Thin Ice Page 20

  “Why couldn’t that have been a relationship that was developed here? I mean, they could have met here.”

  Viola shook her head twice. “Willa’s only been here two weeks. There was something so … I don’t know, intimate, about the way they walked together.”

  “Did you tell Gril?”

  I hadn’t asked anyone how long Willa had been in town. I should have. It had already been noted that they’d been “hanging out” together. Two weeks definitely was quick to form that sort of relationship, in my opinion.

  “No, but I suppose I need to. It was just a hunch, and I thought I’d do some research first. I need to talk to an officer of the court in Anchorage, Leslie, the woman who chooses which girls to send here. She and I usually talk before any new girl is sent. She was on vacation when Willa was sent. I got some emailed paperwork one day, and the next day Willa was here. I didn’t get the extra scoop on her that I normally get. I just left Leslie a message tonight. Hopefully, she’ll call first thing in the morning. I don’t have her home number or I’d call it tonight.”

  “That’s what’s been bothering you? You don’t have the information on Willa that you usually have?”

  “Yes.”

  “What about Trinity? What did your contact say about her?”

  Viola huffed one laugh. “That she was the best pickpocket she’d ever seen.”

  “Manipulative?”

  Viola laughed again. “They’re all manipulative, Beth, but, yes, that word did come up with Trinity.”

  “Huh.”

  “What are you thinking? That Trinity and Willa are in cahoots?” Viola asked.

  It wasn’t the exact thought I was having, but I shrugged. “Do they get along?”

  “They don’t not get along, I guess.”

  “They’re all from Anchorage?”

  “Yeah … but…”

  “What?”

  “I don’t know.” Viola shook her head. “On Willa’s paperwork, ‘Anchorage’ was handwritten in, not filled by the computer like it usually is. I’ll have to ask Leslie, but it’s rare she handwrites anything.”

  “She might have been in a hurry, her computer was down or something.”

  “I’ll ask her when she calls.”

  I couldn’t think of any way to help. “Well, I’m staying here for now if you’re not kicking me out.”

  “I’m not subtle. If I was kicking you out it wouldn’t have been a suggestion.”

  “I’ll be careful.”

  Viola fell into thought and looked at her phone on the desk. It always made for a long night when you were waiting for a phone call.

  “Maybe Leslie checks her messages at night,” I said.

  “Never has before.”

  “Maybe Gril could get her number, police business or something.”

  “I thought of that. If he doesn’t get what he needs from Willa, I’ll let him know. My intuition could be all off anyway, and who’s to say that the found wallet has anything to do with Linda’s death?”

  “True.”

  “All right, if you’re staying, lock your door. Put that chair under the knob too. If there’s a fire, I’ll break it down.”

  I believed she would, and I did what she said.

  Twenty-Five

  The next morning, I woke up with an idea. I got ready quickly and set out to find Orin.

  At only seven-thirty, the Benedict Library already showed signs of life. Three vehicles—two trucks and an old Honda Civic—were parked along the undefined parking strip, but the front door was still locked. Posted hours said the library would open in thirty minutes.

  I stood on the stoop and peered in through the window on the top part of the door. At first I didn’t see anyone, but just as I was about to turn away, Hank Harvington walked out from behind a half wall.

  He pushed through the front door, not noticing me until he was outside.

  “Well, hello there, how goes it?” he asked.

  “Well. Thanks.”

  “Good. Excuse me.”

  “Do you work here too?” I asked as he walked around me.

  “Volunteer. We only have one librarian, but the place couldn’t stay open if we all didn’t help.”

  “Is Orin inside?”

  “Sure is. Here, I’ll let you in.” He walked back to the door and unlocked it, using a key from a jam-packed ring.

  “You flying anywhere today?” I said.

  “Not today.” He smiled. “I’m glad you turned out not to be a criminal. That room my brother told you about is still available, but he told me not to bring it up again, because it might make us look creepy. We aren’t creepy. But, here I am, bringing it up again. Sorry about that.”

