by Caron Todd
“Got it!” Jack had used one of the oldest encryption methods in the book. A simple Caesar-shift substitution cipher. He had shifted three spaces down the alphabet—absolutely, predictably, textbook—using the letter d in place of the letter a, the letter e in place of b, and so on. Any Boy Scout could have broken through it.
“About time.” Croker pushed a button on his cell phone.
Reid stared at the monitor. “Wait.”
Croker looked at him, phone to his ear.
“You’d better hang up.” He thought Croker would ignore him. The receiver was a couple of inches away from his ear, but his finger wasn’t anywhere near the disconnect button. Reid put a little more force into his tone. “Whoever you keep reporting to doesn’t want to hear about this. Hang up.”
Croker disconnected. He’d gone perfectly still, the way he did when he was really and truly annoyed. His face was devoid of expression, but his eyes more than made up for it. Reid thought of Roman emperors who killed messengers as a way of managing tension. This guy needed to learn something about dealing with a man like Jack. You put brains and professional pride together with the idea that math was just plain fun, and you got somebody unpredictable. You could look like a coldhearted assassin all you wanted, it wasn’t going to get you anywhere.
“What you see on the monitor is an algorithm,” Reid told him, talking calmly, like you would to a growling dog. “Just not the right algorithm. It’s telling me where to find his next clue.”
Okay, Croker hadn’t looked like a coldhearted assassin before. He looked like a coldhearted assassin now. “He’s stringing us along?”
“He’s stringing me along.” As serious a setback as it was, Reid couldn’t help smiling. “He thinks we’re playing a game.”
AFTER JUST ONE PRACTICE, Jack was about to play in his first old-timers’ game. Eleanor and Liz made their way past a circle of girls hunched over cigarettes just outside the community center. Even though smoking wasn’t allowed in the building anymore, the smell of old smoke was the first thing Liz noticed when she stepped inside. That, and hot dogs kept warm. And the noise. And the crowd.
Behind the glass, the teams were warming up. It took Liz a moment to spot Jack under all his padding and a helmet. He skated fast, and smoothly, turning and going backward with that easy crossover stroke she’d always seen the boys do, but had never mastered herself. He was smiling, grinning really, and calling across the ice to another player—Martin, she saw, when he glided by the window, looking as if he had never in his life entertained any suspicions of his grandmother’s neighbor. Except for Jack, it was a Robb lineup. Tom, Brian and Uncle Will were on the ice, too.
“I’ll take these mittens to the tree before we go in,” Eleanor said. Every November the municipal office put a Christmas tree in the community center that people decked with mitts and toques for kids who didn’t have everything they needed to stay warm through the winter. “Will you wait right here? I don’t want to lose you.”
“I won’t budge,” Liz promised.
She soon wished she hadn’t. Already three ladies had stopped Eleanor on her way to the mitten tree. It would be a while before she returned. The 4-H club was having a bake sale, the Ladies Auxiliary was having a raffle, and a veteran in a blazer and beret was selling poppies for Remembrance Day, but Liz couldn’t approach any of them.
“Liz, what a pleasure to see you!” A slender woman of about sixty, wearing a red turtleneck and an unzipped navy ski jacket, stepped through a knot of people Liz didn’t know.
“Mrs. Bowen!” Liz reached out eagerly, and the handshake turned into a hug. Her old 4-H leader hadn’t made it to the barbecue.
“Call me Jean, if you can bring yourself to do it. I know it’s difficult. Don’t tell me you knitted that sweater.”
“It’s my grandmother’s handiwork. I found it while we were going through trunks of clothes. In fact, I found a whole new wardrobe!”
“You look wonderful. Vancouver must agree with you. My understanding was that you were only staying for a week or two, though. Did I get that wrong? I hope your grandmother’s not having problems.”
Daniel Rutherford joined them in time to interrupt. “Can’t tear herself away now that she’s here. I know the feeling. When I got out of the Service, after all the places I’d been, there was nowhere I’d rather settle down.”
