Forgotten Spirits

by Barbara Deese

  “Are you kidding? It’s always more fun when we’re headed for trouble.”

  Cate laughed. “Unless it’s fatal.”

  Robin’s laugh was cut short.

  “Tomorrow I have to pick up my in-laws at the airport, and then I need to be on hand when Ricky and Bunny and my nephew and his wife and baby come.”

  “Are you sure they’ll be able to get here? You might check airport closings.”

  “My in-laws are coming from the east, so that’s no problem, and Ricky and his family are watching the weather, and will leave South Dakota tonight if they need to. Everyone’s expected to arrive on schedule, so I really do have to be here.”

  Of course Robin had known that. With Erik gone for some speaking engagement in Chicago, he wouldn’t be back until the day after his parents arrived from Massachusetts. Much as Cate might wish she could take off on yet another mission, her schedule was tight and non-negotiable.

  There was no point in calling Louise. She and her partner, Dean, had taken off the morning after the book club lunch—Was that just four days ago?—to spend Christmas with relatives in Virginia. This was the first time in Robin’s memory that Louise and Dean had taken a trip over the holidays and left their antique store in the hands of their able assistant.

  That had left Grace, who was usually up for an adventure. She, Fred and the boys had a quiet holiday planned. No other family, no overnight guests, no parties—just a morning of cross-country skiing, followed by Christmas dinner. It sounded heavenly. But when Robin had called to talk to Grace last night, Fred had informed her that Grace was spending the night at a sleep clinic and wouldn’t be home until mid-morning. Even if Grace could make the drive up to Ely with her, she’d need time to get things together.

  Robin calculated there would be less than nine hours of daylight to drive in and it was at least a four-hour drive to Twin Loons Resort, under good road conditions. Looking again at the Twin Loons website, she mapped out her route and hit the Print button.

  * * *

  The sleep clinic was a miniature version of her college dormitory. Grace was led past the waiting room to one of the four sleeping rooms. It was painted pale blue and had a twin bed, a nightstand, and room-darkening curtains. A comfy chair faced the wall-mounted television. Grace set her toiletries, book, glasses, and a bottle of water on the table next to the chair.

  The technician was a pinch-faced young woman who, in a heavily nasal voice, explained the procedure just as the nurse had at her appointment that morning. As she described how electrodes would transmit all the information they needed to discern any sleep abnormalities, Grace tried to figure out who Trudy reminded her of.

  “Is that where you hide the camera?” Grace asked, pointing to the glass panel high on the wall at the foot of her bed.

  “It is. We tape the session so we can observe the amount of tossing and turning. It’s helpful for your diagnosis.”

  Grace rolled her eyes. If they thought she was going to fall asleep with them watching her—

  “No worries,” she said. “We just check in now and then. Our patients usually fall asleep with no trouble.” After instructing her to get ready for bed, she stood, saying she was going to leave the room so Grace could change into her pajamas in privacy.

  As if there’s anything private about all this! How does anyone manage to sleep in front of an audience? Grace thought of every embarrassing thing that could happen to her. She thought about one of her more restless nights a couple of weeks ago, when she’d jerked and twitched so much trying to find a comfortable position that Fred had grabbed his pillow, saying it was like trying to sleep next to Joe Cocker with hives, and spent the rest of the night in the spare bedroom. How sexy was that?

  In a while, the woman came back, tugging on a pair of latex gloves. “It’s time to get you hooked up,” she said in her nasal tone. That’s when Grace realized who the woman looked like—Lily Tomlin as Ernestine, the switchboard operator.

  After cleaning several spots on her head and chin, chest, and legs with alcohol wipes, she placed a sticky pad on each area. Opening a large drawer by the bed, she withdrew a swarm of cables and began snapping them onto the electrode pads. Once all the electrodes were plugged in, she taped down the leads and told Grace to finish getting ready for bed.

  Walking with all the attached paraphernalia to the bathroom, Grace felt like a pre-strung Christmas tree waiting to be plugged in.