  “You’re not creepy at all. Thanks for the offer. I’ll keep it in mind.”

  He pushed open the door and I walked through. “Thanks.”

  “You’re welcome.” He turned and hurried to the Civic. I never would have guessed that would be his car, but as I watched him get into it, I realized how well it suited him.

  I snaked around a few shelves full of books and long tables with chairs neatly tucked in. The linoleum floor looked freshly mopped and I smelled Pine-Sol. Had Hank been cleaning?

  As I approached a closed door, the bass beat of “We’re Not Gonna Take It” grew louder and deeper. I knocked forcefully, bringing the music to a quick halt.

  “Come in.”

  I opened the door slowly, a little worried I’d find him smoking, thankful he wasn’t. The room smelled of weed and patchouli, but Orin was at his desk, reading glasses perched on the end of his nose, as he looked at his computer screen.

  He took off the glasses and smiled. “Well, hello, neighbor. Hank let you in?”

  “He did. Is that okay?”

  “Of course. Have a seat. I was going to come see you today.”

  The office was small, but comfortable, decorated with shelves full of books and a large variety of peace signs—paintings, carvings, macramé. His desk wasn’t really messy, but not cleaned off either. Just right, with books and a few folders.

  Whenever I visited a library, I couldn’t help but indulge myself by searching for my own books. I wouldn’t do that at this one, not obviously, at least. As my eyes moved quickly over the books on the desk though, I didn’t see any of mine. A good sign, I thought. If he knew who I was, he might have gathered my books to take a closer look. Or maybe not. Orin was pretty sharp; maybe he wouldn’t be so obvious in researching me.

  I sat in the only other chair in the room. “Why were you going to come see me?”

  Orin sighed. “Something’s up.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I can’t find anything else on George and Linda, nothing that matches them, I mean. No pictures, nothing anywhere, even in the secret places.”

  “That’s kind of why I’m here. I have news, and I need more research, deep research probably.”

  Orin smiled, put his glasses back on, and cracked his knuckles. “I love going deep. Where do you want to begin?”

  I told him about Gril’s suspicions—that George and Linda might not be who they said they were. I told him that I had a hunch that Detroit was a good place to search for their real identities.

  “Can you search for George and Linda Rafferty in Detroit, Michigan?” I asked.

  “Sure. How far back … never mind, I can do a pretty broad search. One second.” He continued to type. “I’ve found some George Raffertys and one Linda Rafferty, but it looks like none of them are connected.”

  “Pictures?”

  “Only of two Georges, and neither of them is ours.”

  “Okay, let’s go at a different angle. How about you search for car accidents that resulted in death,” I said. “Go back from five years ago to three years ago.”

  Orin typed away. “Too many to even begin detailing. At least two pages.”

  “Can you narrow your search to anyone killed in the crashes being under twenty years old?”

  Orin look
ed at me around his screen. “I can do anything.” He typed some more. “So you think George and Linda came from Detroit, not South Carolina? And that they’re not George and Linda?” He peered around the screen again. “Imagine that, someone coming here, changing their name, and hiding.”

  “I think it’s a possibility.”

  He moved his attention back to the screen. I tried not to roll my eyes at myself.

  “Wow,” he said a moment later. “Thirty-five under-twenty deaths.”

  “Okay, this is probably the hard part, but how can we figure out if any of them are linked to our George and Linda? One at a time, find pictures?”

  “Well, I can do some merging with a handy program that I have that those of you mere mortals aren’t allowed to have.”

  “Will you get in trouble?”

  Orin tsked. “I am the trouble, Beth. You’ll see.”

  I was suddenly even more curious about Orin. What had he done for the government? Did he still do top secret stuff? If I stuck around awhile, maybe I’d try to get more out of him. I did, in fact, have a bargaining chip. Well, sort of. I could confirm that I was who he probably thought I was in exchange for him sharing some secret stuff with me.

