I was halfway through my life. The tired lines in my face had softened in sleep, but there was no escaping the changes time had wrought on the line of my jaw and the papery lines around my forty-year-old eyes. This was my face, but also the face of my mother and of my grandmother and great-grandmother before her. I should be proud of this face which was mine and not mine. People might find it odd for a plastic surgeon, but I had no desire to alter this process and make myself appear younger. What I did for other people did not interest me. The slow settling of my features into those of my mother’s was a comfort I couldn’t explain.
I left a note for Claire on the kitchen table saying that I’d be back early afternoon and grabbed an apple from the fridge and a granola bar from the cupboard before putting on my parka and boots. The door barely acknowledged my exit as it swung shut behind me on silent hinges. The darkness, punctuated by fingers of pinkish light above the tree line, enveloped me like a shroud as I walked toward my car. I pulled the hood of my parka over my head and nuzzled into its rim of fur as the wind cut across my face.
This time, the car engine wasn’t so eager to turn over. I turned the key five times before the motor grudgingly whirred into life, and at that, it took some coaxing to keep it from sputtering out. I let it run a full five minutes before putting it into drive and turning on the headlights. The heater blasted cold air, and it probably wouldn’t warm up inside at all before I reached my destination. I cursed the feeble heater as I eased the car down the tire ruts in the snow onto the main road and pointed it towards the main highway, the headlights piercing the darkness in two long streams. Once at the highway junction, I swung the car north toward the Canadian border.
The drive took less than an hour, but it was an hour of beauty as the sky brightened from black to pink and orange, finally settling on a pale blue. The coniferous trees along the side of the two-lane highway emerged from a wall of black to a feathery line of boughs heavy with snow. At staggered intervals, copses of birch and alder nestled in amongst the denser pines and fir. Highway 61 wound through the Sawtooth Range, traversing corridors that cut through towering cliffs of rock. Every so often, I’d round a corner and discover a clear view of the lakeshore, rocks covered by snow and chunks of ice in the coves. Hardly another soul was on the road except for transport drivers heading south to take their produce to market. Each waved at me as we passed. I could have driven forever, but it wasn’t long before the houses of Grand Portage came into view, scooped into the silver-white winter landscape of Arrowhead country. I stayed on the highway until I pulled into the parking lot at the Canadian border.
When I stepped inside the U.S. Customs office, Charlie Mallory was standing behind the counter, chatting with a tall Native woman with long black hair. Both were dressed in navy uniforms with badges on their shoulders and guns at their hips. Next to her, Charlie looked short and stocky, his red curls tied back in a ponytail. His eyes took me in as he looked over her shoulder. Recognition gleamed, and he nodded. I waited by the door as he said goodbye to the woman and grabbed his black duffle coat from the coat rack. He ambled over to me, his eyes friendly. I was careful to enunciate now that I knew he was deaf.
“Hi, Charlie. I wonder if I could buy you breakfast?”
“Sure. I could do with some grub before I crash. Why don’t we meet at the restaurant on the highway just the other side of Grande Portage?” His low, even voice was pleasing to the ear. It was surprising considering the pugilistic state of his face.
“Sounds good.”
With a population of under a thousand, Grand Portage was situated between Lake Superior and Pigeon River. From 1730 to 1800 or so, Grand Portage had been a trading post where hundreds of traders and voyagers from all over the world met to barter goods and furs. An Ojibway community still called Pigeon River home, making up about half the town’s population. As I waited for Charlie in the restaurant booth, I thought back to the days I’d camped in Grand Portage State Park, with its Grand Falls, and climbed trails up Eagle Mountain, the highest point in Minnesota. I would have liked to have camped under the stars with Billy, but we’d never managed to escape our lives for more than snatched hours. My father would have killed him and maybe me if he’d known I’d fallen for an Indian. My father had been as racist as the day was long. I’d hidden my love for Billy because it would have shamed my father and unleashed his unpredictable temper. I’d had an abortion to save my family name and to keep the peace. In the end, it had not been enough. I had lost Billy and any chance to be whole. I might have borne it yet and managed to find happiness but for my mother’s death. The noose that encircled her white neck had killed my dreams as surely as it had ended her short life. That was my reality, and as I sat waiting for Charlie Mallory, the enormity of what I had sacrificed welled up and threatened to destroy the safe haven I’d carved out with Sam. Fiona, with her psychologist’s insight, had been right. I was not happy—had not been happy for some time. Coming back to Duved Cove had loosed all my ghosts and turned my world on end. It had made me face what I’d tucked away as carefully as the memories in my mother’s trunk.
