See Also Deadline

by Larry D. Sweazy

  “The new sheriff was here,” Anna said. Her eyes were blank, and her face was as white as the doily the soup sat on.

  “Lene told me.”

  “He had a lot of questions.”

  “He’s trying to help.”

  “You like him, don’t you?”

  “I respect him.” I didn’t hesitate. Maybe I should have.

  “We all should,” Anna said with a sigh. “He hasn’t hid his problems from our view. I think it’s a minor miracle that a twice-divorced man with a drinking problem got elected to anything in this county.”

  I felt the skin tighten across my entire body. I stared at Anna, surprised in a way by the direction she’d taken the conversation. I wasn’t going to defend Guy to her. I didn’t know if that’s what she expected. She was entitled to her opinions just like Lene.

  Anna continued, didn’t wait for me to interject. “The sheriff knows things about people that no one else knows. Nils did, too. Did you know that?”

  “I guess I never thought about what Nils might know about people,” I said.

  Anna looked at the glow around the closed blinds. The edges looked like they were about to burst into flames. The clouds must have parted and the sun beamed directly from the east, trying to push into the room. It was a losing battle.

  “He knew when people were short of money,” Anna continued. “Who stole food, who he could trust in the store alone. Thefts were worse at the end of the month. A few people would run short on their widow’s pensions, and they’d pocket an extra can of tuna to get them by until the check showed up in the mail. Nils turned a blind eye, paid for the tuna out of his wages. Frank isn’t as generous as Nils. He’d call the police no matter who the thief was, or whatever the reason they had for taking a little extra.” Her voice was weak, and every time she mentioned Nils’s name her throat quivered.

  “I didn’t know that,” I said, shifting uncomfortably on the bed. I couldn’t imagine being so desperate that I would steal a can of tuna. Like I’d told Anna, I never thought about a grocery store manager knowing such things. I had to wonder if Nils knew something that had got him killed. It was a worthy question, but not one I was going to push on Anna. Not right now. Maybe not ever. “I’m sure the sheriff has talked to Frank.”

  Anna shrugged her shoulders. “I don’t know. Right now, I don’t care about that store or what’s going on there. The Red Owl’s been our whole life since the day we met, and now I won’t have to hear about inventory or cash flow or Frank Aberle kicking someone else out of the store.”

  I looked away from Anna to the dresser. “Your broth’s getting cold.”

  “I’m really not hungry, Marjorie.”

  “You’ll need your strength the next few days. I hate to be one more person telling you that, but it’s the truth. You can’t turn away from things, Anna. The world hasn’t stopped spinning. It’s changed. It’s broken your heart.”

  “My life will never be the same again,” Anna said, as a single tear toppled from her right eye.

  “You’re right.”

  “Please don’t say time heals all wounds. Please don’t say that.”

  “I wouldn’t tell you that, because I don’t know if it’s true. I do know that time changes things whether we want it to or not. I miss Hank Trumaine every day, and I long for his touch, his voice, his encouragement, every second. Sometimes, I can’t breathe. You know that. But I have all of my memories in my heart. That will never be enough. We had hard times, too, Anna. But here I am, trying to find my way, thanks in large part to you showing me that there’s things left for me to do in this life. I can’t thank you enough for taking time away from your life to come out to my house, making time for me like you have.”

  Anna rolled her lips together, unsuccessfully fighting off more tears. I couldn’t hold back my tears, either. I reached over and took her in my arms, where she was happy to stay. We both had a good cry together. I would like to think that the comfort I could offer was something she needed. I didn’t fully understand her pain, but I knew her loss.

  Time passed as we held each other, both of us lost on our own continent of grief but forever tethered together, allowing us to know that there was no reason to ever be alone again. “You really need to eat,” I whispered.

  “I know.”

  “I can have Helen warm up the broth.”

  “You know what I really want?” Anna said.

  “What?”

  “Ice cream.”

  “Ice cream?” I smiled. I hadn’t expected Anna to say ice cream.

