Thin Ice

by Marsha Qualey

  “Probably not.”

  “Then I’m glad it wasn’t him. I heard Mom tell Grandma on the phone she wished it was him. She wished it was all over, she said.”

  I looked over my shoulder as we backed up onto the snow-packed road. “Dad never writes letters. He’s always too busy. He’s a neur-o-surgeon.” She said the long word carefully. “He lives in Phoenix. He sent this card. I got it yesterday.” She pulled the card out and opened it. “‘Have fun, sweetheart,’” she read slowly.

  “That’s nice.”

  “There’s something else,” she said. She pulled out a bill and waved it in the air. “A hundred dollars.”

  I shifted and hit the gas. “Cool.”

  “Mom gets so mad when he sends me big money.”

  “She does?” Keep talking, kid. I want to know everything.

  “We better not tell her, okay?”

  “Okay.”

  “So let’s spend it all.”

  * * *

  It’s not hard to blow a hundred bucks at the megamall. For starters, hitting all the rides three or four times makes a nice dent in the cash. It’s the biggest mall in the country, maybe the world, and it was packed with Saturday shoppers, mostly pale Midwesterners needing an escape from the long winter. And as always, there were quite a few people who came from even farther away. I heard what I think was German, French, and Spanish and I saw plenty of Japanese couples, all of whom seemed to be on some sort of honeymoon special.

  Lines moved slowly in Camp Snoopy, the indoor amusement park. We had long waits for the roller coaster and the other good rides. Hannah amused herself by working on a small handheld puzzle she’d bought at a toy store. I looked for bald heads. This wasn’t a conscious act, just habit.

  By midaftemoon I was beat. Three roller-coaster rides, four log-chute drops, three Mystery Mine rides, and miles of walking had taken a toll. We found an empty bench on the third floor and collapsed. Hannah opened her wallet and counted. “Seven dollars and thirty-five cents.”

  I’d dropped forty, which isn’t small change, but she’d spent over ninety-two dollars in a few hours. Was that some sort of a record? Probably not, but pretty good for a six-year-old.

  “Better leave enough for a present for your mom,” I advised.

  A bald biker dude in head-to-toe black leather strolled by, carrying three bags from Victoria’s Secret. Gifts, or for his own wardrobe? I laughed at the thought that maybe my brother had left home to go live like that guy.

  “What’s funny?” Hannah asked.

  “Nothing.”

  She followed my gaze and noticed the biker. “You shouldn’t laugh at people.”

  “Hannah,” I said, putting my arm around her, “it’s a good thing I like you. Otherwise, I’d think you were pretty obnoxious.”

  A mother of twin infants was getting frustrated trying to give her babies a snack as she sat on a narrow ledge around some fake greenery. I hauled Hannah up and signaled to the mother, letting her know she could have the bench. She moved over gratefully.

  Hannah led me to the escalators and we rode down two levels. The cacophony of mall music, rattling roller coaster, and thousands of jabbering people made talking impossible. She window-shopped, I dragged along. “What are you doing?” she asked at one point when I stood still and she walked on, her hand slipping out of mine.

  “Nothing, just looking,” I said. Couldn’t help it. Reflex, I guess. This was the busiest place I’d been to since he’d disappeared. Everywhere I turned, I saw guys who were the right height or had the same coloring. Guys alone, with friends, with children. For the millionth time since February, I wondered, Where is he? What is he doing? Is he alone?

  Hannah tugged on my sleeve. “How many rides do we have left?” We cut through the stream of people to get to a ticket scanner, ten points, the display flashed as it read our ride card.

  “Enough for one more each,” I said.

  She decided on the Mystery Mine again. We waited in line for twenty minutes, then enjoyed three minutes of spine-wrenching fun, strapped into rocking seats as we watched a stomach-dropping you-are-there movie about a ride through a mammoth mine.

  The lights went on. We blinked, unbuckled the restraints, picked up our bags, and exited with the crowd. I felt Hannah’s small hand hook on to my back pocket. Outside the theater in the crowded Camp Snoopy, her hand slipped off. I turned to find her and was jostled and pushed aside by a loud group of teenagers. “Hannah!” I called. I stood on tiptoes to look back into the crowd behind me.