  The technician was waiting in the bedroom for her with yet more fun. She bundled the whole tangle of leads and clipped them to a strap around her waist, then encircled her chest with another contraption to monitor her breathing. She showed Grace the CPAP machine they would use if warranted.

  Swabbed, stuck, snapped, wired, taped, belted and clipped, Grace was allowed to read for a while or watch TV until she started to feel drowsy.

  “You have got to be kidding me!” she said, with another eye roll.

  “You’ll be surprised how quickly you adjust,” the sleep tech assured her.

  Amazingly, after reading only two chapters of Louise Erdrich’s latest book, Grace felt her eyelids droop, and summoned her nocturnal guide to tuck her in. When the sleep tech pulled out one more cord, Grace was afraid to ask where that one went, figuring she’d just about run out of body parts, and was relieved when Trudy slipped the pulse monitor over her finger.

  “If you need me during the night, just talk out loud. The intercom will pick it up.”

  Grace lay still with her eyes closed for what seemed like hours. She couldn’t stop thinking about people watching her, and told herself to think of it as performance art.

  Finally, she slipped into a dream in which Foxy was trying to teach her to do the can-can. The problem was she couldn’t pick up her feet. It was as if her legs were tied together and all she could do was wiggle her toes. The other dancers were doing high kicks while swirling their skirts. The tall dark-haired dancer pulled away and fixed her with the saddest look. “No dancing for you. You’ll have to make yourself useful some other way.”

  With a jerk, she woke up to find herself in a cocoon of wires. “Help!” she called out.

  The tech came in, disentangled her and reattached two of the leads. “You really got snarled up here,” she said with a laugh.

  “I was twirling,” she said lamely.

  “I can see that.”

  “No, I mean in my dream.”

  “This time, dream about lying still.” It was supposed to be a joke, but Grace felt reprimanded for not sleeping properly. Worse yet, she’d somehow managed to flunk dreaming as well.

  The next time she fell asleep, the technician woke her by strapping a contraption over her nose and mouth. At four in the morning when she woke again, she was told they’d gotten enough data and she was free to go home.

  Chapter 17

  Robin popped the last bite of toast in her mouth and took her last swig of coffee. She’d made a full pot out of habit, even though Brad was long gone, and had managed to finish the whole thing, one cup at a time. Washing her plate and cup, she looked for something to keep her jangly nerves busy. Her suitcase was packed. Her car was gassed up, and the windshield wiper fluid topped off. It had all made perfect sense last night when Robin had fantasized about taking off with Cate to rescue the red-haired damsel in distress. Now it looked like the little jaunt wasn’t going to happen after all.

  It hadn’t been unreasonable to expect, or at least hope, Cate might join her. They’d been partners in crime almost since the day they’d met at the University of Minnesota, when Robin had been the more cautious one, sensible and grounded, while Cate had taken more risks. But over the course of their friendship, she’d discovered caution didn’t necessarily keep her safe, and Cate’s recklessness ­hadn’t led her to ruin, as had once seemed inevitable, and they’d grown a little more alike, feeling almost invi
ncible in each other’s company.

  But of course they weren’t invincible. Brad had been right to worry about them. She sighed and resigned herself to staying home. The roads were already getting a little dicey. All in all, it was a great day to stay home. Foxy would find out Sierra’s secret as soon as the phones were working again at her brother’s resort.

  She hadn’t realized she was standing almost catatonic in front of the kitchen sink, until her cats twined around her ankles to suggest to her she might as well drop more food into their dishes. Robin looked at them and said, “Oh, knock it off. I just fed you.” Then, still talking out loud, she continued to process her dilemma. “Cate’s out of the picture. It’s a shame, with Brad gone, that we can’t head out on a mission.” Her eyes drifted to the suitcase by the door leading to the garage. She figured a recovering alcoholic must have a similar tug when seeing a bottle within easy reach.

