“There’s no way I’m going to invite another adult into my life.”
“There must be something you can do.”
The recent heavy dose of TV had done more than pass time and fill up the empty house with noise. Thanks to all the babbling and jabbering on the various talk shows, I’d picked up new vocabulary. “Sure,” I said. “I can face my demons.”
* * *
We parked by the bridge, angling the car into a wide spot on the shoulder of County Road JG.
“Do you really want to do this?” Jean asked.
“You can stay here and keep warm.”
She sighed and opened the car door. All the heated air was immediately sucked out. Two above, the radio had said just before slipping into a Cibo Matto song.
We slid on our butts down the incline to the river, where we found a narrow path that had been formed by animal tracks and the multiple impressions of snowshoes. Snowshoes were a good idea; too bad I didn’t have any or know how to use them. We hadn’t even walked five feet before I tumbled through the crust of snow. I grabbed on to a bush and hauled myself up.
“How far do you plan on walking?” Jean asked.
I pointed to a big outcropping of rocks maybe a quarter mile away. “That far.”
We made it through the snow and brush with only a few more spills; then we climbed up onto the largest of the rocks. I was panting hard and sat down to rest. “Out of shape,” I said.
“No kidding. Your face is really red.” Jean packed a few snowballs and set them in motion, I leaned back on my arms and looked around. At this spot the river widened to the size of a small lake. No sign of the rapids and rocks that attracted thrill-seeking kayakers in spring and summer. Just a sheet of snow-covered ice dotted by a small patch of open water near the bridge.
“Doesn’t look that dangerous,” I said.
“You aren’t thinking of going out, are you?” She misjudged a toss and a snowball landed at my feet, exploding.
I shook my head. “Just looking.”
“Don’t look too long. Once we sit still we’ll cool down fast. The sun has disappeared.”
“The divers must have found his sled somewhere around there.” I pointed to a spot a few yards downriver from the bridge. The snow cover was white but shadowy, as if it were only a thin layer over something darker, something like black water. Why couldn’t they find him? How far could he have gone?
Jean was packing another snowball, but it fell apart in her hand. She gave up and hugged her knees. “It’s cold, Arden.”
“Then let’s keep moving. Let’s walk along the river.”
“I guess it’s not that cold.”
Someone was approaching from downstream, a bright-red splotch against the white-and-gray background. The figure waddled slightly in a snowshoe step. In a moment the red splotch was followed by a green splotch, also on snowshoes. The couple stopped with their backs to us. The taller figure pointed to something, then slowly turned and let his outstretched arm sweep upriver toward us. The arm dropped when the two were facing the bridge.
Al and Claire. I stood and waved.
They must both have been in good shape because neither was panting at all after sprinting the distance to the rock. I spotted a backpack on Claire, with the distinct outline of a Thermos. “Going on a picnic?”
They looked at each other. “Al was showing me some things,” she said.
“Like what?”
Al unbuckled his shoes and upended them in the snow, “Any more room up there?”
Claire did have a full Thermos and—veteran mother—cookies. It should have been a cheerful picnic, except it was obvious no one could forget the reason we were all drawn to the spot.
“I didn’t know you were searching too,” I said to Claire.
“My first time out. I had the day off, the weather was right, and Hannah is with friends. Al deserved some company.”
“Isn’t it sort of futile at this point?” asked Jean. “Most of it’s frozen solid.”
“Not really,” Al said. “Mix a little sun with some wind, and holes open. It only looks solid.” He shifted, crossing his legs. “That’s what fooled him,” he added softly.
“Did you come all the way from the park?” Jean asked.
“Just from Winker’s,” said Claire. “We went down as far as the dam; now we’re headed back up. It’s beautiful on this stretch of the river.”
A beautiful grave.
“If you’d been here a bit earlier you could have met Lee Mueller,” Al said.
“Who’s he?”
“She is a search-and-rescue specialist, Arden. She has a wonderful dog that’s trained for air-scent searching. The sheriff has called them out twice to search.”
