by Matt Goldman
29
Kozy cut the tape from my wrists, drove me into town, and dropped me in Lakeview Park. I walked the remaining few blocks to my car. Broken glass covered the curb near what used to be my rear passenger window. It was 11:42 P.M. and thirty-six degrees. I texted Mel Rosenthal that I ran into trouble but could still come over if she wanted me to. She did, and I headed to McKenzie Street.
The Engstroms lived in a long rambler with architectural windows. The siding consisted of an odd pattern of brick and stucco. The place looked like it had been built in the 1970s though it could have been new. I would’ve guessed Anne Engstrom, with her need for attention, would’ve lived in something more striking, like an old Victorian. Maybe the house was the best Warroad had to offer. Or maybe it was what the Engstroms could afford.
When I got out of the Volvo, Mel Rosenthal waited for me in the front door wearing flannel pajamas and bare feet and holding a glass of red. I walked in. She said hello, but not warmly, then led me into the living room. She waited for me to sit on the couch then chose a chair on the other side of the coffee table. The room looked as if Anne had ordered the furniture and decor by exactly how Pottery Barn showed it in the catalog, down to the fuzzy throw pillows and huge vase full of dead sticks.
I told Mel what had just happened with Gary Kozjek.
She stood, walked around the coffee table, sat down, and kissed me. “I thought you ran into trouble with a woman. Which is fine. It’s not like we’re dating. It just threw me, that’s all. I’m sorry about the cold reception. I guess I don’t know what the hell we’re doing.” She smiled and said, “Are you okay?”
“My wrists got balded when Kozy ripped off the hockey tape, but other than that, I’m fine. What is it you wanted to show me?”
Mel led me into Linnea’s room. There was a twin bed and matching dresser and desk all in naturally finished oak. Posters of Dessa and Alicia Keys, Regina Spektor, and St. Vincent. A whole wall dedicated to Kendrick Lamar. Not a stuffed animal in sight. Maybe the police took them to x-ray.
Mel said, “Back when Linnea and I talked every day, she’d tell me about things she’d written in her journal. I assumed she took the journal to St. Paul or, if not, that the Warroad police found it when they searched her room. They found her MacBook, which wasn’t password protected. It was a rule of Anne and Roger’s—they wanted access to her email and social media. They thought that’s what good parents do. But the MacBook didn’t have a journal on it.
“Anne’s not smart about those things. If you don’t give a kid privacy, she’ll just go underground. That’s what I did when I was Linnea’s age. So I did a little snooping around, in case there was a journal and Linnea didn’t take it with her. And I found this.”
Mel handed me a box made of walnut. It was the size of a few, stacked reams of paper. I lifted the top and saw jewelry on black velvet. Rings and earrings rested in tiny slits and holes. Underneath were two drawers. I opened the first one. Necklaces and bracelets, also on black velvet. I opened the bottom one. Linnea’s pin collection. Mostly from ski areas like Vail and Aspen and Park City. Also on black velvet.
“You think these pins are a clue to where she is?”
Mel shook her head. She scooped out the pins and placed them on Linnea’s nightstand. Then she dug her fingernails into the velvet and wedged it out of the drawer. A tiny notebook computer lay underneath. Mel removed an aluminum Acer Chromebook from the drawer. She handed it to me. I opened it. The screen lit up and requested a password. I said, “Do you know the password?”
Mel said, “No. I guessed at a few but nothing worked. But I think Linnea hid this here for me to find.”
“Why do you think that?”
“I gave her this jewelry box. Howard hit his head on the curb a few days before Linnea’s birthday. He was in the hospital. A lot slipped through the cracks. After he died, when Anne and Linnea spent the summer with us, I gave her this as a belated present. When Anne was out of the room, I showed Linnea the secret compartment in the bottom drawer. So Linnea knows I know about it. If she wanted to keep something from me she wouldn’t have hidden it here.”
“But she didn’t give you the password.”
“I bet somehow she did. I’ve tried everything based on our conversations. Inside jokes. Names of family members. Birthdays. Anniversaries. The date of Howard’s death. Nothing’s worked. I keep racking my brain, but…” She shook her head then placed her hand on mine.