  I suddenly froze in the chair. Hang on, maybe he could find Levi Brooks. If I was here much longer and if I decided I could trust him as much as it seemed I could, I would ask for his help.

  Not today, though. Besides, I wasn’t sure I could trust him.

  “What’s your program do?” I asked.

  “I can link directly to obituaries, and then it gives me other links too, to places with pictures of those named in the obits.”

  “Handy. Let me know if you see—”

  “Got ’em! Lookee ’ere.”

  I stood and moved around to his side of the desk.

  Our George and Linda Rafferty were actually Greg and Sharon Larson, onetime residents of Detroit, Michigan. There was no doubt in either of our minds.

  The gist of their actual tragedy was that Linda/Sharon had been driving their car, George/Greg in the passenger seat, when it T-boned a teenager’s car, killing the driver, Travis Butterfield, instantly. They weren’t related to the teenager and it seemed that they weren’t parents to anyone. Linda had tested negative for alcohol and drugs, but evidence showed that she’d been on her phone at the time. She’d been charged with involuntary manslaughter and found guilty. She hadn’t been sentenced to serve any prison time, but she’d been put on probation and was required to give her time to public service. If my calculations were correct, Greg and Sharon left Detroit before any community service was done, but it wasn’t clear why they’d taken the Raffertys’ names. Orin and I decided to keep calling them George and Linda, since that’s how we knew them.

  They hadn’t lost a son, but someone else had. There was no way to weigh the tragedies. Nothing worse than losing a child. Nothing worse than killing one. In the category of worst tragedies, these probably topped the list.

  “Why did they run away? So Linda wouldn’t have to do community service?” I wondered aloud.

  “Na,” Orin said. “My bet is that she was embarrassed, maybe being harassed, just couldn’t live there anymore, they didn’t want to be them anymore.”

  “I can see them running away, but without changing their identity. It takes a lot to make those big changes. And just leaving the place where people knew who they were would have probably solved their problem. Something else was going on, I bet.”

  Orin sent me one lifted eyebrow, but he didn’t comment.

  I kept my eyes level. “So, here’s some news you might not have. Have you heard about the wallet from last night?”

  “No.”

  I told him, and then I told him about the tiger toy, the orange cap, the Tigers-emblazoned jacket, and the baby blanket.

  “They’ve seemed to be acquainted with each other, according to some,” I said.

  “What’s Willa’s last name?” Orin put his fingers on his keyboard again.

  “Fitzgerald,” I said. “But I doubt it’s her real name.”

  Orin looked at me again. “If that’s not her real name, how did she get here? She’s a felon, right?”

  I shrugged, liking that I still knew more than him. “There are some paperwork questions. I couldn’t find Viola this morning, so I don’t know if she’s figured that out yet or not.”

  Orin whistled. “Really? Well, that could end up being a very big deal indeed.”

  Orin worked to find a Willa Fitzgerald in Detroit. There wasn’t even one.

  “Oh what a tangled web we weave.” Orin pushed back from his desk. “You think Willa killed Linda?”

  “I don’t know anything,” I said. “But there are some connections that seem suspicious. I think I’ll track down Gril and talk to him. Want to come?”

  “No, go talk to him. Have him call me if he needs anything else, landline to landline. I’ve got a library to run.”

  “Thanks, Orin.”

  “You’re welcome, neighbor.” He winked as he sent me his now familiar salute. I would have been disappointed if he’d forgotten.

  I was pretty sure he knew who I was. I had no idea if that was something to be afraid of, but now I just wanted to talk to Gril.

  Twenty-Six

  Gril’s eyes were ablaze, lit with a combination of things—anger, panic, concern. He hid the panic from his behavior, but I could see it in his eyes.

  Willa Fitzgerald had escaped police custody. In a series of events I still didn’t quite understand, the front door had been left unlocked. Willa had just walked out, and couldn’t be found anywhere. I didn’t understand who’d left the door unlocked or who was supposed to have been watching her, but Gril wasn’t in a good mood. My news didn’t help much, even if it was helpful information.