“Hasn’t there been too much time and snow for tracking?” asked Jean.
Al shook his head. “An air-scent dog doesn’t track. It’s kind of grisly, though, how it does work.”
“How, Al?” I asked.
“Bodies give off gasses that rise through snow and water, even ice. The dog can scent those from a distance and follow them to the source.”
“Did the dog smell anything today, Al?” I asked.
“No, Arden.” He pulled up his long legs and laid his chin on his knees. “We’ve tried everything,” he whispered. “We can’t find him.”
Claire passed around the Thermos cup again and we took turns sipping. Russian tea, too sweet for my taste; bitter coffee would have been better.
Jean broke the silence. “I’d love to try your snowshoes,” she said to Claire in a voice that sounded way too cheerful for the gray day and dark moods. “Would you mind?”
“Not at all. Your boots should work fine in the bindings.”
“I’ll show you,” said Al, and he and Jean slid off the rock to the ground.
“Like this,” he said when they had the shoes bound to their feet. He made an exaggerated stepping motion, then started off down the trail, reverting to a normal step after a few feet. Jean bobbled her hands a few times, as if she were tossing something; it seemed to help her find her balance, for she quickly took off in perfect imitation of her guide.
“She’s got it. Amazing,” marveled Claire.
“She’s pretty agile; you should see her handle giant toothbrushes.” Claire shifted on the rock until she was facing me. “This is kind of macabre, isn’t it?”
“Picnicking at the graveyard? Yes.”
“I hoped you’d come see me this week.”
“Busy with schoolwork. How’s Hannah?”
“Good. She took the mirror to school for show-and-tell.”
“It’s one of a kind.”
I may not be the world’s most perceptive person, I’m probably even a little more self-absorbed than most, but I’m clever enough to sense when someone wants to say something and can’t quite get to it. Right now, Claire couldn’t get to it. She eyed me, then looked away, then looked back, all the time keeping her hands busy. Oh, she was keeping her mouth shut, but it was all she could do not to burst out. Help the lady, I thought. “What do you want to tell me?”
“Is it that obvious?”
“Yes.”
She picked at her fleecy sleeve. “I haven’t told my mother, or my sister, or…anyone.”
“What is it?” And why the urge to tell me? I wondered.
She had the saddest face I’ve ever seen, but then she was probably thinking the same about me. Claire extended a gloved hand, but we were too far apart and she let it drop. I had the cup and took another sip of the wretched stuff, something to do, a way to keep busy during her long, discomfiting silence.
She spoke: “I’m pregnant.”
God, hot tea sure burns when you snort it up your nostrils, which is exactly what I did. Not a very appropriate response to someone’s nightmare news, especially when the liquid ends up all over your face.
Claire laughed and handed me a tissue.
“That’s awful,” I said.
“Mostly, yes.”
“Scott’s?”
“Yes.”
How long did you know him? I wanted to ask. How stupid can two people be? I wanted to shriek. I said, “How far along, Claire?”
“About thirteen weeks.”
I counted back. Thanksgiving. I was obsessed with stuffing my first turkey, and big brother was making a baby. “Did he know?”
“Yes. I told him the night after his first accident.”
I jerked my head and the movement sloshed tea out of the cup onto my wrist. I emptied the cup into the snow.
“Well, that explains it.”
“What?”
“His mood. I thought he was depressed and scared by the close call. For days he just sat in the chair and growled. But it was you.” Obviously, I didn’t make her happier. “Oh, geez, I’m sorry,” I said. “What a dumb thing to say.”
“He didn’t seem angry about it around me. Of course it’s not going to thrill a guy—”
Understatement, I thought.
“—but he was pretty positive. He started to talk about living together and marriage.”
“Really?”
“Yes, really.”
“What an idiot,” I said softly. “Oh, no,” I said when I saw her look down and bite her lip. “I meant what an idiot to know you were pregnant and then go do this.” I waved my arm toward the river.