  Then I saw him.

  Short, strong, square, in a plaid shirt, walking away purposefully. Getting away—again.

  “Scott!” I called. I followed, pushing through the teenagers who had doubled back and stopped to discuss something.

  “Bitch,” one of them said, and they moved together to block me.

  I hurried around them. Where was he? I rushed forward. A plaid shirt, for God’s sake! He never used to wear plaid. And he was here at the stupid megamall? He’d wanted freedom to come here?

  The plaid shirt and balding head bobbed in the crowd a few yards ahead of me. “Scott!” I called again.

  The crush of people lightened outside Legoland as families peeled off to take a break and play with the block displays. Plaid Shirt knelt down to tie his shoe. He stood, checked his watch, turned, and faced me.

  Not Scott.

  The stranger noticed me looking at him, took in my expression, and spoke. “You okay?”

  I breathed again. “I’m fine.” Someone passed behind me, knocking my shoulder. “I was looking for someone.”

  “Mommy!” a child whined.

  Oh, cripes. I wheeled around. Where was Hannah?

  At least a thousand people were jammed together between this spot and where I’d last seen her.

  I hurried back, calling her name, stopping and rising on my toes, trying to see, cursing my height.

  “Hannah!”

  People stared at me. “Can I help?” I heard as I pushed my way back toward the mine ride. Some people looked disdainful: A lost child? How careless.

  I found her exactly where I’d left her outside the mine-ride exit. She’d dropped her bags at her feet and was hugging herself. She looked fierce.

  “Arden,” she bellowed when she saw me. I went down on my knees and hugged her. It was a one-way hug; she was mad. “Where did you go?” she said. Her fragile, smooth-skinned six-year-old jaw was clenched. “You got away. I stayed here. I wouldn’t move. People pushed, but I stayed here.”

  “That was just right, Hannah. You did just right. I’m sorry.”

  “You lost me.”

  “I found you.”

  “Where did you go? What were you doing? I was scared. People pushed.”

  “I got swept away.”

  “You lost me.”

  “I didn’t lose you, Hannah, I didn’t lose you.”

  She collapsed into my arms then. “Where did you go?” she wailed.

  “I was looking at someone. Just looking. I wouldn’t lose you.” Not this, I whispered to myself, feeling her arms squeeze hard; I won’t lose this.

  “Stop it,” she said. “You stop looking!”

  “I will,” I said, smoothing her hair. “I promise, I’ll stop looking.”

  CHAPTER 23

  “Rose Vanaci, Investigator.”

  “This is Arden Munro.”

  “Sweetheart, how wonderful you called! I was just typing the weekly report. Nothing good, of course; I’d have called you, but I’m sharing some interesting things I’ve learned about a man in Minneapolis who counterfeits green cards. Not that it involves your brother, of course, but thanks to Phantom Scott I’ve got some helpful contacts for a few other skips I’m working on.”

  “I’ve decided that I want you to stop looking for him.” I could hear the soft whoosh of a chair cushion; she’d probably just sat down and leaned back.

  “Are you sure?”

  “I am.”

  “You�
�re the boss. I was just about to begin follow-up calls to the faxes I sent to all the area motels and rental mailbox stores. Memories are cold by now, but with patience we—”

  “Don’t bother. I feel like I don’t care anymore. He’s gone. I know he’s out there somewhere, but he’s gone. I want to stop looking.”

  “I’ll type this up as a final report, then. I’m sorry. I hate to be unsuccessful. I’m good at what I do, Arden, maybe the best. But I can’t perform miracles.”

  “Now I want something else, and it shouldn’t take a miracle.”

  “Yes?”

  “The rest of the fee I was allotted…I want to pay you for a different search. I want you to find my parents. I’ve given you their birth dates and some other background information. I’ve given you what I know.”

  She inhaled, taking a low, slow breath. “But they are dead.”

  “Of course they are. I meant that I want you to track down their lives. Everything you can find out about them. That’s what I want.”

  “Wonderful idea,” she said. “This will be fun.”