  “Linda and George were from Detroit, not South Carolina?” He said after I finished telling him what Orin and I had found.

  “No, a Linda and George Rafferty lived in South Carolina and did run a watch repair shop, but I don’t know where they are now. Our Linda and George are, were, actually Greg and Sharon Larson. They took George and Linda’s names at least, maybe identities I guess, before moving here. You were right about them not being who they said they were.” I cleared my throat. I hadn’t meant the flattery to ease his irritation, but that’s what it sounded like I was trying to do.

  “And Linda, as Sharon, killed a kid?” he said.

  “Involuntary manslaughter.”

  “Goddammit,” he said with a sigh as he ran his hand over the top of his head. “I can’t find George. We’ve lost Willa and I can’t find George. What is going on?”

  “You can’t find George?”

  Gril shook his head. “I don’t know if he’s missing, but I’ve been trying to check on him. I haven’t been able to track him down. He hasn’t been seen in a couple days.”

  “I … have a theory,” I said.

  His panicked eyes zipped back to me. “What?”

  “I think Willa might have been related to the kid Linda killed.”

  “You think Willa killed Linda?”

  I thought about the hug they shared that I’d heard about, the close conversation. “I just don’t know, Gril. Linda might have killed herself because Willa brought back bad memories. I … I’m just about ninety percent sure, though, they all knew each other. Finding what’s behind their relationship will probably answer all your questions, including whether Linda was murdered or not.”

  “Except where the fuck Willa is.” He blanched and then lifted his hand. “Sorry. Do you think George, or what’s his name, Greg. Shit, I’m sticking with George and Linda. Do you think George has Willa or Willa has him? Is one of them, or both of them in danger?” He was thinking out loud more than asking the questions.

  I shrugged, but only a little. “Dunno. I suppose anything is possible.”

  “Goddammit!” He said again with a fist pound on his desk.

  Viola pushed through Gril’s office door. �
�You’re not going to believe this one.”

  Gril and I looked at her. If Gril was on the same page I was, anything was becoming believable.

  “Close the door,” Gril said.

  Donner was in the outer office, sitting at a desk, seeming to wait for orders.

  “What?” Gril asked Viola.

  “Willa’s not even supposed to be here. My Anchorage court officer, Leslie, remembers her, but she wasn’t sent here, Gril. She came here on her own.”

  “How could that even happen, Vi? Start at the beginning—just a minute.” Gril raised his voice. “Donner, get in here.”

  I wasn’t asked to leave, so I didn’t. We all crowded into Gril’s small office instead of using the collective space out front. Gril and I were the only ones who sat. Viola told us what she’d learned about Willa Fitzgerald.

  About three months earlier, Willa had approached Leslie in Anchorage, asking her questions about Benedict House in Benedict, Alaska. Willa had claimed to be searching for a place her sister could go. Leslie informed her that it wasn’t really a choice, but they would note the request in the file for when her sister came to court. But when the officer asked for her sister’s name, Willa never gave it. There was no sister.

  Leslie suspected that when she left her office briefly to gather something, Willa swiped some paperwork to get her here. Something seemed off to Leslie, but she didn’t even consider that paperwork would have been taken. Who wants to put themselves in a halfway house?

  “But, Vi, you catch everything,” Gril said. “What happened?”

  “A confluence of weird shit,” Viola said. “Leslie was out of town when Willa got here. I didn’t even leave her a message back then, thinking I would talk to her eventually about something. Willa was right there in front of me with her paperwork. I needed to get her taken care of, situated. Dammit, Gril, just like with Leslie, it would never, ever have crossed my mind that someone would come here trying to present themselves as a criminal, but it should have, I know that.”

  “I dropped the ball too, Vi. I hadn’t been keeping track of those coming and going very well.” He looked at me. “I’m doing better at that now.” He looked back at Viola. “I’m sorry.”