Liz jumped at the sound of a slapshot ricocheting off the boards. The teams were five minutes into the game, and she hadn’t noticed. It was a shot off Jack’s net. He and the other team’s right-winger reached the puck at the same time. Jack leaned in, rubbing his opponent against the boards, then hooked the puck with his stick, wheeled and whipped a pass across the ice, straight to Tom.
“Knows what he’s doing,” Daniel said. “On the ice, anyway.”
Jean had gone closer to the glass to watch the action, so Liz and Daniel were as alone as they could be in the crowded lobby.
“He’s told you, has he?”
Liz stared at Daniel. Did he mean Jack? “Told me what?”
“No? Never mind, then.” He began to move away.
“Daniel! You can’t say something like that and then leave.”
Some men Daniel knew were on their way to the bleachers. He hovered, clearly eager to go with them. “I spoke out of turn. Just…” He hesitated, an unusual thing for Daniel. “Be careful.”
“Be careful of what?”
But Daniel had moved out of hearing.
“Miss Robb! Hey, Miss Robb.” A very small boy was making his way toward her, dragging along an adult version of himself. It was Jeremy, from Pam’s class. Once he reached her side, shyness struck. He looked at her boots, muttering, “This is my dad.”
Jeremy’s dad reached out to shake Liz’s hand. “Scott,” he said. “Jeremy’s been talking about you and that book-making project for a couple of weeks now.”
“I’m glad he enjoyed it. He told me you’ve worked with my grandmother’s neighbor. Jack McKinnon.”
“A little, in the summer.” Scott stopped to cough, turning away to use a wad of tissue. Liz found herself taking a couple of steps back. Flu season had started. It was the last thing her grandmother needed.
Eleanor had almost worked her way back from the mitten tree, a couple of trays of cookies from the 4-H table in hand. In spite of the crush of people she looked at ease and happy. Was there a chance she wouldn’t mind being in town, with a little more hustle and bustle? Liz said goodbye to Jeremy and his father. When she turned away from Jeremy she came face to face with Wayne Cooper.
“Finally!” he said. “You’re really hard to connect with, considering how small this town is.” He made a face, half smile, half grimace. “Unless you’ve been avoiding me on purpose. I’ve been wanting to talk to you.”
“There you are!” Eleanor said. “Shall we find a seat in the bleachers, my dear? Jack and Thomas want to see us there looking impressed, I think, and of course William never tires of showing off for me. Excuse us, Wayne.”
Gratefully Liz followed her grandmother, exchanging the heat and smoke of the lobby for the chill and sweat of the rink. The stands were nearly full. There were real fans, ready to scream themselves hoarse at the slightest excuse, and there were those who were willing to shiver in the seats to show their support, but who much preferred talking about hairstyles and boyfriends and offspring. The Pine Point supporters were on the other side of the ice. On both sides, preschoolers climbed up the stands and down, and no one other than Liz seemed worried that they’d fall.
A man Liz didn’t recognize tapped her on the shoulder. “Your fella’s doing a great job out there.”
Fella? Jack? “He’s not my—”
“We needed another strong forward. Pine Point’s got two guys who played a season in the NHL. They made mincemeat of us last year.”
“We’re holding our own this time,” she said, as the man moved away.
“That we are,” a new voice agreed. It was Wayne. Eleanor had moved to talk
to Edith, so he sat in the place she’d vacated. “You and McKinnon are the hardest people to get hold of. Seems to me every time I see either of you, you end up going in the opposite direction.”
Why would he expect otherwise? Even before the gravel pit, Liz had never stopped to chat with Wayne. If she’d so much as paused beside him she’d ended up with a sign on her back or gum in her hair or her bra strap snapped.
She couldn’t speak to him. She couldn’t even look at him. So much for climbing ladders.
“Maybe you could tell him for me, my kid had a great time making his jack-o’-lantern at school. His teacher said McKinnon donated all those pumpkins.” Out of the corner of her eye, Liz saw Wayne’s head nod up and down as he talked. “That was nice. Real nice.”
Liz kept her eyes on the center line. Her choices were as clear as if they were written down in front of her. She could walk away. She could punch him in the face with every bit of strength she had. Or she could try to be polite.
“I’ll tell him,” she said.
“Liz?”
He’d lowered his voice. She could hardly hear him. “What is it, Wayne?”