  “Yes, ice cream. Snow ice cream. When Nils and me first got married, we didn’t have a lot of money. He was still a sacker at the Red Owl, and he didn’t want me to work. He’d bring home some fresh cream after a good snowfall. We’d snuggle in and eat ice cream in the middle of winter, keeping each other warm, planning our future, laughing and playing like the kids we were. We quit doing that a long time ago. Do you know the recipe?”

  I hadn’t thought of snow ice cream in years. People said you shouldn’t eat snow ice cream these days with all of the radioactive elements in the sky, but the fear of something you couldn’t see didn’t stop them. The recipe was simple, not buried too deep in the snowdrifts of my memory: Get a pan of fluffy snow, add sugar, vanilla, and cream. The good kind of cream, yellow cream skimmed from the top of a farmer’s crock. Then fold everything together gently—real gently—and eat the ice cream right away. Snow ice cream could be frozen, but the taste was never the same as fresh if you asked me.

  “Yes,” I said. “I remember my mother’s recipe.” I stood up and looked down at Anna, who was looking up at me like an expectant child. “The cream will be easy on your stomach.”

  Any glee that had returned to her eyes quickly faded away. A familiar shadow fell over Anna’s face as she looked away from me and rubbed the small pouch of her belly unconsciously. “If you say so.”

  I made my way out of the bedroom on a mission, though I nearly stumbled on my own feet and my own words. If one of Anna Jacobsen’s secrets was that she was pregnant, then she was the one who was going to have to tell me. I wasn’t going to pry into that. Not on purpose, anyway.

  CHAPTER 20

  I stared into the Kelvinator, searching for a suitable substitute for yellow cream, ignoring the commotion around me. Church services had let out, and there was already a steady stream of mourners leaving their offerings of breads, desserts, and hot dishes on the kitchen table. My own memories of funeral food were still fresh, though this was different. The whole town of Dickinson had shown up on the Jacobsens’ doorstep.

  Helen and Lene handled the onslaught of people, but I caught a few frustrated glances directed my way as I ignored the newcomers and went about gathering all of the ingredients to make Anna’s ice cream. I was doing my best to find something to give her some much needed comfort, all the while digesting everything that she’d said. I really needed time to organize my thoughts. I needed to index the patterns and terms that had settled in my mind so I could be free of them. But I didn’t think that was going to happen anytime soon, at least not until I returned home. If then, if I had time. I had real indexing work to do. I felt detached from the Central Flyway book in a way that seemed lazy and dangerous. The Ladies Aid was overtaking my life, my schedule, and my energy.

  I pushed aside a glass bottle of milk and found a carton of half-and-half. The thin cream wasn’t exactly what I was hoping for, but store-bought cream would have to do. Sugar and vanilla were easier to find in the pantry. All I needed was fresh snow. There was plenty of that outside the backdoor.

  I navigated my way through the steady stream of people, some I recognized and others I didn’t, and retrieved my coat. Then I hurried back to the kitchen, pulled out a saucepan from the cabinet next to the stove, and headed toward the backdoor. Someone said, “Hello,” behind me, but I wasn’t sure if the salutation was for me, so I kept on going. I was focused on one thing: snow ice cream. Nothing was going to get in my way. />
  I closed the door behind me and stood on the stoop, adjusting to the outside. The cold air nearly took my breath away. Muffled conversations tapped at the walls from inside the house, and I was left to wonder how Anna could get any rest at all.

  The sky was full of fragile gray clouds, and the wind was light. The temperature hung a few degrees above zero, its favorite spot in January. Without the roaring wind, the cold in North Dakota felt tolerable to those who were seasoned to frigid conditions. The air was dry. Once the sun came out, some men would walk around without a coat and hat, wearing their work shirts like they were strolling around in the middle of summer.

  I searched for some fluffy snow, but my eyes were drawn to the garage at the back of the property. Darlys was standing at the corner, out of the wind, smoking a cigarette, staring away from me, her back to the house. She either hadn’t heard me come out, or she didn’t care that I was there.