  I heard tapping on a keyboard. She was probably already starting a new file: Elizabeth Cahill and Conner Munro, dead and missing. Dead to the world. Missed by me.

  PART 3

  CHAPTER 1

  I can’t deny I’m a small-town girl. After just a few hours spent observing the slow flow of gawkers and shoppers at the Farmer’s Market around the capitol square, I’d seen plenty I’d never seen in Penokee.

  For example? Well, weird body piercing. Even in the backwoods of northern Wisconsin, pierced nipples, eyebrows, lips, and tongues are not unusual. But until visiting Madison, I’d never seen a pierced hand. More accurately, what I saw were several hoops the size of quarters pierced through the flange between the thumb and forefinger on a man’s right hand.

  I ask you, does this hamper typing speed?

  Then there were the two women who were trading off nursing babies, the brigade of acrobatic cheeseheads performing on the capitol steps, a balloon artist who specialized in constructing hot-pink endangered animals, and a woodcarver who fashioned lovely whistles and gave them away with safe-sex brochures.

  Madison, Wisconsin: sixty-four square miles surrounded by reality.

  My reality was a fresh sunburn. That and the fact that I had now apparently concluded my career as chauffeur and straight guy for the world’s best fraternal twin juggling duo. Kady and Jean had followed the cheesehead brigade as the hired entertainment and were doing their usual postshow autographing in the middle of a crowd of sticky, hot children. I had just finished my usual postshow equipment inventory and packing. Nice to be of service.

  I’d finished summer school in early July, and we’d been off and on the road since then. Madison was our eleventh gig in four weeks and the last ever. I hadn’t meant to be doing this. I even recalled telling them “no way.” But that was during the winter, and when I found out in May that Kady had gone ahead and sent their applications in and they’d been accepted for several jobs, I couldn’t refuse the request to drive. I owed them at least that as I’d sure done my best at rearranging their lives over the winter; worse, I’d forgotten to give either of them a graduation present.

  “All done?” I asked hopefully when they dragged themselves over to where I was guarding the red cases of paraphernalia.

  “One of the little wretches ripped my sleeve,” snapped Jean,

  “It can be fixed, it’s on the seam,” consoled her sister,

  “Why bother? I won’t need it again.”

  “Best show ever!” I said, sprinkling cheer wherever I went.

  “You say that every time,” Jean said. “I wish you’d stop.”

  A pigeon swooped down, landed, and waddled determinedly toward my feet. I curled my toes into the leather of my sandal. “No snack for you, mister,” I shouted, and swatted the air. He cocked his head, eyed me, and pooped.

  “That’s a sign,” said Kady. “I’ll find the Chamber guy, get the money, and then let’s get out of here.” She handed me her autograph pad and pen and walked toward an office building across Pinckney Street.

  Jean and I hauled the three cases to the car. The ’Cuda had attracted the usual admiring Neanderthals, and two of them were actually stroking the gleaming hood. When they saw a female unlock the trunk they stood erect, hitched their jeans, and grinned.

  “Nice car,” said the redhead.

  “My grandmother’s,” I answered. “So long, now.”

  “Maybe we could all go for a drive,” said the blond.

  “Grandma wouldn’t be happy; she needs it back for a nursing-home outing. Good-bye, boys.”

  They took the hint and left, though they might have turned on a dime if they’d seen what happened next, “Wretched audience, wretched day,” Jean said. She dumped the case she was carrying into the trunk, then peeled off her billowy red blouse and bloomers. “What are you doing stripping in public?” I screeched. “I just got rid of those guys.”

  “It’s hot, I’m sweaty, I’ve got shorts on, and this is a sports bra; plenty of women are wearing less.”

  I tried to hustle her into the car, but she resisted. Sensibly, I had to admit, as the interior was dangerously hot after three hours in the sun. I’d wanted to leave the top down, but had learned my lesson during the gig in Spooner, when every bird in the area had left a flyover message on the seats.

  Kady sprinted toward us, smiling and waving an envelope. She pulled up when she saw us leaning against the car and not speaking to each other. “What’s wrong?” she said.

  I tipped my head toward her sister. “We have an attitude.”

