making this easy. “When was the last time you saw him?”

  “Look, if you think I had anything to do with his disappearance—”

  “No, it’s nothing like that,” said Jane in her most reassuring tone. “I’m just trying to nail down a time line. According to what I’ve been able to piece together, he went off the grid in August of 1978. Did you know he was married when you were dating him?”

  “Well, sure. He never made a secret of it.”

  “I get it,” said Jane, trying to win her over. “I hear his wife was—”

  “She was a shrew. Nothing he did was ever good e
nough for her.”

  “I’ve known women like that.” Her words seemed to break the logjam.

  “She totally didn’t deserve him. I met Stew in a bar one night over in Charlotte. He drove a semi back then, came through there fairly often. I mean, we really hit it off. Got serious right away. In fact, I was staying at his apartment in Milwaukee the summer he told his wife he was done, that he wanted out of the marriage. I remember the afternoon he came home to tell me. The whole thing was pretty wild.”

  “In what way?”

  “Well, I mean, I don’t remember all the details, but it seems he got his wife’s sister pregnant around the same time he and his wife were married. Didn’t really surprise me. He never struck me as the till-death-do-us-part kind of guy. His wife had been back home in Saint Paul for some reason or other and had learned about it directly from the sister. I think his wife sat on it for a while before telling him. Honestly, he was totally blindsided. Had no idea he had a son. But let me tell you, as soon as he found out, he was sure as hell gonna claim the kid as his own. I’d forgotten about the daughter because, see, he never talked about her much. But a son … that was a horse of a different color, if you catch my drift. Thing is, he’d totaled his car the week before, so he was using mine. He asked if he could drive my Pinto to Saint Paul to get the kid. I said, sure, why not?”

  Jane was furiously taking notes. This was exactly what she needed to know. “What happened when he didn’t come back to his apartment in Milwaukee?”

  “Well, at first, I was confused. He said he’d be back in a couple of days. I waited a full week before I went over to the library and looked up the name Skarsvold in the Saint Paul White Pages. I went back to the apartment and called. Talked to a woman—never got her name. She said she had no idea what I was talking about. She admitted that she knew Stew, but said she hadn’t seen him in years. I mean, what was I supposed to think? I called every mutual friend we had, but nobody had seen or heard from him. I contacted the trucking company where he worked. Same thing. He was a no-show. I phoned his wife, told her who I was. That woman hung up on me before I could even ask a question. I didn’t know what else to do. After another week, I simply locked the door of his apartment and left. Took a bus back home. I never heard from him again.”

  “This car you loaned him,” said Jane, leafing through her notes. “I don’t suppose you remember the license plate number.”

  “Hell, no. Why?”

  “I found a North Carolina plate in the Skarsvolds’ garage.”

  “So he was there,” she said, her voice filled of triumph. “I knew it. I just damn knew it. That lady. She lied to me.”

  “I expect she did,” said Jane.

  “So?” asked Dixie. “If he was there, then what happened to him?”

  Jane tossed her pen down. “I don’t have all the facts yet.”

  “He’s dead, right? You can tell me that much. Did they do it? His in-laws?”

  “Yes, he’s dead.”

  “I hope they burn in hell.”

  Jane promised that she’d give her a call and explain everything she could, but only after she was able to nail down the full truth.

  “You go, girl,” said Dixie right before hanging up. “Make sure they get what’s coming to them. Nobody’s got the right to take another person’s life. Nobody.”

  As Jane returned the receiver to its cradle, she heard the front doorbell chime.

  Normally, the dogs would be out of their bed in a flash, but because they were more interested in the bones, Jane was able to close the door to the study before heading into the front hall. She looked through the peephole to see who’d come by so late at night.

  Surprised to see Frank Devine standing on her front steps, she opened the door. “Evening,” she said.

  “Who the hell do you think you are?” he demanded, his face knotted in rage.

  Her eyes dropped to the ax dangling from his right hand.

  “You’re gonna pay, lady. Big time.”

  As he raised the ax over his head, she slammed the door and locked it.

  “Jesus,” she whispered, jumping at the sound of a loud crack. The door shook. A second blow caused it to rattle against its hinges. She was so shaken that she was momentarily paralyzed. When the third blow hit, she reached for her cell phone. With the way her life was going, she might as well put 911 on speed dial. She gave her name and address. “There’s a guy outside my house attacking my front door with an ax. And yes, I know him.” She was glad she’d locked the dogs in the den. Responding to the noise, they were barking up a storm, scratching at the door to be let out.

  When there were no more ax blows, Jane rushed into the kitchen to make sure the back door was locked. She checked windows on the way. Back in the front hall, she edged slowly, carefully toward the peephole. It took a few more seconds to brave the distance and look outside. She felt an intense wave of relief when she saw that he was nowhere in sight.

