Thin Ice

by Paige Shelton

  That had been poor Hailey’s biggest mistake, visiting a client in person when they’d asked her to. It had been a bloody, hard-fought battle, but she’d come out alive, and mostly a better person. She’d still have some flaws to work through, but who didn’t?

  “Is that full-time?” Loretta asked.

  I shook my head. “Not really. I can set my own hours. Sometimes I have a few customers, other times none. I’ve made it work and I live simply, don’t need a constant income.”

  “Why are you here?” Willa asked. “How’d you get the scar on your head?”

  I didn’t know they’d seen it. I resisted an urge to rearrange the cap.

  “I fell off a horse,” I said. “No real brain damage but the doctors had to go in and get rid of some accumulating blood, a subdural hematoma. And I’m here because my apartment flooded.” I shrugged. “I was completely displaced until the entire building is rebuilt. I read a book about Alaska not long ago, and I thought it would be fun to spend some time here. After the accident, bucket list things have become more important to me.”

  “Goodness, when it rains it pours.” Viola’s eyes held a suspicious squint. I ignored it.

  “Until August?” Willa asked.

  “Well, I heard I need to leave by August fifteenth if I don’t want to risk getting stranded, but maybe a year here wouldn’t be so bad.”

  “I don’t want to be here a year,” Loretta said. “But I don’t get to decide. All of the three of us are in the same boat.”

  “I don’t mind it,” Willa said.

  “I miss Anchorage, but I like the wilderness, even in the winter,” Trinity said. Surely, she would blow away in a semi-strong winter wind.

  I wanted to ask about their crimes, but not quite yet. Over some more un-poisoned meals as we all got to know each other better maybe, but not yet.

  A familiar sense of camaraderie came over me. I didn’t know these women and they were criminals, but I didn’t immediately dislike any of them, even Willa. Until Levi Brooks, most of the criminals I’d met had had some redeeming qualities. They weren’t all bad people; some just made bad choices, some were so pinned in one of life’s corners that they couldn’t see any other choices. I wasn’t ever a cheerleader for a proven lawbreaker, but I’d always tried to understand them. Maybe that’s why I could write the books I wrote.

  Some criminals were bone-deep bad though. I shivered and hoped no one noticed. Maybe that’s why I’d eavesdropped; it was good to get to know these criminals. Old habits, even those I’d learned by observing Gramps all those years ago, died hard.

  Maybe there was a psychologist in town I could talk to.

  The door to the dining room flew open and I wondered if the wind took all the doors, even the inside ones, or if forceful openings were just the way of Benedict folks.

  He should have been carrying an ax—was my first thought when I saw him. Seemingly cut from the trunk of a large tree himself, his grizzled presence filled a space that hadn’t seemed available before he stepped into it. He brought in scents of both summer and winter—strawberries and snow—and I wondered if he could actually see out of his grimy glasses. Like Viola, he had a gun holstered around his hip. He also wore jeans and boots, but his were much more worn than hers.

  “Chief?” Viola said.

  “Hey,” Loretta said, sitting up straight and forcing a strained smile his direction, as if she was rehearsing for the role of teacher’s pet. She wasn’t going to get the part.

  Willa looked down at her plate and Trinity seemed to become more nervous, her small fingers twisting and twitching together on the table, next to her plate.

  “Vi,” the man said with a rich baritone. Like Donner, he had a beard, but his was gray, short, and not so thick as to cover his chapped lips. “I need to talk to our new resident.”

  Viola looked at me, sent me a glance like she’d been expecting this meeting, and nodded her head toward him. “Go on to my office.”

  The police chief seemed to know where we were supposed to go, so I just followed his wide body. He slipped off the hat he’d been wearing, exposing his short, unruly gray hair, a shade darker than his beard. Inside the office, he closed the door behind us and directed me to take one of the chairs. The room was messy with papers and notebooks everywhere. I wondered if Viola was also a writer; the mess reminded me of my own office back in St. Louis. There were only two chairs in the room. I took one and Gril sat in the one behind the desk.