The bell on the door jangled and Charlie entered, stomping snow off his boots onto the rug before walking over to the table I’d chosen beside the gas fireplace. The room had narrow windows and was lined in dark cedar panelling. It would have been dingy except for the red and white checkered tablecloths and hurricane lamps hanging overhead. Charlie slid in across from me. The waitress appeared with a steaming pot of coffee, and we placed our orders. I had intended to request bacon and eggs but ended up ordering the waffles with sausage. It was an odd trait—my mouth speaking a different meal than the one I’d chosen in my head. I looked across at Charlie, who was watching me intently.
“I’m sorry about your father,” he said after the waitress was out of hearing. “It must have come as a shock.”
“Yes. I thought my father would live forever. Funny how we don’t really believe our lives will change, that people will always be there and defy time. It’s a lie we tell ourselves to keep the certainty of our own deaths at bay, I suppose. I wanted...I wanted to ask you about his last year or so. It might help make me understand why he died the way he did.”
Charlie nodded but took time preparing his coffee—two heaping spoonfuls of sugar and three plastic containers of cream. He stirred the mixture for some time before looking up at me again. “Your father was a complex man. I’m sure I don’t have to tell you that.”
“You seem to have more insight into him than most people.”
Charlie nodded and smiled. His crooked nose and scarred cheek suddenly didn’t look so disfigured. “I’ve had to make better use of the senses I have. I’ve learned to be more observant than most. I also read lips, and people forget. They say things...”
I returned his smile. “Of course. People would be more discreet if they realized they were being overheard.”
“In a sense, I am listening in,” Charlie shrugged. “Your father was the one who suggested I work inside. They were thinking of moving me off the border, because my hearing loss was giving me difficulty doing my job. They began to think it was unsafe if I was checking cars and couldn’t hear what was going on around me. I didn’t want to be sent to an office building doing paperwork, so your dad said he’d work with me on the night shift when it was quieter. I thought at the time that he was good to help me out.”
“You sound unsure.”
“I don’t mean to badmouth your father. I just came to know that sometimes he did things for reasons he didn’t share. Usually, whatever he did benefited himself more than anybody else.”
Charlie was nothing if not astute. He was also very good at reading expressions. “You and your father were not close, I gather,” he said.
I picked up my coffee cup. My hand was shaking, and I set the cup carefully back onto the table. “We were not on good terms. I don’t want to go into it, but please know that nothing you say could startle me. I know he was seeing a married woman.”
Charlie’s eyes were sympathetic. “Yeah, she met him a few times over the last month. There were a couple of women, actually. Your father seemed to like them younger. He had a lot of charm, obviously.”
“What did they look like? The women, I mean?”
“The one who came most often, he called Becky. The other one used to pick him up. She never got out of her red van but she had dark hair, I remember. The van was one of those older models—a Dodge, I think. I never knew her name.”
“Did you tell the police?”
“No. I don’t like gossip. It’s not my place to talk about your father’s love life.”
“Could my father have been involved in something illegal?” I watched Charlie to see any sign of guilt. He’d be a logical partner if they were passing contraband through the border crossing. He met my gaze with a level stare.
“Do you have any particular reason to suspect that?”
“My father had a lot of money, a new vehicle and boat. Just seems odd.”
“Your father gambled at the casino on the way home. He could have made his money there.”
“Grand Portage Casino?”