Claire nodded. “I’ve been so mad at him, Wall-banging, hair-pulling, pillow-pounding mad at him. I’d kill him…” She shook her head.
“If he weren’t dead.”
“Or if I didn’t love him so.”
Well, that admission let loose the tears. I handed back the clump of tissue and looked around uncomfortably. Stay or leave? Offer a comforting arm, or the comfort of solitude? Just how close did I want to get? Claire waved me away. “Al and Jean will be back soon. Go keep them away for a moment, okay?”
“Sure.”
“And don’t tell, please. I’m not ready yet.”
“Of course.” I slid down the rock and landed in a mound of snow, falling to my knees. I rose, brushed off, and walked along the trail.
Scott’s baby.
I swatted a bush, scattering snow and startling a small bird into flight. It flew out over the river, circled, swooped, and soared out of sight. How could you? I howled silently. Wall-banging, hair-pulling, pillow-pounding mad. Exactly.
The trail skirted the riverbank and I jumped off onto the ice. I kicked at it with my heel, sending snow spraying into an arc. Underneath, a sheet of blue-white ice with a hint of black. I kicked again, slamming my heel down on the ice. Kicked at it, and kicked at it, kicking hard at all that was trapped underneath. I moved to another spot and cleared snow with my boot. Was he here? I wanted his frozen, terrified face to appear, locked in the ice under my feet. I’d kick it.
“You stupid!” I shouted.
“Arden!” A voice called. Al or Jean or Claire, I couldn’t tell, it was just a voice.
“You stupid!” I screamed. Enraged. Exhausted. Horrified.
I jumped, letting my boots pound down hard.
“Arden, get back, are you crazy?”
A hairline crack appeared under my feet and water seeped through. I knelt and touched it, letting it soak through my glove. So cold. I rose and turned around and saw three frightened faces. Al was on the edge of the snowy bank. He held out an arm. “Come on back, Arden. Move slowly.”
Three beers, thin ice, cold water. What a stupid mistake, brother. You were always so smart, but now, just when you’re needed, you go for a ride in a blizzard and end up dead, an idiot’s death. And now you’ve left her alone to have a baby. You left me alone. You left—
Words are funny. Pick one over the other, no matter how close in meaning, and it can make a difference. Scratch or claw. Bite or nibble. Shriek or scream.
You died, or…you left.
A strong gust of wind blew up snow and rearranged clouds. A shot of sunlight broke through, then quickly disappeared. Just a brief moment of sun, but enough.
Illumination.
PART 2
CHAPTER 1
Al put a hand on my arm and coaxed me to solid ground just as the ice under me gave way. Cold water splashed over my right foot “Are you crazy?” he said. “Does craziness run in the family?”
I smiled at his scowl. “You’ve got to listen to me, because I’ve figured it all out.”
“You listen to me. We’re taking you home.”
Jean was there. “You’re shaking.”
“Of course she’s shaking,” Al snapped. “She dunked her leg in killer water.”
I looked down. Only my boot was wet and dark. “Let’s not exaggerate, Al.”
Jean nudged me up the trail. I stumbled and fell, and Al turned around and roughly hauled me up.
“Calm down,” I said cheerfully. “I’m okay.”
“I couldn’t believe my eyes,” he said as he continued walking. “There you were bouncing around out on the ice. Crazy. Stupid. Just like your brother.”
I grabbed the hem of his anorak and halted him. “Was he, Al? Was Scott Munro a stupid person? Before all this happened, would you have ever called him that?”
He sagged. “Of course not, Arden. Smartest guy I knew.”
“How many days have you been out here searching, Al?”
“Quite a few.”
“Trained search teams and divers, a high-tech helicopter, even a wonder dog. For nothing!”
“What do you mean?”
“All that time and effort, and has anyone found a body? Can’t you add two and two?” I looked at Jean and Claire. “Can’t anyone?”
“Get her to the car,” said Claire. “Now.”