  Placing the flat of her hand on the door, she began to examine it, trying to determine the extent of the damage. To really get a sense, she would need to examine it from the outside, something she wasn’t prepared to do. Even though she hadn’t been able to locate him, he could still be lurking somewhere out in the darkness.

  Jane staggered back at the sound of shattering glass. She rushed into the dining room just as Frank’s ax came through a second window. “What the hell are you doing?” she shouted at him. “Stop it.”

  “You’re going to pay for what you did,” came his muffled voice.

  Was he planning to take out every window in her house? Acting more out of anger than better judgment, she grabbed a canister of pepper gel spray from the front closet and raced outside. She stood on the sidewalk, watching him veer away from the second window and wade through the snow toward the third.

  “Stop it,” she yelled, pointing the pepper spray at him.

  He reared back, his eyes wild. Holding the ax in both hands, he came for her. “I’m going to break every goddamn window in your house. Then I’m gonna chop you to pieces and throw your worthless carcass in a Dumpster.”

  “Don’t come any closer.”

  “You can’t hurt me. Nothing can hurt me. I’m invincible.” As he tried to push through a mound of snow, he stumbled and fell. Yelling obscenities, he struggled to right himself. “Consider me the grim reaper. The freakin’ mouse that roared. I’m done trying to be Sammy Cream Cheese. Mary Poppins. The Quiet American. All this time, I’ve been living inside the wrong goddamn movie.” He stumbled again, slipping backward and flipping the ax into the snow behind him. As he flailed around, trying to locate it, he bellowed, “This is Night of the Living Dead, lady. Nightmare on Elm Street. I am the reincarnation of Freddy Krueger.” Displaying a more reasoned tone, he added, “Not that he was a real person. I know that. I’m not stupid.”

  “Just stay there,” ordered Jane. “The police will be here any minute.” She prayed they’d hurry.

  He crowed with joy when he located the ax, holding it up and waving it over his head. “Great. The more the merrier.” On his feet again, he continued to push through the snow toward her.

  Pointing the pepper spray at him, she pressed the trigger and released a stream of gel, hitting him square in the face.

  With a bloodcurdling scream, he dropped to his knees and pressed his hands to his eyes. “Shit. What did you do? I can’t see.” He thrashed around, scooping up show and crushing big handfuls against his eyes. “I’m gonna kill you. You are a dead woman.”

  Around the corner came a squad car, lights flashing but the sirens off. It pulled up to the curb and two officers jumped out.

  Both officers waded into the snow. One kicked the ax away while the other flipped Frank onto his stomach, pulled his arms behind his back, and cuffed his wrists.

  “One freakin’ night and my life tanked,” screamed Frank.

  As one of the officers crouched next to him, trying to get him to settle down, the other walked over to Jane. “What did
you use on him?”

  “Pepper spray gel.”

  “Do you know the guy?”

  “Not well, but yes.” She nodded to her dining room windows, and then to her front door.

  “He did that?”

  “Yeah.”

  The officer walked up to the door to take a closer look. “Any idea why?” he asked, taking out a notepad.

  She explained that she was a private investigator, that she’d been hired to do an investigation into his family.

  “So you think it was some kind of retaliation?”

  “He said as much.”

  “Did he threaten you physically?”

  “He said he wants to kill me.” She hadn’t been aware of the cold before, but she was now. Shivering, she stood and answered the rest of the officer’s questions. “If you let him out, for any reason, will I be notified?” she asked.

  The officer assured her that she would. “Do you know anything about his mental health status?”

  Jane shook her head.

  The officer dealing with Frank, called over his shoulder, “This guy’s seriously in the mumble tank.”

  Up on his feet now, Frank continued to spew his rage. It took the muscle of both cops to haul him over to the squad car. “I’m in the wrong movie,” he kept screaming. Right before he was stuffed into the backseat, he looked up at Jane and shrieked, “I am an avenging angel.”

  Jane felt a momentary stab of sadness at seeing him come apart so completely. Then again, the entire Skarsvold family must have been living on a knife’s edge ever since Stew Ickles was murdered. Someone in that family had done the deed. After what she’d just witnessed, she felt she had a pretty clear idea of who that person might be.

  37

  “Eleanor called me last night to tell me about Lena,” said Britt as soon as she sat down at the table. She searched Jane’s face. “You knew?”

  “I did,” said Jane. “I didn’t want to tell you over the phone. Thought it would be best if I waited until our meeting this morning.”

  “Well, Eleanor had no such qualms.” When the waitress set a menu in front of her, Britt quickly ordered a bloody Mary.

  “Make it two,” said Jane.