Ice Run am-6

by Steve Hamilton

  “I just got back into town today,” she said. “I picked a great time to leave, eh?”

  “Did you know Mr. Grant?”

  “Not very well, no. But I know he’s lived in this town forever. He used to come in here a few years ago and have dinner.”

  “A few years ago, you say?”

  “Yes. To tell you the truth, I wasn’t even sure if he was around anymore. I hadn’t seen him in so long. When I found out he was here last night…”

  “I was here, too,” I said. “I’m wondering if I can talk to somebody about what happened. The woman who was on the desk, is she going to be around today?”

  “No, not until tomorrow.”

  “What about the doorman? The kid who was out there shoveling the snow?”

  “No,” she said. I could tell she was starting to wonder why I was asking all these questions. “He’s not here.”

  “Do you know when he’ll be working again?”

  “I’m sorry. I don’t understand. Were you here with Mr. Grant last night?”

  “No,” I said. “But I talked to him. Sort of. The doorman, he was here all day, and I know he saw Mr. Grant sitting in the lobby. I bet you he talked to him a lot more than I did. What was that kid’s name again?”

  She didn’t bite. “Look, I really can’t…”

  “I understand,” I said, taking out my wallet. What the hell, I thought. I still had some of these old business cards, the ones Leon had made up. God knows I wasn’t actually in the game anymore, but she didn’t have to know that. “But I’d really like to ask him a few questions.”

  She took the card from me and looked at it. Prudell-McKnight Investigations, with the two guns pointed at each other. “You’re a private investigator?”

  “I’m just trying to help out.”

  Help out what? I didn’t know what I was talking about now. But somehow it seemed to be working.

  “His name is Chris Woolsey,” she said. “To tell you the truth, I’m a little worried about him. He’s supposed to be here today.”

  “Chris Woolsey,” I said. At that moment I wished I always carried a pad of paper like Leon. “He never showed up for work today?”

  “No, he didn’t.”

  “You know, when I came back down here last night, I didn’t see him anywhere. I assumed he was out looking for Mr. Grant.”

  “The poor kid is probably traumatized.”

  “I’d like to check up on him,” I said. “Would you happen to have an address and phone number?”

  “Oh, now, I don’t know…”

  “I just want to ask him a few questions, ma’am. It’s important.”

  She looked at my card again, then let out a long breath and did a quick run through a Rolodex. “He goes to Lake State,” she said. “He’s a senior, I think. This is the address and phone number I have for him. I think it’s still current, but you know how it is when you’re in college.”

  “Yes,” I said. “Thank you. I appreciate it.”

  She wrote down the number and gave it to me. I thanked her again and left.

  When I was back in the truck, I thought about calling on the cell phone, then decided I might have better luck just going over there. Lake Superior State University, or Lake State for short, was just south of downtown, right next to I-75. As I drove back down to Easterday, it occurred to me that I was seeing pretty much every inch of Sault Ste. Marie, Michigan, in one day. I thought about Roy Maven sitting in his office in the City County Building, and what he would have said at that moment if he knew I was still in town.

  Easterday Avenue cuts right through the heart of the university grounds. Lake State’s a fairly big school, bigger than anything else east of Marquette. If you grew up around here, and you wanted to stay close to home, it was the only game in town. Although when kids graduated from Lake State, more often than not they left the Upper Peninsula altogether. It’s just the way things were. And the reason behind the old joke that the U.P.’s biggest export was its children.

  I followed the street numbers past the student housing and the ice arena. Hockey was the only big-time sport at this school. I remembered the Lakers winning the national championship a couple of years back. The marquee out front announced that the University of Michigan would be visiting that night.

  I finally found the apartment building I was looking for, another couple of blocks down the street. With all the snow piled up everywhere, I couldn’t find a place to park, so finally I pulled into the alley next to the building. I heard the music playing inside as I knocked on the door marked 4, and then a young man opened the door with money in his hand.

  “You’re not the pizza guy,” he said.

  “Is Chris here?”

  “No, I haven’t seen him today. He’s probably over at his parents’ house.”

  “Can you tell me where that is?”

  He stood there in the doorway for a long moment, looking all of fourteen years old in his sweatpants and his T-shirt. He had his long hair pulled up on top of his head and bunched together with a rubber band, and he was obviously trying to grow some kind of goatee on his chin. It wasn’t working out so well.

  “Who are you?” he finally said.

  I dug out another card. “I’m a private investigator,” I said. “It’s no big deal. I just wanted to ask Chris a couple of questions.”

  “Is he in trouble?”

  “No, not at all.”

  “That means yes.”

  “No. It means no. I just want to-”

  “Look, I’ll give him your card when I see him, okay? Then he can call you if he wants.”

  I was about to press him, but then I figured the hell with it. I wasn’t going to stand there and argue with this kid. “All right,” I said. “Just give him the card.”

  “I’ll do that, man. I said I’ll give it to him.”