  I took a deep breath and let it out. I expected him to apologize for Viola’s mistake of allowing me to book a room at the halfway house, and then maybe offering me help in finding another place to stay. In my mind I lined up all my lies and hoped I wouldn’t have to tell him any new ones. Keep it simple, if possible.

  “I’m Grilson, Gril, Samuels, Benedict police chief.” He extended his hand over the desk.

  “Beth Rivers.” We shook.

  Then he sat back and spoke quietly. “It’s okay. I know who you are. I know what you’ve been through, Ms. Fairchild.”

  It wasn’t my given name, but it’s who I’d been for so long that it felt right to me, and fit better than Beth Rivers. I didn’t know how the police chief knew who I was, or what he was going to do with that information, but it was in the next second that I became sure my reactions were off, my emotions still stirred up and going in the wrong directions because of Levi Brooks’s violence.

  After the chief revealed that my secrets weren’t secret after all, I had a complete and uncontrollable emotional breakdown.

  Five

  He let me cry. I didn’t wail, but I did some sobbing and sniffing. Messy stuff. But I couldn’t have stopped myself if I’d wanted to. I’d cried—I’d freaked out—more than once since Levi took me, but there had always been something wary to the release, something reining it in. Yes, I’d let some of it out, but I always wondered—was Levi there watching me, peering around a tree, through a window, witnessing how deeply his damage had gone? Was I giving him more of what he wanted? Here, I felt like he hadn’t caught up to me yet. I let it all out.

  Of course, I was sure that later I would be embarrassed by my behavior in front of Gril, but for those minutes, it felt wonderful, cleansing, powerful even. Still.

  “I’m sorry, Chief,” I said as he handed me a tissue.

  “It’s okay. You’ve been through a lot. It’s okay.” His tone was matter-of-fact.

  I blinked at him. If I’d made him uncomfortable, he didn’t show it. He’d been stoic and still, watching me, but patiently looking away too. He’d taken off his glasses and wiped them on the flannel shirt he wore underneath his official coat, CHIEF embroidered over his heart. However, the “C” was frayed, making the word almost look like HIEF. Despite his efforts, the glasses were still grimy as they magnified his eyes.

  “How did you know?” I finally asked after about ten long minutes.

  “Detective Majors from St. Louis called. I thought you knew she was going to give me a heads-up.”

  “Oh.” She hadn’t mentioned to me that she was going to call anyone. She’d promised to keep my secret. Maybe she hadn’t decided to make the call until after she’d dropped me off at the airport—thinking someone should know. “I … I’m just getting … If Detective Majors told me she was calling you, I didn’t catch it.”

  “Call me Gril. Everyone does. You’ve been through a lot. Frankly, and in an ironic way I suppose, it’s why I didn’t protest when I heard you were staying at Benedict House. Viola is good with a gun, and the current residents are harmless.” His eyebrow quirked, and he frowned. “I think. I would like to get you someplace else, but this is the only option. It’s a good option. For now.”

  “Does Viola know who I am?”

  “No, and I’m not telling anyone, including my small staff. It will just be you and me. And, you’ve done a good job. Using a pen name to write your books was wise, fortuitous probably, and you really look different than the picture on your website. Hank has already spread
the news about the scar on your head, though, so what’s going to be the story there?”

  “Of course. Small town. I fell off a horse.” My housemates hadn’t seen the scar. They’d probably just heard about it.

  While on a brief layover in Seattle, I’d seen my latest book as I’d walked past an airport gift shop, on a front display. Elizabeth Fairchild, and her long, smooth, and sophisticated brown hair, smiling back at me from the top of the display. Perfect eye makeup. Nice lip gloss. Even then, I hadn’t recognized her, just as much as I hadn’t recognized my reflection yesterday. She wasn’t who I really was either, but now I wondered who I’d turn out to be.

