Thin Ice Page 18

  “I made some calls to South Carolina yesterday. I’ve got people there working on things. They’ll get back to me.”

  “Maybe Viola has seen the cap or the jacket.”

  “Maybe. I will ask her, but I’d like to hear back from the South Carolina folks first.”

  I wanted to ask why, but then my intuition told me what he was doing—not stirring up possible problems for Viola or the parolees. If Gril was anything like my grandfather, and I thought he was, he needed a little more information before he started asking questions that might cause more trouble than help figure out a mystery.

  Another long beat later I said, “I’m going to the knitting class tonight.”

  “To learn to knit or to research your article?”

  “Neither. I’m just going to see if I can learn anything that might help. Is that okay?”

  “Probably not, but if you’re careful and don’t do anything stupid, let me know if you find out anything.”

  “I will.”

  Gril continued. “Please don’t write an article about this. Not yet. Let’s see if we can find a killer first, but the Petition can survive a little longer without adding some investigative journalism. Hang on and maybe write something later. But not yet.”

  “Okay,” I said without even a tiny urge to fight.

  “All right. Beth, go to work or go back to the House and get some rest. Maybe you could work on a book.”

  “A good idea.” I stood to leave, but as I reached the door, he stopped me.

  “Beth, you okay?” he asked.

  “I feel better than I have in weeks.” I smiled ruefully.

  “More like yourself?”

  My smile faded but not because I was sad. I didn’t even think about lying though. “No, Gril, she’s gone forever, I’m afraid. I’m going to work on making a somehow better version of her though.”

  Gril nodded.

  As I got into my truck, I decided that it was time to talk to my mom.

  Twenty-Two

  “You’re where?” Mill Rivers said.

  “Far away.”

  “For fuck’s sake, Beth, tell me where. You’re on a burner phone and I’m on a safe enough line. Tell me where you are.”

  She was on one of the last pay phones left in the United States. I’d sent her a text code indicating that she head out to the Hillside Diner on I-44. On the edge of the parking lot and in between the diner building and the road that used to be Route 66, one lone phone booth still stood. Mired in weeds and insects, there was probably some sort of infection risk in just entering it, but Mom was glad it was still there, probably forgotten by the people who had been tasked to get rid of them. There was a time when she sometimes couldn’t pay her phone bill and she had calls to make. If she took me with her, we used to grab some fries or some ice cream just to make the trek more enjoyable.

  I’d started paying her bills a long time ago. I didn’t even tell her. I just started paying them. We’d never discussed the transition, but that was okay. I knew she was grateful. She had her own phone now, but this was the one I’d wanted to talk to her on.

  “I’m in Alaska, Mom.”

  She whistled. “I’ll be! That sounds like an adventure. Or maybe a crazy plan for someone not quite in their right mind yet. I’m not being critical, dolly, but you were terrorized. Scared is normal, but they were doing an okay job for you and you didn’t heal all the way.”

  “Not good enough. I needed to be in some sort of control. Maybe I’ll come back soon.” I thought about Loretta’s midnight walks. Control over anything was better than no control at all.

  “But maybe not.” I heard her suck on a cigarette, heard the sizzle of the tip. Or maybe that was just the old telephone line.

  “Maybe not right away.” I paused. “Hey, Mom, I talked to Detective Majors. She told me about your blanket find. Good work.”

  “Credit goes to an old woman I usually wouldn’t have the time for. Geneva put two and two together and we both looked up. Weird one though. I’m guessing Brooks put it there to save it for later. Majors thinks the same, probably.”

  “I think that’s a good guess.”

  “Anything else coming back to you?”

  “Not really.”

  “Might be a blessing.”

  “Yeah, I thought about that. Hey, how are you?”