I said, “Is it possible the password is in Craig’s Bar and Grill?”
“What? Why would you say that?”
“Because Linnea stuck a dollar in the Saint Paul Hotel’s ceiling before she disappeared. Just like they do in Craig’s Bar and Grill.”
“You mean could the password be the address?”
“Maybe. Or the phone number.”
We looked up both and tried them in various combinations. None worked. We mixed combinations of words “Craig’s Bar & Grill” with and without the address and phone number. Nothing.
Mel said, “Maybe it’s something in the bar.”
I parked the Volvo in the Engstroms’ garage, then Mel drove us to Craig’s in her Audi Quattro wagon and parked behind the sparkly remains of my rear passenger window.
The crowd was younger and rougher-looking than earlier. The same crap band spilled over the tiny stage. How many songs could they know? I guessed they recycled songs every few hours, but it was my first time hearing them slaughter “London Calling.” I wanted to order a bottle of PBR to throw at them but settled for another Moose Drool and a glass of red for Mel. I looked for the Houshes. They had left.
We chose a booth and studied the crap mounted to the walls and extrapolated possible passwords to Linnea’s Chromebook. We wrote down the names of street signs, the numbers of license plates, the weight of a mounted walleye, and the name of the angler who caught it. I even wrote down the shit name of the shit band—Time Travelers—in the slim chance that was it.
We’d filled three napkins with possibilities when Graham Peters and Luca Lüdorf walked in and sat at the bar. Both wore black and yellow Warroad windbreakers. Luca looked the same with his stiff straight blond hair. But Graham’s hockey hair was gone. Someone had run clippers over his head, leaving a dome of black stubble. His beard was gone, too.
I slid out of the booth, walked up to the hockey players, and reintroduced myself.
Graham said, “Dude. I know what you’re thinking, but you don’t have to be twenty-one to drink pop at the bar.”
“I’m not a cop and don’t care what you’re drinking. You want to join Linnea’s aunt and me? I’ll order you a pizza and buy your Cokes.” Graham and Luca gave each other a why not look. I called in their pizza order, led them over to the booth, and introduced them to Mel.
“So I’m guessing you want to talk to us about something,” said Graham.
I squeezed Mel’s hand under the table. It was not a show of affection. “You guys have any idea where your hockey coach is?”
Graham kept his eyes on me, but Luca looked at his teammate.
“What are you talking about?” said Graham.
“Coach Kozjek is missing.”
“Nah,” said Graham. “He just hit the road like he does at the end of every hockey season. Probably took off to visit his NHL buddies.”
Luca kept his eyes on Graham. I gave Mel’s hand another squeeze.
“Woodbury and St. Paul Police are looking for him. If you guys are aiding him in any way, you have a problem. The NCAA doesn’t put up with that shit like it used to. Scholarships could be lost.”
“We have no idea where he is,” said Graham.
Luca added a weak, “Yeah.”
I said, “You ever notice at Doug’s Supermarket, there’s a camera over each register? So if you guys were in there in the last couple of days and, say, bought a mess of groceries but can’t account for where those groceries are now, you could be in a shitload of trouble. It’s called aiding and abetting.”
“They want to talk to him about the double murder in Woodbury. About the death of Haley Housh. And about the possible whereabouts of Linnea Engstrom.”
Graham said, “He had nothing to do with any of that.”
Mel squeezed my hand then said, “How do you know?”
Luca said, “He was coaching us while all that stuff happened. He takes his job super serious. And he’s a good guy. He wouldn’t hurt anyone. And for sure he had nothing to do with Linnea.”
“Why for sure?” I said. “Have you been in contact with her?”
Luca watched the Time Travelers’ guitar player crucify a solo. His straw-like blond hair didn’t move. He reached into the breast pocket of his Warroad letter jacket and pulled out an envelope.
The same kid who’d brought the Houshes’ pizza appeared with the same insulated bag. I gave her another twenty. Luca and Graham thanked me like polite schoolboys.