“No, I think he went to Fortune Bay. Kind of a weird choice when you think about it, since it would have been out of his way. Grand Portage is right here, after all.”
“A bit off the beaten track for sure.”
Why was my father visiting Fortune Bay unless he had a connection? Billy and his brother Raymond had their outfitters business stationed near there and took people staying at the resort on day trips, but that couldn’t be the draw for my father. He’d never had any interest in fishing or hunting. I was at a loss.
Our breakfasts arrived, and we didn’t speak again until Charlie had finished eating. I could tell he was getting tired, and I waved off a second cup of coffee.
“Thanks for taking this time,” I said, reaching for the bill.
“No problem. Your dad was always easygoing with me, and I’d like to see them find who killed him. Despite anything I said, he didn’t do anything that deserved being murdered.”
I nodded. “Thanks.”
I shrugged into my coat and followed Charlie outside, where we shook hands before getting into our vehicles. I sat in the parking lot with the engine running for several minutes after he’d disappeared toward town. I watched the wind whip snow around the building and debated whether I should let the investigation go or keep pursuing leads that seemed to be heading down paths I’d just as soon not go down. The bleakness of the morning settled over me.
The way I saw it, there were two possibilities, neither of them very appealing. Either my father was involved in something illegal that was making him a lot of money and at least one enemy, or his involvement with a married woman had angered somebody enough to kill him. I knew about his affair with Becky Holmes, which was bad enough, but the second woman was even more difficult to contemplate. It wasn’t the fact that there was a second woman. It was the fact that the second woman and the vehicle Charlie Mallory had just described bore a striking similarity to Claire and her red Dodge Caravan.
SIXTEEN
The drive to Fortune Bay Casino on Highway 169 took an hour and a half. Blowing snow and white-out conditions made me drive more slowly than I would have liked, but the thought of the car hitting black ice and sliding off the highway demanded caution. I stopped for coffee at a roadside diner and to rest my weary eyes. It was tucked off the highway below a looming rock cut that was capped with a ragged line of fir trees. The owner, who was dressed in a blue checked shirt, baggy black cords and a Yankee ball cap, was close to eighty. He peered at me through inch-thick, oversized glasses.
“Roads ain’t safe, young lady. You should hunker down till the worst of the blowing snow is over.”
“I’m ready for a break,” I admitted and obediently took a seat near the window. He shuffled over with a mug of black coffee, a fresh piece of apple pie and the Duluth News Tribune tucked under his arm.
“No sign of the storm letting up, but you never know around these parts,” he said after setting the coffee and pie on the table and handing me the paper. His eyes were watery and tinged with pink. “I’ve seen storms blow in quick and leave just as quick. You going far?”
“Just to Fortune Bay. I’m almost there,” I reached for the fork he’d set on a paper napkin in front of me. The pie tasted homemade, cinnamon and brown sugar flavouring the tart apples. I swallowed appreciatively. “Say, do you know of an outfitter named Raymond Okwari?”
“Ray’s the best muskie fisherman around, bar none. Owns a little lodge not far from here that brings in the tourists. Course them natives have a jump on the rest of us when it comes to knowing their way around the wilderness.” He smiled, showing his nicotine-stained teeth.
“Where’s Ray’s lodge?”
“Just off Trail Road. Hang the first right past the purple house about ten miles from here. Only purple house in the area, thank Christ.” He pulled a cloth out of his pocket and wiped his hands. “Some damn people have no taste whatsoever.”
I waved my fork in a circular motion at chest level. “Great pie.”
“Can’t take any credit. The wife baked it. She’s normally working but had to go into town. Expect she’s holed up at the granddaughter’s till the storm lets up.”
He turned to leave just as the front door opened. I looked over then ducked my head. Wayne Okwari, Billy’s nephew, had stepped into the hallway, shaking snow out of his long black hair and stomping his work boots on the rug at the entranceway. He was wearing the same hunting jacket he’d had on when I’d seen him at Hadrian’s. I hoped he hadn’t recognized me.