  “Got it.” He looked at me a long moment. I had no sense that he was hesitant to ask any question he wanted to ask, but instead he paused because he didn’t want me to feel interrogated. He was treading lightly. Lots of people had been doing that lately. I’d never experienced it before and it made me feel weak. I straightened my shoulders, hoping to override whatever pity I’d drawn from the crying. He finally continued. “The kidnapping and your escape were big news. After it was reported that you were going to recover, not much else was mentioned, but all the pictures they put out there … you still had brown hair.”

  I nodded. “Old publicity pictures.” I hesitated and then took off the cap. “My natural color until this became my natural color. I was coherent enough to express how much I wanted to keep my condition somewhat mysterious. The police agreed. My publisher and everyone there tried to keep things quiet. In fact, we were all hoping that my optimistic diagnosis wouldn’t be released to the press for a while, but it became apparent pretty quickly that I was going to recover. This color,” I pointed at my head, “happened on its own. Trauma can do that sometimes, or so the doctors said.”

  “Huh. I guess I’ve heard of that. Hair going white. I didn’t think it was a real thing though, just some urban myth or something. Yours looks blond, not gray.”

  “That’s what my brain surgeon said; I thought she was only making me feel better. I don’t know if it’s a permanent change, but we’ll see. The haircut is my own.”

  Gril’s frown deepened. “Damn, that scar…”

  “It’s healing very well. No outside stitches. Staples removed. Everything else is on the inside. No permanent issues, though that’s a complete miracle. I got surgery soon enough after the injury that I was saved from brain damage, and death, of course. A few headaches for a while.” I shrugged. “But I should be fine in a month or so.”

  “Unbelievable. Detective Majors asked what sort of medical personnel you’d have access to. I’m afraid not much. You’ll have to go to Juneau for anything extensive, or Anchorage maybe. We’ve got two folks in the area who might help a little, a real doctor who moved here a few years back, and a native Tlingit man who knows herbal and natural remedies. He knows his stuff, but it might not be the stuff you need. That’s the best we’ll be able to do for you. If you need to get to Juneau or Anchorage, you should go before winter sets in.”

  I put the cap back on. “I might try to get a CT scan in a month or so, but it’s not required. We’ll see how I feel. I might need help with someone prescribing the scan.” Gril nodded as if he could get that done. “I’ve covered my tracks pretty well, I think, but the scar will probably always be obvious. The subdural hematoma was reported in the news, so there’s a chance my kidnapper knows I had surgery on my head, but we can’t be sure. I’ll work on a better haircut, or a wig if necessary.”

  He shook his head slowly. “The news said you escaped on your own.”

  “I jumped out of the van…,” I began, but my throat tightened again. “I’m not sure how yet, or why I hadn’t tried before three days into him having me. The memories of what happened, and the stalking beforehand, they’re coming back but much still isn’t clear. That sort of amnesia can happen with head injuries or psychological trauma. I got a twofer. I do remember a brown nineteen-seventies-ish van, but I don’t remember what my kidnapper looked like. I remember his voice though, or I think I do. And, I think he’d been stalking me for years. But, I can’t even be sure of that.” I cleared my throat. “I also knew his name. When I became coherent, the name that came to me, without a doubt, was Levi Brooks. I’ve never been so sure of anything. That at least gave the police a starting point in searching for him. However, that information isn’t being released either. Not yet, at least.”

  Gril leaned forward, his arms falling onto stacks of paper on the messy desk. “I’m so sorry.”

  I took a deep rattled breath and nodded.

  “I think you were probably safe down there,” he nodded southward, “and you would be protected by the police, but I understand the need to hide. You were smart to get here like you did. This is a good place to not be noticed, or maybe just to recover, give yourself some time.”

  “I was scared enough to try to think clearly. I covered my tracks using items in the hospital gift shop. I hope I’ve managed it.”

  “Research?” he said weakly. “I’ve read a couple of your books. You know a great deal about hiding and running from bad people, covering tracks. 37 Flights scared me for days, in a good way, of course.”

  I was surprised the man who might have been cut from an Alaskan spruce or maybe a glacier, instead of being born like a normal human, had read any of my books. Sure, men read my books, but this wasn’t one I would picture. “Well, it’s different in practice than in research, but we’ll see, I guess. Frankly, Chief—Gril, I have no idea if I’ve done anything correctly. I just knew what I was compelled to do, and … here I am.”