Luca handed me the envelope. I opened it and removed a letter. Mel glanced at it and said, “That’s Linnea’s handwriting.”
We read as Luca and Graham wolfed down their first slice.
Dear Luca,
I’m sorry for everything, I really am. It’s best if you just forget about me, I’m not coming back. I know this will hurt your feelings but you need to know that I’m not in love with you anymore, I never actually was. I know I’m literally a terrible person and I shoulda been honest with you but I couldn’t be. Maybe when we’re old and if I see you again then I’ll explain it all to you, but for now just know that I do love you just not in a romantic way. You are awesome and good and didn’t deserve what I did to you and I’m sure you’ll have a great life as a hockey player and a person and you’ll have lots of girls who will want to be in love with you and you should let one or more than one be because you deserve it. Please don’t be angry at all girls because of me. If you have to be angry just be angry at me. That is what’s fair.
xoxoxoxo
Linnea
I said to Luca, “When did you receive this?”
“Today.” Mouthful of pizza. “In the mail.”
I looked at the postmark on the envelope. Chicago. Two days ago. Guess Guy Storstrand forgot to tell us about mailing a letter.
Mel said, “Why would she use snail mail? Why wouldn’t she just send a text?”
“It would leave an electronic trail.” I said to Luca, “Have you told the police?”
“Yeah. I called the St. Paul cops.”
“What’d they say when you told them?”
Luca squirmed in his chair and sighed. “Nothing. They just asked me to take a picture of the envelope and letter and email it to them.”
Mel said, “I don’t understand. Why would Linnea lead you on like that?”
“’Cause she’s whacked,” said Graham.
Luca nodded. “It’s so embarrassing.”
Heads shook and faces scrunched.
I said, “Sounds like payback.”
“For what?” said Luca. “I didn’t do anything wrong.”
“It’s not about you. Guy Storstrand’s from Warroad. Tell me how he ended up playing for Roseau.”
Graham hesitated then said, “Dude’s Tourette’s. Guy was coughing and clearing his throat during team meetings. Coach thought it was a distraction so he wouldn’t play him.”
“Kozjek wants a state title more than anything and he wouldn’t give his team the best chance just because a player’s got Tourette’s?”
“It was six years ago when Guy was a freshman. He ticked really bad then, and Guy wasn’t the superstar he’d be a year or two later. The Canadiens drafted Guy right out of high school. That almost never happens. Even Phil Kessel played a year of college first. But when Guy was a freshman, he wasn’t there yet. Coach wanted him to quit and he did. Then Guy went to skate for Roseau. But a year later, when Coach realized his mistake, Guy was so pissed at Coach he wouldn’t come back to play for Warroad.”
“Think it’s possible Guy holds a grudge so he asked Linnea to mess with Luca during the tournament?”
“Like it was a setup?” set Graham. “Like Linnea was never interested in Luca?”
“Wait,” said Luca. “You’re saying that Linnea planned to disappear a few months ago?”
“That’s exactly what I’m saying.”
Mel wasn’t buying it. Her mouth mangled into an odd shape and her forehead wrinkled. We were talking about Linnea, after all, who was like a daughter to Mel. “Come on, guys. That’s awful. Linnea wouldn’t do that.”
“Why not?” I said. “Guy asked Linnea to date Luca and get him to fall in love with her all so that if the much-hyped and favored Warroad Warriors fulfilled their destiny and made it to the state tournament, she could disappear and wreak emotional havoc on Warroad’s leading scorer. In return, Guy is helping Linnea sneak Miguel Maeda across the border.”
Graham said, “Who is Miguel Maeda?”
Luca lowered his head. His nostrils flared. “I thought I was going to marry her. I was shopping for rings.”
Mel said, “After dating only a few months?”
Luca shook his head. He was beating the shit out of himself without words. The band maimed Prince’s “Sometimes It Snows in April.” No one spoke for a while then Mel said, “Luca, did you and Linnea hang out here?”
“Sometimes, yeah.”
