Thin Ice Read online

  “Have you started writing your books yet?”

  “I’m going to try again today.”

  “That would be good. Jump in, see what happens, and call me if you need me.”

  “I will. Thank you.”

  “I can talk more, I don’t have to hang up yet.”

  I thought a moment. “I’m good for now, Dr. Genero, but I’ll call back if I need to.”

  “All right. Take care, Beth.”

  “You too.”

  I disconnected the call and then immediately dialed Detective Majors.

  I was disappointed when the call went to voicemail this time, and I left a message.

  I put the phone into my pocket, found the moose cap, and checked the time. Breakfast should be just about ready, and I was starving.

  Fifteen

  Willa was still the cook, and waffles and bacon filled serving platters on the table in front of us. Viola randomly chose one of each of the foods and leveled a plate toward Willa. She survived the taste test and we all dug in. Loretta and I shared a look, but we didn’t let it linger. Viola was too observant to let any look linger. Besides, my attention was almost completely on the food. I ate an inordinate amount again.

  Daytime at the Benedict House, the outside light automatically made the atmosphere cheerier, the criminals less criminal-like. However, Viola was still her intimidating self. Even though there wasn’t as much strain this morning as there had been yesterday, she spent much of the meal deep in thought, maybe distracted.

  I enjoyed the food and finally got to a point where I didn’t think I would fade away from hunger. I knew I might ruin the easygoing mood, but I was okay with that.

  “Hey,” I said, garnering everyone’s attention, “who here was friends with Linda Rafferty?”

  “That would be only me,” Viola said dryly. “The three other women in this room are only here temporarily and haven’t lived here long enough to make such friendships. Why?”

  “Have the police determined if it was suicide or murder?” I asked.

  “Suicide,” Viola said quickly.

  “Really?” I hadn’t expected that answer. “For sure?”

  “For sure. I talked to Gril late last night. He got some information back from the medical examiner from Juneau. Something about blood spatter measurements. But it’s confirmed.” Viola sent Trinity a glare that made me think that the determination of the cause of death was the only reason Viola hadn’t shot the swift-fingered Trinity.

  Or that Gril hadn’t arrested her.

  I was still curious though. “Trinity, what was the argument you and Linda had? What was it, a day or two before she died?” No need to beat around the bush if all gossip spread around Benedict with the same speed as the gossip about me had.

  Viola sent me a long, dark look. Willa put her fork down and seemed genuinely curious. And, Loretta and I avoided looking at each other, which probably only made it more obvious as to how I’d learned about said argument.

  “Oh,” Trinity said meekly. She sent a flittering glance at Viola before she looked at me. “It was absolutely nothing. She thought I’d taken her wallet.” Trinity laughed. “Blame it on one of the criminals, you know.”

  “Why were you the one she blamed? Why not the other two?” I asked.

  “Because I was the one sitting behind her at the Saloon. You know those booths over there?”

  “I was in there yesterday.”

  “Right, well, we were back-to-back.” Trinity looked at Viola. “And I was only having a soda because I’m not allowed to drink alcohol but there aren’t many choices where to go in this town if you want a soda.” She turned back to me. “Anyway, we were sitting back-to-back and at some point, her purse fell to the floor. I reached down and helped her pick things up.” Trinity shrugged. “When she went to pay, her wallet was missing. Thought I took it. I can see why she might have thought so, but I didn’t take it. She chased me out and yelled at me out in the middle of the street. It was embarrassing.”

  “I see,” I said, watching her body language. It didn’t tell me anything. She seemed calm and not defensive, if still mousey, trying to fold in on herself, make herself smaller than she really was. I looked at Viola, who was still watching Trinity too. I’d talk to her later. Is this why she’d hurried out of the Petition, to talk to Trinity about this argument, yell at her? Did they yell at each other?

  “But,” Trinity said, “it sounds like everyone was worried about the argument for no reason. Linda Rafferty killed herself. Unless it was because she thought I was lying about her wallet, then I had nothing to do with her death—if that’s what everybody was thinking, and it sure seems like maybe it was.”