  Mill laughed. “Gosh, I’m fine, honey. Worried a little sick about you, but I’ll be all right. I’d like to find the son of a biscuit eater who had you. I’m not giving up. In fact…”

  “Yeah?” I said, trying not to smile at one of the phrases she’d started using when I was a kid and my grandfather had told her she cursed too much in front of me. She’d slanged son of a bitch, but could never quite get comfortable with “flip” or “fudge.”

  “I talked to Stellen.”

  “How’d it go?”

  “Originally, I went to talk to him about keeping the secret of who you are. You know, him and his band of merry gun-toters.”

  “That was a good idea. What’d he say?”

  “That your secret was safe with them.”

  “Good. You said ‘originally’ though. What else did you talk about?”

  “He recognizes chicken balls’ name.”

  “Chicken balls” was one of her less offensive nicknames for men she didn’t like. She might have used it on a few women too if I thought about it.

  “Levi? He knows Levi? Has his name been released?” Panic zipped through me again. Apparently, panic was just like any learned skill—it got easier every time.

  “No, see, that’s the thing. Detective Majors-Minor didn’t go talk to him. It seemed like the right thing to do to share it with him so I went and did the deed.”

  “I agree that it was the right thing to do. What did Detective Majors say when you told her that Stellen recognized the name?”

  “Well, that’s the other thing. I didn’t tell her.”

  “Why not?”

  “Two reasons: One, Stellen couldn’t place how he knows the name. He’s researching and will get back to me. And, I want a shot at him first, Beth. You do what you need to do with Majors. If you feel the need to tell her what I just told you, do it. But I’d really like a shot at Brooks first. I’ve got that woman Geneva on my side, I think. She’ll call me if she sees him. I think I convinced Stellen not to jump to call Majors, but I could be wrong. But, really, Beth, I want my shot. I can taste it. He’s close, I can feel it. Could you grant me that first shot?”

  I’d heard her words, but was caught back on the fact that the Milton police chief thought my abductor’s name was familiar. “Do you think I knew Levi way back in Milton? Maybe we knew him? Is he someone from a long time ago?” Scenarios ran through my mind. Did he hold a grudge against my grandfather, my loud, opinionated mother, or me? Did I know him before I became Elizabeth Fairchild? Did he know Beth Rivers?

  “I don’t know, Beth, I just don’t know. But I’m going to find out, even if…” She might have said if it was the last thing she ever did. I was glad she didn’t finish the cliché. “Will you give me that shot?”

  “I don’t know, Mom. He’s evil. He’s dangerous, even to you. I can’t promise I won’t tell Detective Majors about Stellen knowing the name. I’d be surprised if Stellen doesn’t tell her himself. He’s loyal to you, but he’s an officer of the law. He has a responsibility.”

  Because of his respect for my grandfather’s legacy, I tended to think that Stellen would grant my mother any favor she asked, but this was a doozy.

  “All right. Fair enough for now.” She fell into a coughing fit. It didn’t sound good, but I’d heard her cough that way for years. After she cleared her throat, she said, “I want to come see you, but I’m not leaving while I’ve got Brooks’s sour smell in my nose. If I don’t find him soon, I’ll visit.”

  I didn’t want to worry about her, but there was nothing I could say that would deter her from doing anything. I’d played this game all my life—I couldn’t allow
myself to dwell on the situations she put herself into. It was probably because of my imagination again, but she was way too easy to worry about.

  I also didn’t really want her to come see me. She’d be too big for this part of the world, too big even for Alaska. I loved her and would take care of her forever, but she and I didn’t need to spend a lot of time together in the same one hundred square miles. I couldn’t say that aloud.

  “Okay,” I said. “We’ll talk about that when the time’s right. Hopefully, I won’t have to stay too long.”

  “Right.”

  We were silent a moment, neither of us wanting to hang up. We were dysfunctional in the sweetest way. Sometimes we didn’t want to talk to each other, but we didn’t want to end the call either. Gramps would roll his eyes if he could see us now.

  I said, “Hey, I’d like to talk to you about something else.”

  “I’m listening.”