  Gril leaned back in the chair again and inspected me another moment. “Detective Majors said you’re one of the smartest people she’s ever met, that you have experience in law enforcement.”

  I laughed once. “She was trying to make me sound much better than I am. I was a secretary for my grandfather and his staff back in a small town, Milton, Missouri. Gramps was the town police chief. I was good with numbers and crime scene measurements. I was able to help with some of that is all. I didn’t go to college. I’m a good secretary though, and I suppose my typing skills have helped with my writing.”

  “I suppose. And, well, college does not a smart person always make.” Gril smiled, still with sympathy.

  I cleared my throat again and sat up even straighter. “When you talked to Detective Majors, did she have any new information about the case?” My hands became icy. I was afraid of the answer to that question every time I asked it, and it always left me cold with anticipation.

  The irony that I’d run to Alaska, a town in the shadow of glaciers, wasn’t lost on me.

  “I’m afraid there was nothing new to report. I did ask.”

  I nodded. Still cold.

  “I’m glad you’re safe, and I have an idea. Do you feel like you could come with me?” Gril asked.

  “Sure,” I said after I hesitated. I had a genuine fear of going with someone to a place I didn’t know, even if that someone was a police officer and a decent guy who’d let me cry in front of him. I didn’t think I would ever get over my new reflexive fear of strangers, but maybe that was a good thing.

  “It’s all right. I think you’ll like it,” he said.

  “Where are we going?”

  “Not far.”

  I didn’t have to explain my puffy eyes and red nose to anyone. Gril and I left Viola’s office and then Benedict House, stepping out into bright sunshine and cool, on the verge of cold, air without seeing anyone else. Gril handed me some sunglasses when we were inside his truck.

  “It’s bright right now, but it’ll rain soon.”

  “It doesn’t look like rain.” I took the glasses and put them on. The inside of the truck was similar to Donner’s and I was once again taken back in time. I suddenly wanted my own old truck. Or my grandfather’s.

  “It always rains. You can count on it. Did the sun keep you up late?”

  I had to think a moment. I’d forgotten that the sun set late this time o
f year in this part of the world, around ten o’clock. “I was so tired. A spotlight might not have kept me up.”

  “Glad you got some rest.” Gril pulled the truck away from the muddy curb, the engine growling like it was happy to be on its way.

  I nodded. “Can I ask you a question?”

  “Sure.”

  “The man who gave me a ride yesterday mentioned … was there a murder?” I said as Gril took a quick turn onto one of the unpaved roads that led toward the woods. It looked smoother than it rode. I had to brace myself for bumps. Like Hank with the plane, though, Gril seemed to instinctively know how to miss the biggest potholes.

  “Oh. There was a death. Maybe suicide, maybe murder. We’re investigating.” He looked at me. “No, trust me, it has nothing to do with you. I didn’t even connect the timing with your arrival. I’m sure there’s no correlation.”

  “What happened?”

  “One of our residents was found dead inside her cabin. It was … we thought maybe a suicide, but we’re not so sure.”

  “What was the COD? I’m sorry.” I shook my head. The official terminology sounded oddly phony from me. “What happened?”

  “No problem. GSW, gunshot wound.” He sent me a knowing lift of an eyebrow. “We’re bringing in a medical examiner from Juneau. She’ll be here later today. Feel like polishing off those crime writer and secretarial skills and helping out?”

  The first words that came to me were: It would take a lot of polish. I didn’t say them aloud though, even if they were true. It had been a while. But I quickly came to the conclusion that being in the middle of the investigation of something that kept setting off alarm bells inside my head might be a good way to silence some of them.

  Did I really think this … whatever it turned out to be might have something to do with me or Levi Brooks? I couldn’t give myself an unequivocal “no,” even if a part of me knew that was irrational. Alarm bells were alarm bells and they usually rang the loudest when you thought they shouldn’t be ringing at all.