  Viola shook her head.

  “That sounded … wrong. Sorry,” Trinity said.

  “Did she ever find her wallet?” Willa asked, but I noticed she kept her head down, didn’t look at anyone.

  “I have no idea,” Trinity said.

  I looked at Viola, but she might not know either. She didn’t look at me. If Linda had killed herself, the case, as it was, was now closed.

  * * *

  Everyone went their own direction after breakfast. My bike had been stored next to the front desk in the lobby. I’d walked by it the night before but hadn’t noticed that someone had wiped it clean. I looked around a moment but there was no one to thank.

  I grabbed my backpack filled with my laptop, scanner, and two more burner phones. I slung the heavy pack over my back and carried the Olympia under my arm as I climbed aboard the bike, balancing the typewriter on the bar in front of me. I’d need a basket, at least. I’d pocketed some apple slices from breakfast, but the horses weren’t around when I left downtown.

  I quickly decided it’d be a miracle if I made it to the Petition in one piece.

  It was cool and cloudy, but thankfully not raining. I recognized two trucks I’d seen parked on the street the day before, but I didn’t know who they belonged to. I didn’t see Donner’s truck. I peered toward the Saloon, where the neon OPEN light was illuminated. I might check in on Benny later.

  As I pedaled down the road toward the woods, I caught a glimpse of Willa walking around the corner of the Mercantile. Her arms were crossed in front of her and a look of irritation downturned her face. She’d been fine at breakfast. I stopped the bike but was far enough away that she’d have to look up to notice me. I didn’t call out but watched as she yanked open Benedict House’s door and disappeared inside.

  I had no idea why she seemed upset. I decided I didn’t need to know.

  It was an anxiety-riddled ride to the Petition. I felt exposed. I felt stupidly out of shape, ridiculous as I maneuvered around the dirt road’s divots and fallen foliage. No one was watching me, but it felt like the world was. I didn’t know what parts of “all the wildlife” lurked behind branches, but no animals showed themselves. If they were watching, they were probably too amused to attack.

  By the time I was inside the leaning walls, I was relieved to be there, happy to be behind a locked door, and grateful to get to work, occupy my mind.

  With an energy that had eluded me for weeks, I cleaned, organized, and filed. I found an old boom box and a drawer full of seventies CDs, and played a soundtrack I hadn’t heard in years. As 38 Special and the Doobie Brothers serenaded me, I put the office all the way together, setting up my typewriter and laptop on the desk that faced the door. No one could come in without me seeing them. The one window would be to my side, no longer to my back.

  It’s not that I expected Levi Brooks to break down the door or peek through the window, but if he did, I’d hopefully see him in time to fight back.

  Remnants of Donner’s lecture rang in my mind, preparedness for the wilderness. He hadn’t mentioned self-defense. I’d thought about my lack of defensive skills since waking up in the hospital. Could Donner help me with those? What about shooting a gun? As I prepared to get to work, a new resolve built in my gut. I had much I wanted to do, to learn, to keep myself safe, not
just run away to Alaska.

  Just as I fired up my laptop, someone rattled the locked doorknob and then knocked.

  “Hey! I have an announcement! Open up.”

  As I went to answer the door, I wondered about adding a peephole.

  I unlocked and opened it. A middle-aged woman held a piece of paper in the air. “What the hell? Why is the door locked? I have a knitting class.”

  “Come on in,” I said.

  She introduced herself. Serena Hollister had lived in Benedict for twelve years, having come from Seattle. Her husband had beaten her one too many times and she’d needed a place to hide. She told me the story so matter-of-factly that I almost spilled my secrets to her. For an instant it seemed like the right thing to do. Instead, I just told her I was sorry for what she’d been through.

  She shrugged and said it had turned out okay and that he was dead now.

  I envied the outcome.