“Is there anything in this place Linnea liked? Like one of the license plates or street signs or something like that?”
Luca fumed. “I can’t think of anything. She didn’t like it here all that much anyway.”
I got up and went to the bar to get two more Cokes. I had just picked up the bottles when a drumroll of quarters bounced off the bar. I looked up at the dollar bill that had just released them.
I knew the password to Linnea’s Chromebook.
30
I asked the boys if they wanted another pizza. They did. I said, “Order it,” then told Mel we had to go. Her eyes asked why, and mine answered. I thanked Graham and Luca for the conversation, set down my third pizza twenty of the evening, then Mel and I headed out.
We stepped out of Craig’s into a cool, thick fog. It was almost 1:30 A.M. Mel leaned into me and said, “I fucked up pushing Linnea away. She needed the mother Anne is incapable of being.”
“I don’t know if it would have made any difference. Linnea turned to Winnie Haas. That didn’t help.”
“Thanks for saying that, but it would have made a difference. Linnea could have moved down to Wayzata and lived with us. Roger and Anne were toxic. I didn’t get her away from them, so she got herself away, no matter who she had to hurt.”
We drove the 1.2 miles back to the Engstrom house guided by low beams and fog lights. Mel’s dash said the temperature had risen to forty degrees. Maybe that March blizzard wouldn’t come, after all.
We sat on Linnea’s bed and opened her Chromebook. I thumbed through the pictures on my phone and found the snapshot of the dollar bill stuck into the Engstroms’ ceiling at The Saint Paul Hotel. I typed the bill’s serial number into the Chromebook, and we were in.
The only thing on the desktop was a document. I opened it. It contained GPS coordinates and a message.
Dear Aunt Mel,
You’re the only person who could figure this out probably so if you did and you haven’t heard from me by June then the GPS coordinates above are where I was going or leaving when something went wrong. If anyone cares you can look for my body there. But I would not. A person can’t have a more natural death than in the middle of the woods or on a frozen lake. That sounds peaceful to me. That’s why it’s not scary. It’s the way it used to be for everyone before the world got so crazy and stupid.
If I’m okay but you find this before I contact you in June then don’t worry about me because I am fine. I probably have money. Lots of money. Whatever anyone says about me I didn’t do anything illegal. Except help someone sneak across the b
order and I stole money from my dad, but he can’t do anything about it because he broke the law. He’s a stupid person, and he did stupid and wrong things to make money for his stupid company. He thought he was using me to carry drugs to Minneapolis and bring cash back and that I didn’t know about it. But I found out so I stole the money to make my own life. I don’t want to tell you where that is because I don’t want to be found. So please don’t look for my body whether I’m alive or dead.
One more thing. No two more things. The first is that I know you felt bad about us having a close relationship and I didn’t have one with my mom so that’s why you and me couldn’t be close anymore. But I hope one day we can again. Maybe if you’re mad at me you won’t be in a few years. But I’d like us to be close again. You are the only real parent I ever had.
Love,
Linnea
p.s. I’m writing this before leaving for St. Paul for the hockey tournament. So I only know what I think will happen, not what really happened. Maybe I should have waited until I turned 18 but I just can’t take it anymore. Please believe me. Oh. And tell Ivy I love her and we’ll be together again someday I hope.
Mel’s head hung and her shoulders shook.
I said, “Heartbreaking. Who taught her how to write a sentence?”
Laughter leaked into Mel’s labored breathing then it disappeared and she said, “Those GPS coordinates are where she’s meeting Miguel, right?”
“Probably.” I opened Google Maps and typed in the coordinates. “It’s right here on the U.S.-Canadian border. It looks like Miguel will leave the Canadian side on Stony Point and cross Sand Point Bay. Then maybe another mile or so and he hits land in the U.S. That’s where Linnea will be waiting for him.”
“Do we call the police or border patrol?”
“Do you want Linnea arrested?”
“I don’t know. Roger’s funeral is Tuesday. She should go to that, shouldn’t she?”
“Let’s get some sleep and figure this out in the morning.”
“Stay with me?”