  A tall drift had come to rest against the side of the single-car garage, preserving a bank of fresh snow under the outer crust. That was my hope, anyway. As I made my way toward the bounty of icy goodness, Darlys turned and made eye contact with me. “Oh, Marjorie, I wasn’t expecting to see you out here,” she said, flipping her Winston into Helen Greggson’s yard.

  I watched the orange tip spiral away like a Fourth of July firecracker. I could tell by the look on Darlys’s face that there was nothing to celebrate. She looked upset, angrier than I’d seen her since she’d been coming to the house.

  “I didn’t expect to see you, either,” I said.

  She was dressed in her thick blue parka and had the hood up, shielding her face from the wind. A thick shadow sheltered her eyes. “I was taking a minute before going inside,” she said.

  “You came from the Rinkermans’ house?”

  “Yes. Out of the fire and into the frying pan.”

  That seemed an odd thing for her to say; my forehead scrunched in confusion. “Is everything all right?” I meant with them and her.

  “No, everything’s not all right. The sheriff took Toren and the boys in for questioning.”

  “I heard that.”

  “Of course, you did.”

  “I think that’s terrible,” I said. And that was the truth. I wondered how Guy could put that family through more than they had already been through. I assumed that the questioning was simply routine, that none of the Rinkermans were murder suspects.

  “They seemed resigned to the fact,” Darlys said.

  “Only the men, and not the mother?” I blurted out before thinking about the question.

  Darlys turned her face so I could see her teary eyes. “I honestly don’t know, Marjorie. I hadn’t thought of that. I’m sure Toren and his sons had nothing to do with what happened to Nils. I can’t think of one reason why any of them would do such a thing.”

  “That’s all the sheriff’s doing. He’s making sure he talks to everyone. I’m sure he doesn’t think the Rinkermans are suspects.” I didn’t know that for sure.

  “Guy Reinhardt has a job to do.”

  “That’s right. Everybody’s watching.”

  “They are.” Darlys looked down to the pan in my hand. “What are you doing out here, Marjorie?”

  “Getting some snow. Anna said snow ice cream sounded good.”

  “Well, that’s a start. Good for you. Nobody else has been able to get her to eat anything. I’m not surprised, you’re a natural with people.”

  “I’m not sure I’m any good at this Ladies Aid thing at all. I don’t seem to fit in, not even with Lene.”

  “She’s here?”

  “Yes, she was here when I showed up. The house is sparkling clean. I think she’s been here since sun up.”

  “That’d be Lene,” Darlys said. “You shouldn’t worry about her. She’s direct as a hammer, that’s all. You know that.”

  Darlys looked like she wanted to say more, but she didn’t.

  I didn’t give her much time. “I know you need me here, but I’m worried that I bit off more than I should have. I’m afraid my indexing work will suffer if I keep coming to town every day. I’m falling behind on my deadline.”

  Darlys stared at me in a way I didn’t know how to interpret. “I can’t imagine what a deadline really is. I keep busy, and I have to be on time at my meetings and the like, but I don’t have to worry about not getting paid, or getting fired, if I’m late for something. I only have Henrik to answer to. I don’t mean to open a wound, but you know how life is when someone passes away. There are days that are really busy, and then things calm down after the funeral. I thought you’d be a help to Anna, and I was right about that. Even her mother couldn’t get her to agree to eat any food. Once we bury Nils and the police find out who did this horrible thing, everything will get back to normal. I’m sure of it. There are other women who can help out then. Can you give me a few more days?”

  What Darlys said made sense. “Yes, okay, I can work around the deadline for a couple more days. I’ll make up the time.” I wasn’t sure that I believed what I’d said, but I didn’t really feel like I could say no.

  “Good,” Darlys said. “Anna’s going to need us long after this is over with. I honestly don’t know how she’s going to manage, but I’m sure she will. She has to. She has children to raise.” She flashed me a smile, stood up straight, pulled off her hood, and said, “Well, I better get in there before Lene starts to think she’s been abandoned.” And with that, Darlys marched off as if she didn’t have a care in the world, determined to make a difference and bring some light to a dark world. No one but me would ever know that she was upset. I was really beginning to admire that woman.