  “I’ve been knitting since I moved here. I was told it would help me get through some of the lonelier hours. I’ve never been lonely, but I’m not sure if that’s because of the knitting or something else.” She pushed up some heavy glasses. “I never married again. Went on a date with Benny but realized I’m not a lesbian no matter how much I like her, so we just stayed friends. I’m happy. Happier than I ever thought I could be, was happy here even before my husband died. There’s just something about this place. It works for me.”

  “That’s great. I’m jealous. I hope I find that kind of peace someday.”

  “What are you running from?”

  “Nothing. I just wanted to see this part of Alaska.”

  Serena smiled. “Sure. Whatever you say. And the door was locked … why?”

  “I just forgot.” I shrugged.

  “Uh-huh. Anyway, can you put this in your next edition, about my knitting classes? It’s different nights every week and I’m tired of trying to get ahold of everyone to tell them when it is. Here’s the next six weeks’ schedule. I’ll be glad the Petition is back.”

  “Sure.” I looked down at the torn piece of paper and decided I could interpret the scribbles. “How many people come to the class?”

  “Up to ten or so.”

  “How do I sign up if I’m interested?”

  “Just come.” Serena shrugged. “We’re not too formal.”

  “How much do you charge?”

  “Just for the yarn. And the ferry trip to Juneau to pick it up. Turns out to be about ten dollars a class, but that’s different every time. You don’t have to pay right away. I can bill you.”

  I wanted to know how she paid her own bills but I didn’t ask.

  She answered anyway. “I work at the visitors’ center in the summer. I make enough. My cabin is long paid for. Turns out my ex had some money. We weren’t divorced so I got it when he kicked the bucket. Win-win, I say.”

  “I agree.”

  “Oh!” She rubbed her finger under her nose. “We’re down one. Lost a member. Tragically. A few days ago. We still don’t have all the details.”

  “Linda Rafferty?”

  “Yeah.” One of her eyebrows rose.

  “I heard. Did you know her well?”

  “We all know each other, some.”

  “I heard that Gril determined it was suicide.”

  Serena’s suspicious eyes gave me a long once-over. Whether she’d put together she was talking to “the press,” I couldn’t tell. But she didn’t know me. I was the outsider, the new girl. I waited and was surprised when she continued.

  “No. Linda Rafferty didn’t kill herself. Gril will figure it out.”

  “I think that is what he figured out.”

  “No. I don’t care what you’ve heard, she didn’t kill herself.”

  “What makes you so sure?”

  Serena laughed once. “You writing an article or something?”

  “Maybe.”

  We looked at each other another long moment.

  “Last week, she came over to my house. She was excited about a baby blanket pattern she found. She was hoping to get the yarn for it. Wondered if I’d pick it up on my next run into Juneau.”

  “She had plans.”

  Serena shook her head. “It was more than that. She had a baby … I mean, there was an important baby in her life. One that was going to be born in six months. She was excited.”

  “Grandchild?”

  “That’s what I asked. But she didn’t answer. Who would hide a grandchild though? Most people can’t stop talking about something like that.”

  I thought about my mom. She’d be happy for me, but maternal instinct didn’t run deep in her bones. She wouldn’t make much of a babysitter. But maybe I was underestimating her. And, Serena was correct, most women would be thrilled about a new baby in their life, particularly a grandchild.

  “Any chance she was the pregnant one?” I asked.

  “She was in her early sixties.”

  That was about where I’d put George. I wondered again about Linda and Donner’s relationship. “Did you know anything else about her family?”

  Serena shook her head and then looked off toward the door briefly. “Nothing.”

  “Did she have any close friends here in Benedict, closer than others?”

  “No one more than anyone else, but lately it seemed like she’d been spending time with one of Viola’s girls.”

  “Which one?”

  “Mean-looking one. Short hair, always a sour expression on her face. I’ve invited the Benedict House women to knitting but they rarely come. I’m okay with this one not coming.”

  I nodded. “Willa?”