  “There was a death here, and the local lawman doesn’t think it was a suicide. Could I tell you the details?”

  “Hell yes. I’m definitely listening.” I heard a match flare and her lips pop around a new smoke as I told her all about Linda Rafferty.

  “Blood spatter measurements might only tell part of the story,” she said when I finished. “Sounds like an ME who just wanted to be done. Sounds too fast.”

  Mill didn’t have any formal forensic training, but between her father’s position as police chief and her obsession with finding my father, she’d taught herself quite a bit.

  “That’s what the local police think.”

  “If there was no note from the victim, it’s important to make sure. I understand why he can’t just be done with it.”

  “Yeah. The police chief knows these people, even if the victim wasn’t all that forthcoming with her past.”

  “That’s where the answer is, somewhere in her past, but you gotta know who she is to find her past. I’m sure the police are trying to figure that out.”

  “Any ideas to help with that?”

  “Well, good old-fashioned snooping, of course. If possible, you need to search the cabin yourself. I’m sure the chief is good at his job, but you could look at it with different eyes. Because of all your research, you might see something the chief doesn’t even realize is relevant.”

  “I think the chief respects my opinion but I doubt he’ll let me search the cabin.”

  “Well, be careful, of course, but if you feel that strongly about it, I bet you can find a way.”

  I didn’t know how many places my mother had “searched” on her own, but I knew she’d been caught a couple of times, inside houses belonging to people who purchased cleaning supplies from my father. She’d always been able to talk her way out. I didn’t have quite the same skill set.

  “I’ll think about it,” I said. I paused again but not for long. “Anything new on Dad?”

  “No, ma’am, that old man is on my back burner, for a while anyway.”

  Was there a chance that Levi Brooks would be such a distraction that she might finally give up searching for my father? If so, that was the silver lining of this very dark and cloudy mess we were in. However, I didn’t think anything would deter her—forever.

  It was time to let her go, for now.

  “Hey, Mom, send me emails, okay? Phone stuff is spotty up here and you don’t need to keep going into that booth. Send me email updates. I’ll do the same.”

  “Dealaroo, Baby Girl. I’m working 28-8. You know that, don’t you?”

  I sighed. “Be careful, Mom. Please.”

  “Always.”

  Our call ended as they frequently did, with the sizzle of a cigarette tip.

  Twenty-Three

  As I looked around the room, I realized that my mother had never purchased even one skein of yarn. I’d heard of crafters, seen plenty in my small Missouri town, but Mill had been more about smoking cigarettes and listening to country music from a car radio while driving down long, dark roads at night. I’d never even thought about any sort of crafting.

  Considering my own background and preconceived notions, I was surprised by the different personalities who enjoyed or wanted to learn how to knit.

  The community center was the place to be. Another building hidden in a pocket of woods, I’d struggled to find the place with “community” in its title. It hadn’t been down the left dirt road, but one farther to the right. I’d cursed Viola’s directions but then remembered she’d warned me from taking the left path, not told me that it was the way to go. The truck and its new tires took the roads well and I’d been right on time. I only had to put the radio button back into place twice, but I didn’t mind. I already loved my old truck.

  The community center was another industrial building located on a cleared patch of ground. When I finally found it, I wished for an aerial view of town. If there was some sort of grand plan as to where things were located, I couldn’t pinpoint it.

  The inside was sparse with a few tables and lots of chairs, but at least the chairs were comfortable. One of the bulletin boards was pasted with old copies of the Petition and I studied it for a while.

  Ten eager students, Serena and me included, were there that evening. The eight others included two guys who worked on an oil rig but were home for a break. They looked exactly like I would guess guys who worked on oil rigs would look. Burly and hairy. They were both making sweaters. Honestly, Lyman and Randall initially struck me as so out of place that I probably stared at them too long. They didn’t seem to care.

  I can’t get my sleeves to be the same length. I’m about to go with it and just roll the long one up.

  Na, you can do it. Pay better attention to your stitch markers.