  “Attitude I can handle, but not nudity. C’mon, Jean, I can just see the headline: ‘Children’s Act Arrested for Indecent Exposure.’”

  Jean flipped off her sister and swore under her breath.

  “That’s pleasant,” said Kady. “What do you say we find an ATM so I can deposit this, then get an early supper before we leave?”

  I nodded, but before I could speak, Jean pounded on the car’s hood. “It’s just that it’s over,” she said. “The thing I most love to do is finished. We’ll never do this again, Kady.”

  “Sure we will. I’ll be home at Christmas. You can book something.”

  “We wouldn’t be any good. How can we practice when you’re in California and I’m down here at school? Admit it now: It’s over.” For once, Kady had no answer. It was over.

  Jean pulled on a T-shirt and we started down to the State Street mall, disagreeing on every restaurant we saw. Fifteen minutes later we’d passed up Himalayan, Vietnamese, French, and Italian food and were buying hot dogs for me and salads for them from a vendor on the student union terrace at the university. We sat at a table overlooking a lake.

  Kady lifted a limp piece of lettuce, then dropped it to slap at a mosquito. “I sure am glad we did this instead of sitting in a cool restaurant.”

  I didn’t mind; the view was great and my hot dogs were delicious. Jean, her head buried in a day-old newspaper she’d found on the table, seemed not to hear; then she snapped the paper closed. “I don’t believe this.”

  “What?” I asked.

  She slumped in her seat and closed her eyes. “I’ve got to go.”

  “Go where?” Kady asked.

  Jean opened the paper and handed it to her sister.

  “Look at that: Michael Moschen, two shows tomorrow in Chicago.”

  “No lie?” Kady pushed her salad aside and reached for the newspaper. “Where does it say? Oh, I see it.” She scanned the article, then set the paper down. “That would be some show. Too bad we can’t go.” I took it and tried to spot the item that had excited them.

  “Who says we can’t?” Jean asked. “Chicago isn’t far.”

  “No way, Jean.”

  “Why not? Kady, it’s Michael Moschen.”

  “I’d love to see him as much as you would, but we’re supposed to go home. They expect us.”

  “I’m cluel
ess,” I chirped. “I can’t find it here. Who’s Michael Mo-shun?”

  Jean glared at her sister but spoke to me. “Just the world’s best juggler. A solo act. He’s perfect, he’s beyond human.”

  “We saw a documentary on him a couple of years ago,” Kady explained. “It was almost depressing, he was so good.”

  “I need to get you two home,” I said. “I promised. It may not be far to Chicago, but it eats up two more days. Besides, I’ve never driven in that big a city, and I have to pick up Hannah at the airport when she flies in from Phoenix.”

  “That’s not until Tuesday,” said Jean. “Plenty of time. I want to do this, you guys.”

  “We can’t,” said Kady.

  I sat back and started on my second hot dog. Let them fight it out.

  “I want to do this,” Jean repeated. “For once in my life, I really want something. Usually it’s laid-back Jean who always gives in and lets you two have your way. Kady the boss and Arden the spoiled orphan; you guys always get what you want. Now it’s my turn. And I want this.”

  “It means at least one extra night in a hotel and gas and food,” said Kady. “That’ll blow what we earned today.”

  “I don’t care.”

  Kady looked at me. I shrugged. Jean had a point about who usually won. So, let her have one.

  “Then you have to call Mom and Dad,” Kady said to her sister. “We’re expected home tonight.”

  “You,” said Jean. “You’re so much better at that sort of thing.”

  “No way. This is your scheme, so you do the dirty work.”

  The same thought hit them both at the same instant and their faces, one round and sunburned, one long and tan, turned to me.

  “Why not?” I asked, already digging out my longdistance calling card. “After all, they always liked me best.”

  CHAPTER 2

  If you do it just right you can cruise through a toll without stopping. The trick is in how and when you toss the change into the machine. If you do it too soon, you miss and have to try again. Throw too hard and the coins bounce around too long on their way down. A soft toss means they slide down the chute in slo-mo. But with the right toss out the window, the coins are gulped and the booth arm lifts before the speedometer hits zero.