  “I think that’s her name. Anyway, I don’t have anything to tell you for any article or anything, but, no, for whatever it’s worth, I don’t think Linda Rafferty killed herself.”

  “Thanks for being so honest.”

  “I’m all about honest. Have to be.” She stood. “You really shouldn’t lock the door. If you feel the need though, get a gun. We all have guns.”

  “Um, okay,” I said. I didn’t mention that I’d just been thinking about weaponry and my lack of skills with any form.

  “Someone can teach you to shoot,” she said, sensing my concern.

  “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  Serena bid me good-bye and I watched her as she walked away from the building.

  “You walked here?” I yelled.

  “Yeah. It’s a short walk.”

  It was a short walk when you took into account how big Alaska geography was, I guess. I felt like a wimp. I felt like an even bigger wimp when I decided I really wanted a truck. If I stayed, I’d have to figure out a way to get one. Preferably an old one.

  I closed and locked the door before I moved back to my laptop and opened my new email account. I was thrilled to see that Detective Majors had written.

  Call me, I have news.

  I grabbed a phone and hoped she’d answer this time.

  Sixteen

  “Hey, Beth, sorry I missed you earlier. We traced the call that went to your burner,” Detective Majors said.

  My hands iced, and I sucked in and held my breath as she paused.

  “It was an accident. Some guy thought he’d left the message for his friend,” she continued.

  “Are you … sure?”

  “Yes. The guy’s in Philadelphia. We sent some uniforms out to talk to him. The police came close to breaking down the door. The guy, about twenty-five, was trying to hide some weed in his nightstand when they barreled in. Scared him to death. Almost. He survived, and when it was all said and done, he was relieved not to be arrested for either the weed or the misdialed call.”

  Disappointment plummeted my stomach. “Damn. I hoped it was a lead.”

  “Me too.” Another pause. “I’m sorry, Beth.”

  “It’s all right. Anything else?”

  “I have more to tell you, but before I go into detail, just know that we still don’t have him. We have a few more things to explore, but we don�
�t have him. Okay?”

  “Got it.”

  “Okay. Remember the tire tracks?”

  “Yes.”

  “The tracks at the place where the old brown van was reportedly seen matched the tracks by where we found you. They were a match, Beth. We can be sure of a couple of things now: one, the van must have skidded either as you were jumping out of it or afterwards, but more importantly, we are now sure that that was the same van that was spotted in Weyford. We have that eyewitness, an older woman, nosey, always looking out her window.”

  “Thank God for nosey old women.”

  “Right, but there’s a little more.” Detective Majors cleared her throat. “I told you that I told your mother about the sightings. She went out to talk to the witness, a woman named Geneva.”

  “She emailed me. I know she talked to her.”

  Detective Majors hesitated. “Okay. Well, your mom went out two days. Geneva didn’t get a good look at the man who was driving the van, she didn’t let us know that she’d seen the van again the night in between your mom’s visits, but she had. And she did see something else.”

  “Mom wrote something about seeing someone walking on the van.”

  “Right. That’s what Geneva, the woman, thought she saw. It also appears that when he visited this time, he left something behind.”

  “The pink blanket?”

  “Yes. She told you.”

  “She did. However, is everyone sure it wasn’t there already?”

  “Yes, we know we didn’t see it the first time we were out there. We looked all around, including up. Do you remember it or something like it?”

  I sighed. “I wish I did.”

  “Well, even if you don’t, it’s covered in possible evidence. It’s in the lab right now, a priority.”

  “DNA stuff maybe?”

  “It’s a good possibility. Bodily fluids, blood…”

  My stomach turned, but I ignored it. “Why would it be there though?”

  “I have no idea, except that Levi is a sociopath. Maybe leaving it there instead of destroying it was just part of his messed-up head. If … if it has some of you on it, maybe he wanted to save it for later but he knew that having it with him was asking for trouble. He scoped out the location one day, left it there the next. Maybe he didn’t know about the nosey woman across the street. We’re lucky Geneva was paying attention.”