“Do you still think about Andy?”
The crowd roared its approval of a developing rush. It was Jack and Martin and Tom, racing up the ice together. Even Eleanor called out excitedly.
“Liz?” Wayne’s voice sounded urgent.
Her hand had made a fist all by itself. She kept it on her lap. “Of course I do.”
“Me, too.” He talked faster. “Stupidest thing I ever did. I almost told you I was sorry, but that didn’t seem right. That’s what you say when you bump into somebody. But I am sorry, Liz. If I could have backed up…I kept thinking that afterward. Just back up a few seconds…”
He exhaled heavily. “Well, that’s what I wanted to say. God. For fifteen years, I’ve wanted to say that. Funny thing is, it doesn’t help a bit.”
And he was gone.
Funny, it didn’t help her, either. Liz concentrated hard on the game. The Robb line must have scored. The ref was dropping the puck again. The Pine Point center got it that time, shot it to his right wing and after that she couldn’t see to tell what happened next. There were cheers in the bleachers on the other side of the rink, then groans. Blurred figures swished by, skating fast toward the Pine Point goal.
Someone tucked a handkerchief into her hand. “Do you want to leave? I can take you home.” It was Mrs. Bowen.
Liz shook her head. She just needed a moment to get sorted out. She used the hanky to mop her face. “Thank you.”
“All right now?”
Liz nodded. “He’s sorry.”
“Of course he is.”
“It doesn’t make any difference.” As soon as she said it, she knew it wasn’t true. Wayne’s apology had left a huge hole inside her. The place where she’d hated him for so long was empty.
JACK SKATED TO THE BOARDS after the game and waited for Liz to make her way through the crowd to join him. Other players were there, too, lining up along the Three Creeks side of the rink. She squeezed past Martin giving Nell a kiss and Pam and Jennifer talking to an elated Tom.
“Congratulations!” She’d never seen Jack grin before. His skates gave him a few extra inches, so she had to tilt her head back to get a good look at him.
“Thanks! What a great game.” He leaned on the boards, bringing his face to her level. “Did you see your brother set up Brian?”
“I must have missed it.”
“It was amazing. He had two guys on him and he still got the puck right to Brian’s stick. I’m going to hang around here for a while. We all sit in the dressing room now in our underwear, reeking and drinking beer.”
Liz smiled. “That sounds like a good time. I wish I could join you.”
Pam reached over to hook her arm through Liz’s. “Too bad. You’re coming with me. Anyone who doesn’t need a shower is invited to your grandmother’s for a cold roast dinner.”
Liz had smelled a roast cooking the day before and wondered how the two of them were going to get through it by themselves. Hadn’t she learned from that huge plate of waffles?
A houseful of Robbs didn’t seem like such a bad thing right now. There were times when her family’s noise was comforting, the way mountains were comforting. She needed something to keep her from her own thoughts for a while. Wayne had left her with an odd, dangling feeling. No one but Mrs. Bowen had noticed the two of them talking, at least no one had mentioned it. She found herself wondering what people who’d lived here for the last fifteen years thought of Wayne. Had he changed? “Of course he’s sorry,” Mrs. Bowen had said. Liz wouldn’t have assumed he was capable of remorse. What did you do when your enemy lost its teeth?
Between dinner and tea, most of the group found its way up to Liz’s bedroom. Even Aunt Julia wanted to see the paintings of Andy in the woods. Liz had already called her editor about the pictures and was planning to send them to Vancouver by courier. If they were going to be in a book, in stores and libraries, on shelves in people’s houses, it didn’t make much sense to want to hide them. All kinds of protective urges went through Liz’s mind anyway. She wanted to push the paintings under the bed or into a closet, or throw a sheet over them, or throw herself in front of the bedroom door.
“Right there, against the wall,” she said, pointing.
Aunt Edith was first into the room. “How lovely! So green.” She walked closer to the first picture. “Those are the woods north of here, aren’t they? Yes, because that’s the path to the cabin.” She leaned even closer, her posture mirroring Andy’s. “What’s he looking at? Oh! Wild strawberries.” The tiny red fruit was nearly hidden in grass and old leaves. “There’s nothing sweeter than a wild strawberry. We’ll have to go out there in the summer and pick some. It’s years since I did that.”