“Hey, Verl. Quite a day.” Wayne’s voice was deeper than I’d expected.
“Say that again.” Verl blocked Wayne’s view of me as he headed toward the counter. I waited a few seconds then glanced over. Wayne had his back to me, leaning on his elbows next to the cash register. I was thankful he hadn’t noticed me. Maybe it was folly to have made this trip. What did I think I could find out about my father’s tie to Fortune Bay Casino? Likely nothing, and I’d only succeed in embarrassing myself. I lifted a section of the newspaper and pretended to read.
“Heading to your dad’s?” Verl asked. Mercifully, he didn’t mention that I’d been asking directions to Ray’s lodge.
“I’m coming from there. I’m on my way to Duved Cove. I just stopped to fill up my thermos with coffee. Then I’ll be heading out again.”
“Hell of a day to be travelling.” I could hear liquid splashing into the thermos. “Read in the paper that Peter Larson was hit over the head and left for dead at his backyard in Duved Cove. That true?”
Wayne lowered his voice, and I didn’t hear his answer.
Verl laughed. A pause and then, “What’s your old man up to? He hasn’t been in for a bit.”
“Ice fishing with Chinese tourists mainly. Damn, those people like to fish. Don’t even seem to mind the cold. They’ve been flocking in like Canada geese all month. My uncle Billy is working with us, and they’ve been going flat out. We’re looking forward to spring thaw so we can have some time off.”
I lowered the paper enough to see over the top. Wayne was in profile, screwing the lid onto his thermos. He looked less like Billy from this vantage point, with sharper features and thin lips—thin lips that matched his thin body. His hair was plastered back from his face in a matted toss of wet strands.
“Bet they’re taking lots of pictures. Never seen one without a camera around their neck,” said Verl.
“Good one.” Wayne started towards the door. “Say hi to Marco for me. Tell him I’ll stop by and see him on Sunday.”
“Marco’s sleeping. Just came back from taking a load of paper products to Dallas. He’s taken another load out Monday.”
“I’ll be by to see him before then. Let him know.”
“Sure thing.”
I folded the paper and placed it on the paper placemat then waited a few minutes before goi
ng to the counter. Verl looked up at me from where he leaned reading the sports section of the paper. “Leaving already?”
“I don’t have far to go. Say, was that Wayne Okwari?”
“You know Wayne? He’s a friend of my grandson Marco. Marco has a rig and works out of Duluth. Never can keep up with all his comings and goings.”
“I don’t exactly know Wayne, but I know his uncle Billy.”
“Oh yeah, you were asking earlier about Ray. He’d be Billy’s brother and Wayne’s dad. Well, Wayne works part-time in Duved Cove at a garage then helps out Ray when the spirit moves him. Never know when Wayne’s going to turn up either. Kids these days just can’t seem to sit still like in my day.”
“It is a different generation.”
Verl took my money and handed me back some change. “Looks to be letting up out there. Hope the roads ain’t too icy for you, young lady.”
“I’ll drive slowly. Thanks for everything.”
“I’m sure you’re welcome. Come again if you’re back this way.”
“I will.”
I came suddenly upon the purple house with canary yellow shutters and green roof several miles up the road. As I rounded a tight bend, the house appeared through the blowing snow like a two-storey rainbow in a universe of white and grey. I slowed but not fast enough to make the turn. The car ignored my change in direction. I knew enough to pump the brakes but could feel the tires resisting as the car slid wildly sideways into a tailspin on a piece of black ice. The steering wheel didn’t respond to my frantic cranking, and the brakes may as well have been severed. I felt a throbbing pain where the door handle suddenly dug into my hip as I was flung against the door. A sudden spin and the tires ground against the snow bank lining the road. The solid mass of snow directed the car back onto the highway. I was thrust back then forward. My neck snapped and my head banged against the steering wheel, then thumped hard against the headrest. The seat belt tightened across my shoulder in a band down to my waist. It felt like all the air had left my lungs. Pain darted across my forehead and throbbed down my side. I closed my eyes and prayed.
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