“Don’t you see? He isn’t there!”
They glanced at each other; then Jean put her arm around me and nudged. “C’mon,” she said gently.
I absolutely wallowed in deep sleep, not waking until noon. Noon! How decadent. And so’s eating in bed, which was what I did as I drew up my list of clues. They were everywhere; how could I have missed them? Okay, maybe they weren’t exactly clues. Call them “indicators.”
I wrote it all down, scratching and rearranging the events and details. Everything had rushed at me yesterday during that moment on the ice. Get it straight, Arden. Think it through and get it straight. I’d show them how it happened. How I knew. Then they’d all listen.
CHAPTER 2
City Hall clamored with Monday-back-to-work noises. “Your name?” Police Chief Kent said. “You’re telling me you believe he faked his death because of your name?”
“A baseball card?” Deputy Kay leaned on the counter in the waiting room at County Services. “You say you know this because of a baseball card?”
“Ella Fitzgerald?” Peg Raymond hoisted her ass up on the desk at the Penokee Journal. “You say you know there’s a story because of Ella Fitzgerald?”
“That’s why you weren’t in school today?” asked Kady. “Are you nuts?”
This would be tough.
* * *
“I need your help, John.”
My lawyer looked hassled. He motioned me toward a chair and closed the door to his office. “Shouldn’t you be in school?”
“I’ve been working on something. I need your help.”
He snorted. “The runaway brother?”
“Yes. How did you know?”
“You’re kidding, aren’t you? You hit every law enforcement office in town, you go to the paper with this crazy idea, and you don’t think I’d hear about it?”
“John, I don’t think he’s dead. I want to look for him. No one will help. I want you to make something happen. If you make noise, they’ll file a missing-persons report.”
“No, they won’t. He’s not missing, Arden. Just dead and out of sight.”
“I want to find him.”
“We all do, Arden. And with luck we will. With any luck his frozen body will get pushed to the surface in an ice heave, or this spring the water will warm up and the
body will decompose and fill with gasses and float to the surface. And then we’ll find him.”
Tap-tap, tap-tap, tap-tap. Britt typed away in the outer office. “Arden, even if I thought it was possible for him to pull a stunt like this, I don’t see why he’d do it. Sure, Claire’s pregnant, we all know that now, thanks to you. But a guy can cope with that without running away.”
“Most guys his age haven’t been raising a kid for ten years. He must have been tired of it, John.” I was tired. I’d spent too much energy and time working on all these people. Listen to me, believe me—I’d all but shrieked in their faces. Dead end, again. “He must have been tired of me.”
“He wasn’t. Hell, you’d be gone in a year! Oh, Arden, don’t cry. No, on second thought, go ahead. Let it out. Scott always said you were a tough kid, but there have to be limits. First your parents, now this. You need to go spend a week crying it out.”
“I need your help.” I yanked a tissue out of the box on his desk and rubbed my face.
He sat back, hands clasped across his pin-striped stomach. “Okay—say he had motive to leave. How did he do it? Running away is logistically difficult. How did he dump the snowmobile without getting wet? How did he walk out of the woods and get away? Where did he go?”
“He could figure it out. It’s just the sort of challenge he loves, like putting together a car from scratch.”
“That so-called challenge, Arden, breaks a few laws. No way he’d do that; Scott was the straightest guy I ever knew.”
“What laws?”
“For starters—endangering law enforcement officers. The county won’t be happy about having staged a full-blown search.”
“I don’t think he’d care. He wanted out.”
“Not the guy I knew.” John shook his head. “Tough enough to pull off a disappearance, but what about after? How’s he going to live? Scott liked nice stuff, Arden. I don’t think he’d plot all this just to get away and end up being a bum.”
“I was thinking that maybe he stashed some away, in secret accounts.”
“Where’d he get it? There are no holes in his trust income and his salary went straight into the household account. I’ve been over it all. And consider this: Maybe he’d walk out on you and Claire, but leave the ’Cuda?”
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