  Anna stared at the whole bowl of ice cream with vacant eyes. Not exactly the reaction I was hoping for. “I had to use half-and-half,” I said. The snow was already starting to melt.

  “This looks wonderful, Marjorie,” Anna said.

  “The cream will settle your stomach.”

  “Nothing can do that.”

  “I know.” I my put hand on hers. She was trembling. I knew how she felt, like she could never eat again without remembering one memory or another. Food was a trigger for good and bad. Anna reminded me of Hank the last two years of his life, paralyzed from the neck down, unable to do even the most basic functions for himself. I didn’t ask or hesitate to do what I did next. I took my hand away from Anna’s, grabbed up the spoon, dug up a small dollop of ice cream, and offered her a bite. “You can do this,” I whispered. Hank had tried to starve himself to death in the beginning, too.

  Anna stared into my serious, loving eyes, and opened her mouth halfway. She reminded me of a little sick bird, drained of energy and will, but she took the bite, swallowed, and didn’t refuse the next spoonful of ice cream. We sat there until the bowl was empty, and then I held her, humming a Norwegian lullaby my mother had sung to me as a child.

  “What is that you’re humming?” Anna asked.

  “A lullaby my mother used to sing to me when I was girl. Her mother sang it to her on the boat over when she was afraid. The song is called a bånsull in Norway.”

  Anna smiled weakly. “Do you know the words?”

  “I do. In English, the title is ‘Cradle Me a Little.’ In Norwegian, the song is called ‘Sulla meg litt.’”

  “Can you sing it?”

  I didn’t want to. I couldn’t remember the last time I had sung a song for anyone. I’d hummed around Hank, nothing more. But I didn’t see how I could refuse Anna. “In Norwegian or English?”

  “Both?”

  “Yes, I can do that.” I closed my eyes and tried to forget where I was and why I was there. My mother would have liked that I was comforting Anna with her bånsull.

  “Sulla meg litt, du mamma mi,

  Skal du få snor på skjorta di.

  Vil du ha gule? Vil du ha blå?

  Vil du ha blanke? Skal du det få,

  På skjorta di,

  Du mamma mi.”

  “That is beautiful,” Anna said. Sh
e leaned in to me and closed her eyes. I waited until her breathing regulated, then sang the lullaby again, softer, gentler:

  “Rock me a little, mama mine,

  And you shall have ribbons on your shirt.

  Do you want yellow? Do you want blue?

  Do you want shiny ones? I’ll give them to you,

  On your shirt,

  Mama mine.”

  The sun had already started to drop to the west before I was able to make my way out of the house and head toward home.

  Darlys, Helen, and Lene remained in the house. Abigail and the children had returned long before and had settled in as the steady stream of visitors to the house continued throughout the day. I had stayed busy, but I begged off around four o’clock, anxious to get home before dark. With no clouds in the sky, the temperatures were going to drop deep below zero before the sun rose again.

  I stopped at the sidewalk and looked up and down the street. Even in the dimming light, I could see the street was lined with all colors of cars. I wasn’t surprised to see that the majority of them were black. Jaeger and Lester were right. There were a lot of black cars in Dickinson. I had to wonder if there were more girls like Tina Rinkerman than I knew about, too.

  CHAPTER 21

  The door to the Studebaker groaned open, and the frozen springs creaked reluctantly as I stepped up into the truck. I had to muscle the door closed. Whatever grease remained on the hinges had given way to the cold, forcing metal to rub against metal. I was amazed the entire truck didn’t shatter like an icicle dropped to the ground.

  I put the key in the ignition, pumped the accelerator, then turned the key. The engine moaned, the flywheel winding away as if it had purpose, but the spark refused to erupt and set the pistons in motion. I stopped and tried again. Same thing. More grinding—only the familiar sound grew weaker. I knew what that meant. The battery was getting ready to die. One more try. Like last time. Third time’s a charm. But not this round. The engine sputtered, then started clicking. The death knell. I wasn’t going anywhere soon. “Shit,” I said aloud. I really wanted to go home.