  “Thank you,” I said. “Have a nice-”

  He slammed the door before I could finish. Okay, I thought. There’s a nice young man. The future of America. Nice hair, too, sticking up like a damned flowerpot. When I got back to the truck, the pizza guy was there waiting behind me, and not looking too happy about it. I went to his driver’s side window and apologized for being in the way. Then I gave him a twenty for the pizza and told him to keep the change. That seemed to make up for it. He drove away, I put the pizza on the seat next to me, and then I backed out of the alley.

  It was getting late in the afternoon and the pizza smelled pretty good, so I had a slice while I drove back down Easterday. I stopped at a gas station by the highway and looked through the phone book next to the pay phone. There was one Woolsey listed, down on Twenty-fourth Avenue. Just for the hell of it, I looked up Grant and found a dozen listings, all over the city and out into the county. No telling who might have been a relative.

  I’ll wait and see what Leon comes up with, I thought. For now, I’ll just go see if these Woolseys are Chris’s parents.

  I drove down to the southern edge of town, past Sanderson Field, one of the two old air command centers that had been turned into commercial airports. I followed the numbers on the mailboxes as they got smaller, until finally I found what I was looking for. It was a raised ranch sitting all alone in a wide open field, the snowdrifts climbing to the windows on one side. The driveway was covered by the drifts as well, with a serpentine set of tracks barely visible, where someone had fishtailed all over the place on their way to the garage. I put my plow down and pushed the snow off as I went. In this part of the world, it’s the kind of thing you do for your neighbor, or even a stranger. You do it without even thinking about it.

  I came up to the garage and pushed the snow to the side, then I got out of the truck and went to the front door. The walkway wasn’t shoveled. When I rang the doorbell, nobody answered. I rang one more time. Just as I was about to turn around and leave, the inner door opened. I saw her face through the thick glass of the storm door, this woman with red eyes and a handkerchief pressed to her mouth. She was forty years o
ld, maybe forty-five, and she was wearing a bathrobe.

  “I’m sorry to bother you,” I said.

  She just looked at me.

  “Are you Mrs. Woolsey?” I had to speak up to be heard through the glass. She was making no move to open the storm door.

  She nodded her head.

  “Is Chris here? His roommate said he might be.”

  “Who are you?”

  “My name is Alex McKnight. I just want to ask him something.”

  She looked back in the house for a moment. “Ask him something about what?”

  “He was working at the Ojibway Hotel last night,” I said. “I just want to ask him a couple of questions about something that happened there.”

  She closed her eyes.

  “He’s not in any trouble, ma’am. Believe me. I just want to ask him if he-”

  She slammed the door shut. That was two doors in one afternoon. And it made me wonder. I just wanted to ask this kid if he knew anything about the old man, but maybe I had stumbled onto something more significant. Either that or my chemically altered hair was scaring everybody.

  I took out one more business card. “Chris,” I wrote on the back, “please call me. I was at the hotel last night, and I just want to ask you if you know anything about Mr. Grant. That’s all! Thank you. Alex.”

  I wedged the card into the doorjamb and left, slogging my way through the deep snow on the walkway and nearly killing myself on a hidden patch of ice. I got in the truck and plowed my way back down the driveway. What the hell, I thought. Maybe a little good deed will help.

  I had a couple more slices of pizza on my way back home. There were thick clouds in the sky, and it was already getting dark. Somewhere in the world it was warm, and the sun stayed out for hours at a time. But I was here on the long straight road back to Paradise, thankful that the county trucks had thrown down some sand. Even more thankful that I’d be giving Natalie Reynaud a call when I got home.

  I ran the plow down my road and back. When I got inside, I saw the light blinking on my answering machine. It was a quick message from Leon, asking me to call him when I got in. So I did.

  “I found out a few things about your man Mr. Grant,” he said.

  “Leon, I hope you didn’t spend too much time on this.”

  “Not at all,” he said. “It occurred to me, this is going to hit the newspaper tomorrow, so I just called my friend over at the Sault Evening News.”

  “Yeah? What did he tell you?”

  “Just some basic stuff for right now. Simon Grant was eighty-two years old, he was born in the Soo and lived in the area his whole life. Two sons, one daughter. He had a hundred different jobs, from shoeshine boy to union representative. He worked on the old railroad docks for a long time, right on the river.”

  “Yeah, the woman at the hotel told me she thought he’d lived around here for a long time. He used to come into the hotel fairly often, it sounds like, but then he stopped a few years ago.”

  “He might have been in some kind of senior care,” Leon said. “Maybe he sneaked out and went back to one of his old familiar places.”

  “That makes sense,” I said. “That would explain why they hadn’t seen him for a while. There was one weird thing, though…”

  “What’s that?”

  “I thought the doorman at the hotel might be able to help me out. So I tried to find him. He seems to have disappeared.”

  “What?”

  I gave him the whole rundown. Chris Woolsey not showing up for work today, going to his apartment, and then his parents’ place.

  “That’s a little strange,” Leon said. “It might not be a coincidence.”

  “Well, I left a card at both places. Maybe he’ll call me.”

  “You know, Alex, for a man who has no interest in being a private eye, it sure sounds like you’re acting like one.”

  “I just want to know what happened,” I said. “If I don’t try to find out, it’ll just keep bothering me, why this man would go to all that trouble, thinking that he knew me. Wouldn’t you be doing the same thing?”