  They both wore sweatshirts with the sleeves cut off, exposing their big arms and muscles that contracted as they deftly moved their yarn over and around their needles. Lyman wore a pair of reading glasses on the end of his nose; the plastic frames and the glass were smudged and crooked.

  Benny was there too. So was Loretta, who seemed to be trying to get either Lyman’s or Randall’s attention. Neither of the guys seemed to notice her obvious flirtations. They only had eyes for their sweaters. When Loretta had delivered my lunch to Benny’s bar, I’d noticed that they seemed to be friendly toward each other, but not quite friends. Tonight, they spent a long few minutes discussing Viola’s dinner rules.

  “She’s in charge, Loretta. And it’s her job to make sure you all don’t screw things up. You have to listen to her,” Benny said.

  “We are adults who have, for all intents and purposes, been put on a stranded island surrounded by shark-infested waters. Or at least whale-infested. No matter, they are unfriendly waters. We can’t get a flight out of here and the guy at the ferry watches for us like it’s his mission in life,” Loretta replied.

  “Viola said she’d shoot him if he let any of you get over to Juneau.”

  “She would too, I bet.”

  “Of course, she would.”

  I still wanted to know if Viola had shot anyone, but I still didn’t ask. I’d ask her myself if the timing ever felt right.

  The last two members of the group were a mother and daughter. I guessed they were Tlingits, but I didn’t know yet if it was okay to inquire. They and Serena seemed to be friends, and once the class got under way, the three of them sat in a corner and chatted quietly as they worked on their projects.

  Larrie, the mother, pronounced like Larry, and Janell, her daughter. Janell was blind but seemed to out-knit everyone. Her needles clicked and flew, quickly creating perfect rows of stitches.

  I was only learning to cast on tonight, and I played the roaming student, the one curious about everyone else’s projects and if I was finally getting my own simple—but only after I did it a few times—task down correctly. As I turned the yarn and made the knots, I wondered why anyone enjoyed such silliness when there was a perfectly good mercantile in the area selling lots of different kinds of winter gear, but I didn’t voice my thoughts.


  I wasn’t really there to learn to knit anyway, but a voice in the back of my mind suggested that it might be something I’d enjoy, particularly if I could move my needles like Janell.

  “Hey.” I held up my yarn-looped needle as I again roamed toward Serena, Larrie, and Janell. “I think I’m getting it.”

  “You are doing great. Here, sit here.” Serena patted an empty chair on her other side.

  Larrie sent me a considerable frown.

  “I don’t want to interrupt,” I said.

  “Not at all,” Serena said.

  I sat and looked over the other projects. Larrie moved her focus back to her scarf.

  “You are new in town,” Janell said to me. “I heard you have a scar on your head from a horse kicking you.”

  “No, I fell off a horse,” I said, but immediately liked the exaggeration it had become. Much more exciting to be kicked in the head and recover.

  “Oh,” Janell said. “I’m sorry you were hurt.” She put down her knitting and held her hands toward me. “Let me see your needle.”

  I handed her the one I’d been working on, and she ran her fingers over the loops of yarn.

  She smiled. “You just need to slow down, be more patient. These will be more even in no time at all.” She extended the needle back to me.

  “Thanks.”

  “Sure. I love to knit.”

  “I can tell. You’re very good. You can’t even be sixteen.”

  “I’m fourteen.” She smiled. “And I’m the best in town. Better than Serena even.”

  “True story,” Serena confirmed.

  “I love it. It gives me pictures in my head, patterns, lines, and rows that make other pictures. Something organized.”

  “That’s interesting.”

  Janell laughed. “You don’t need to be extra polite to the blind girl. You can ask for clarification. What I mean is that when I knit, I see scenes in my head. I haven’t always been blind. I remember people and places and colors. They are locked in time in my head, and I can see the old scenes when I’m knitting, make new scenes up. Dr. Powder says it’s a gift, not something normal, just a gift.”