Pam stopped beside the fifth painting, in which Andy balanced on a tree that had fallen over the little creek. “Is that a real tree, the one we used to walk over?”
“Of course it’s real,” Emily said. “It’s all real.”
“All these things happened?” Edith asked, walking slowly from one painting to the next. “Andy found a fawn lying in the grass?”
Liz nodded. “He nearly walked on top of it. Newborn fawns don’t have a scent that would attract predators, so their mothers hide them and stay away except to feed them.” Andy had explained it to her.
“And he got that close to a ruffed grouse?” Edith said. “I didn’t know he liked the woods so much. What a very observant young man he must have been. And you, too, Liz, not a man, of course, but to have noticed all this. I know I wouldn’t. Julia would. She notices details. And Sue does, but only about creatures that have been dead for a long time.”
Pat had wandered over to the table where Liz usually worked. She held up an open sketchbook. “What’s this, Liz? Some kind of insect?”
“Insect?” Liz realized she sounded indignant and tried to tone it down. “It’s a fairy.”
Now everyone was looking. Five heads shook in disagreement. Pam cocked her head to study the figure at a different angle. “That’s not a fairy, Liz.”
“It’s a stick with a face,” Pat said.
Liz tried to explain. “It’s a very old kind of fairy.”
“Fairies don’t age, do they?” Aunt Edith asked.
“I mean ancient. Primeval. A spirit of the woods. F-a-e-r-i-e. That kind of fairy.”
Aunt Julia said, “I suppose you mean a dryad.”
Dryad? The word gave Liz a jolt. Her sticklike fairies weren’t her own invention?
“Tree spirits from Greek mythology,” Julia went on, as if reciting. “Female and beautiful, immortal unless the tree they belong to is cut down.”
Liz relaxed. “Well, these aren’t female and beautiful. These are something else altogether. Don’t you think Grandma must be missing us?” She started to the door, hoping the others would follow. When they didn’t she said something about the tea being steeped by now,
and next thing she knew she was last on the stairs.
A tea tray waited on the dining room table, but Eleanor was in the kitchen, with a box of photographs. She held it in the air when she saw Liz and Pam. “I have something to show you two while you’re both here.” She ran her hand over the table, checking for damp spots and crumbs, then put the box down. The photo of herself in the drapery dress was near the top. She handed it to Pam. “Liz has seen this, but I don’t think you have, Pamela. I was sixteen when that was taken.”
“You look older. And glamorous.”
“I was on my way to a dance. They wouldn’t have let me in if they’d known my age, and no doubt Albert wouldn’t have taken me. He had just turned twenty-one, and he was feeling very adult.”
“Albert?” Pam asked.
Eleanor smiled at the photo. Liz had the feeling she was seeing Albert rather than herself. “I remember thinking his eyes were as blue as the sky and his hair as gold as ripe wheat. It would take a sixteen-year-old to think that, wouldn’t it?”
“He sounds gorgeous.” Liz didn’t want to hear any more. The story had an ill-fated sound. Maybe he had been killed at Dieppe. A number of local boys had been.
Pam had no such worries. “What happened to him?”
Eleanor rummaged in the box again and pulled out another photograph. She put it down beside the first one.
“Is that him?” Liz could see what had attracted her grandmother. He looked as if he’d spent his life in a wide-open sunny field.
“But that’s…Eleanor. Did you date my grandfather?”
Eleanor looked so pleased to have surprised them. “He came to town with a threshing gang during harvest and stayed. I’d never seen such a handsome man. And he could jitterbug, besides.”
Now that Liz knew, she could see the resemblance between the Albert of the 1930s and the one she’d always known. “But how could he choose Pam’s grandma over you? Sorry, Pam.”
“She was quite exotic—”
Pam snorted.
“Compared to the girls around here, Pamela, she was. Her family left Europe between the wars. She had an accent and seemed mysterious, from another world. She was closer to Albert in age, ready to marry. They were happy for a very long time. As your grandfather and I were, Elizabeth.”