  Shaking herself as she went to the sunroom, she pulled her yoga mat from the wooden chest that served as a coffee table, and began her routine with the sun salutation. At the end of her routine, she lay on her mat to do relaxation stretches and meditation. Despite breathing deeply and rhythmically, she still felt fidgety.

  Sitting up, the thought came to her that if Foxy could drive up there, possibly all by herself, so could she. It wasn’t merely a desire to do something other than sit here alone. It was as if Sierra’s spirit was nagging at her to get the message to Foxy. Was this how Cate felt when she got a premonition about something?

  In the past, her friends had been keen on getting involved in such a venture, but maybe the rest of them had attained a level of sanity she hadn’t. She experienced a pang, realizing how blithely she’d considered dragging her dearest friends into yet another mess.

  * * *

  Cate slowly opened one eye a crack. Most people who knew her knew not to call before nine in the morning, yet the phone shrilled again. Grabbing it from the nightstand, she heard her mother’s voice and said, “What’s wrong? Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine. Are you awake?” Wanda asked.

  Although she was upright, no one could accuse her of being awake. “Oh, Mom, give me a minute. I’ll call you right back.” She went downstairs and stumbled into the kitchen, tripping over a rawhide bone on her way to the coffee pot. Rumpling her hair, she looked at the clock and saw it was six twenty-two in the flipping morning. She toyed with the idea of going back to bed, but her mother’s feelings would get hurt if she didn’t call back. Slumping down onto a stool, she saw Carleton and Mitsy standing near their dishes with similarly hopeful expressions, and she knew her morning had begun.

  She waited until she’d drunk a full cup of coffee before making the call.

  Wanda jumped right in. “I totally forgot to tell you what happened yesterday. After all the excitement over the wine bottle and all, I forgot all about the man I met.”

  Cate had seen her mother flirt with men, sometimes rather outrageously, but in the years since her dad died, her mother had never talked about anyone special. “Someone from Meadowpoint?”

  “Of course not. They’re all old.”

  Cate rolled her eyes. “I’m sure some of them are no—” She stopped herself.

  Wanda snorted. “No older than me?”

  “Um, I guess that’s what I was going to say, but tell me all about the new man in your life. What did he do to sweep you off your feet?”

  “Oh, stop it.” Wanda sounded exasperated. “He’s not from Meadowpoint. I happened to meet a man on the sidewalk outside of Foxy’s house. He really was quite pleasant, but before you say it, he’s not a love interest, so you can just put that thought right out of your head.”

  “Okay, okay.”

  “Although he was nice looking, I have to admit. He was going up the walk just ahead of me and we chatted for a bit. He said he was there for a massage, so I told him Foxy wasn’t there.”

  “Mm hmm.”

  “He was nice enough. A real nice smile, you know?”

  Cate’s breathing quickened. “And?”

  “Well, when he asked where Foxy was, I wasn’t sure what to tell him. I’d only met the man. I had no idea what his relationship was with her, but—”

  Cate listened with growing apprehension. “What did you say to him, Mom?”

  “Well, I didn’t tell him anything at first, but then . . . Oh, Cate, I might have made a huge blunder. He said he was concerned about Foxy—actually, he called her Frances—and he was concerned about her traveling with a storm coming, and I . . . well, I guess I got all caught up in worrying about her too.”

  Cate asked again, “What did you say to him?” She wanted to reach through the phone and shake her mother.

  Her mother stammered, “I, I can’t remember what I said, exactly. I mean, we were just chatting, and it didn’t seem important at the time. I might have said she was heading up north to visit her brother. Yes, I did, because I remember saying it was way the heck up on the Canadian border. I don’t know what else I said. Do you think . . . did I . . . ?”

  “Mom, listen, I’m going to call up to the resort right now. Don’t worry.”