  “I’d be all over it, yes.”

  I couldn’t help smiling. “Yeah, I have no doubt about that.”

  “My friend at the paper said he’s working on the obit this evening, so he may have some more information. If he calls me, I’ll call you.”

  “You can stop, Leon. You don’t have to do any more.”

  “It’s no big deal, Alex. I’ll let you know what he says.”

  “All right,” I said. “Thank you.”

  “What are partners for?” It was an old line I had heard before, back when it meant something. It almost made me wish it still did.

  When I was done with Leon, I called Natalie. Her answering machine picked up before she finally got on the line herself.

  “Sorry,” she said. “I was going through the stuff in the basement.”

  “You’ve got a lot down there.”

  “A whole lifetime’s worth. It’s gonna take me a long time to go through it all.”

  “Just let me know if you want help. My rates are cheap.”

  She didn’t say anything.

  “What’s the matter, Natalie?”

  “It’s just too much sometimes. That’s all.”

  “Okay,” I said. “I can imagine.”

  “I’m sorry, so what did you do today?”

  “I gave the hat to Chief Maven. Then I wandered over to the hotel.” I gave her the same rundown I had given Leon-Chris Woolsey disappearing, and me trying to find him.

  “Maybe he’s just a little freaked out, Alex. This man was in the lobby all day, and then suddenly he’s dead.”

  “I hear what you’re saying. It’s just kinda strange. And the way his mother looked today…”

  “You went to his mother’s house?”

  “I just wanted to talk to him. I wanted to make sure he’s all right, too.”

  “I don’t know, Alex.”

  “Well, anyway, Leon will let me know if he finds out anything else.”

  “Who’s Leon again?”

  “My sort of ex-partner, remember? He’s the one who found out your address.”

  There was a silence on the line.

  “Okay, that sounds a little weird,” I said. “What I mean is, when I decided to contact you, Leon helped me do that. That’s all.”

  Another silence. Then she said it. “Alex, I can’t do this.”

  It was my turn to be quiet for a while. “Natalie,” I finally said, “what are you talking about?”

  “All of this, Alex. I’m sorry, I just can’t right now.”

  “Wait a minute-”

  “No, please, Alex. I’ve got to say this, okay?”

  “Go ahead.”

  “I don’t know why you came looking for me,” she said. “I’m not saying I’m sorry you did. Because I’m not sorry. It was… The way things happened, it was like a miracle. I was in such a deep hole, Alex. You reached down and you pulled me out of it. I didn’t even want you to do it, but you did. I’ll always love you for that, Alex. I hope you know that. But right now…”

  More silence. I didn’t have any words to say. I just waited to hear the rest of it.

  “Right now, it’s just too much for me. I’m trying to get my life back together, and I can’t do this. Yeah, coming out to that hotel to meet you, and having all that stuff happen, that didn’t help any. That definitely made it feel… I don’t know. Just not right. But it would have come eventually, you know what I mean? The whole idea of me coming down here, I was just going to clean up this house. I was going to sell it and go away and never look back. That’s what I was going to do.”

  I looked out the window. I looked at the clouds and the snowflakes floating slowly in the air.

  “I have to, Alex. Do you know what I’m talking about? Please, Alex. Please say something.”

  “I hear you, Natalie. I understand what you’re saying.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Lo
ok, I know you’re still dealing with what happened to you.”

  “It’s not about that,” she said. “That was a long time ago.”

  “I know, but it’s still there. You told me so yourself.”

  “Just forget about that, okay? Forget I ever told you.”

  “I can’t, Natalie.”

  “Okay, now I’ve got to get off the phone,” she said. “Because I’m going to start crying here. Okay? I’m not going to do that.”

  “Okay,” I said. “Okay.”

  “I’ll talk to you later. Maybe I’ll call you in a couple of days.”

  “That’s fine.”

  “Please take care of yourself.”

  “You, too,” I said.

  Then she hung up.

  You, too. That’s all I could say to her. You, too.

  I got up and went outside, because I’d be damned if I was going to sit there feeling sorry for myself. That wasn’t going to happen, not for one single minute.

  You met somebody. You did something good for her. She has her own life, but now it’s going in a different direction. And all that other crap you tell yourself. All that worthless crap.

  You were just fooling yourself, Alex. You should have known better.

  I plowed the road and I chopped some wood. I didn’t feel like going down to the Glasgow, so I just went back inside and had some more pizza. It was cold now. I sat at the table and ate cold pizza with a lukewarm beer.

  The phone rang. For one instant I thought it might be Natalie calling me back, then in the next instant I hated myself for hoping that it was. It turned out to be Leon again.

  “The funeral is day after tomorrow,” he said.

  “Yeah, so?”

  “So you should go.”

  “Why?”

  “Alex, are you all right? You sound a little down.”

  “No, I’m okay. I just don’t understand why I should go to Mr. Grant’s funeral.”

  “I’m just thinking,” he said. “This is your best chance to find out more about him. Maybe you’ll even recognize somebody there. At the very least, you can meet his family, tell them how sorry you are. If it goes well, you could even ask them to help you figure out why he thought he knew you.”