  She hung up and immediately tried calling Matt’s number from Foxy’s phone. When she heard the recorded voice saying the number was out of service, she groaned. After pacing from living room to kitchen and back a few times, she stood with her hands on the counter and her head leaning against the cupboard, trying to calm her breath. This man her mother talked to had been no client of Foxy’s. She’d bet her life on it.

  She knew with equal certainty he must be Foxy’s stalker, and her mother, her wonderfully gregarious and trusting mother, had led the predator directly to the prey. She didn’t question how she knew this, she simply knew. The whole time her mother had been talking, Cate had felt danger as a tingling sensation in her hands, and heard it as a muffled howl.

  * * *

  The minute she answered the phone, Robin knew from the pitch of Cate’s voice that getting in touch with Foxy was suddenly urgent.

  As they talked, two things were clear. First, Robin was in the best position to drive up there, and she’d have to go alone. Second, Cate could serve a valuable function staying home, where she could field calls and tend to pets at her own house, plus Foxy’s and Robin’s.

  “Of course I’m worried about Foxy, but now I’m worried about you too. I hate to think of you tearing up there by yourself.” Cate said, her voice tinged with alarm.

  “Can you think of an alternative?” Robin asked as she stuffed granola bars and string cheese into a shopping bag. “Wait, let me see who’s on the other line.” She squinted at the name on her caller ID, but without her glasses, it was a blur. Because she never had figured out how to put someone on hold while she took another call, she promised to call Cate back. Pressing the button, she heard Grace’s voice.

  “I got home earlier than I thought, and Fred said you called. He said you might be going up to the resort with Foxy after all. Is that true?”

  Robin explained to her that Foxy was already gone. She told her as briefly as she could about the message in the bottle. “Cate has a bad feeling about it. She thinks Foxy needs to know.” After telling her about the man snooping around Foxy’s apartment, she told Grace, “Cate and I think she might be walking right into trouble.”

  Grace laughed a throaty laugh. “Yeah, walking into trouble is usually our job.”

  “True. Not to mention driving or falling into it.” The memory of their reconnoitering mission was still fresh in her mind. She could still picture how she and Grace had donned costumes to follow someone they thought was the prime suspect in the murder of a young woman. Grace had howled with laughter at Robin when she’d fallen into a Dumpster while trying to get up high enough to see through his apartment window. Despite her mounting worry, she had to grin.

  �
�You can’t go by yourself!”

  Why did everyone say that?

  “I’m going with you.”

  “Grace, you can’t—”

  “Can too. Just try to keep me away. You know Decembers are slow for me. I’m working at home all month, and whatever paperwork I have to do can wait. Fred, on the other hand, is working out at the gym whenever he’s not holed up in the den watching sports or making phone calls about the teacher negotiations. He’ll never know I’m gone.”

  “We’d be gone overnight.”

  “I figured. Listen, Fred’s without a car for a couple days. His got nailed yesterday by a school bus, of all things. I’ll just have him use my car and drop me off at your place.”

  Robin quit objecting and suddenly the trip to Ely felt less like a ludicrous decision and more like an adventure.

  Chapter 18

  They’d reached the long, mostly unpopulated stretch between Cloquet and Virginia, up in the Iron Range, when Vinnie tried Matt’s number again to see if it had been reconnected. He tapped buttons, groaned and, with a shake of his head, slipped the phone back in his jacket pocket. “Shit,” he said under his breath.

  “What?” demanded Foxy.

  “The damn phone hasn’t been holding a charge very well. I really need to get a new battery, but they’re so expensive I was trying to make it last a little longer.” He shook his head again and stared out the side window. It was a bleak stretch of road with no houses and very few evergreens to break up the barren tree line.

  Foxy felt her irritation rise. What kind of dope would save money by not replacing a phone battery? If a person didn’t know Vinnie at all, they’d tell her she was overreacting, but what they wouldn’t know was that this one oversight embodied all the past moronic decisions that were uniquely Vinnie-esque. “You tell me this now, when we can’t do anything about it?” she said. What a doofus! He didn’t even have the good grace to be embarrassed.