Thin Ice Read online

  I took some deep breaths and tried to relax all the muscles that were so tight. I needed some time by myself, in my locked room.

  It was time to regroup.

  Thirty-Three

  I did manage to relax and fall into a hard sleep. I woke up the next day ready to face whatever might come my way. But, again, I couldn’t find anyone. If someone was supposed to be cooking breakfast, they were neglecting their duty. As far as I could tell I was the only person in the Benedict House. I even tried to open Willa’s door. I wasn’t sure if I would actually go inside and search, but since the door was locked, it wasn’t a decision I was forced to make. I knocked on all the other doors but no one answered. I even looked out the window upstairs, but though the hook was still stuck into the side, there was no rope, no Loretta anywhere. No one.

  I didn’t receive any other emails, from my mother or anyone else. I thought about texting her for a call, but experience told me she might need a few hours to recover this morning.

  I grabbed my backpack, wished for a McDonald’s drive-thru, and headed to the Petition. I thought about taking the time for breakfast in the café, but I was in a hurry. I needed to purchase snacks for my room and the Petition, not to mention more whiskey, as soon as possible, but I wanted to get to work, or at least to the building with the good cell phone signal. I was as scattered as my thoughts.

  When I turned the bolt on the Petition’s door, I realized how much time I spent locking doors.

  I pulled out a phone and called Detective Majors.

  “Beth?” she said as she answered. “That you?”

  “It’s me. Anything new?”

  “Unfortunately, no. I’m sorry the sketch didn’t help. Thanks for the information about the bite though. That might be important at some point.”

  “Good. I hope so. Can you tell me anything at all?”

  She sighed. “We came upon another dead end yesterday, but it still might pan out to something. Any chance you remember a fire around Milton about ten years ago? A guy’s barn was burned down by someone he let stay there. Livestock was killed.”

  “Uh. Yeah,” I said, thinking about my mother’s emails and feeling something in my gut shift, as if my intuition was telling me again to pay attention, that I should have been paying better attention all along.

  “Okay,” Detective Majors said. “Well, the guy that burned down the barn, his name was Levi Brooks.”

  “My mom emailed me,” I said weakly. Pain tinged behind my eyes, but I wasn’t going to let this happen again. “One of her messages wasn’t clear though.”

  “Okay. We went out to talk to the guy who lives there, Harold Blankenship, but he has no idea where Levi went after the barn burned all those years ago.”

  “Not that one would help for sure, but is there a booking picture yet? There was an arrest, right?”

  “There was an arrest, but no picture yet. Of course, no forwarding address, no real idea where he’d come from either. Probably Missouri, but we just can’t be sure.”

  “Can you hang on a second?” I said.

  “Uh. Sure.”

  I put the phone down and took a deep breath. If another spell or vision or whatever they were was upon me, I hoped to push it away. It was more than that though. Overlapped with foggy memories, that thing I was supposed to be paying attention to suddenly came clear. I remembered something that might be important to everything that had happened to me recently.

  I picked up the phone a long moment later. “Detective Majors, where’s my mom?”

  “When I left Milton yesterday, she and the chief, Stellen Graystone, were going out for drinks. I went out there to talk to Mr. Blankenship with Stellen. Stellen’s a good cop; he might be able to help us in our search, told me more than I think your mother wanted him to, but I’m sorry we didn’t get anything from Blankenship regarding the barn fire.”

  “I just remembered something. We got a letter back when that fire happened. An anonymous note that said my dad had been seen at the scene of the fire. That’s all it said. I remember Mom flying off the handle about it—but we were living with my grandfather by that time, so she went out to ‘investigate’ on her own. She couldn’t find anything about my dad being there. You need to find her. She’s got Levi’s scent in her nose, or some scent. She’s after someone or some information specifically. She’ll get herself killed.”

  “You got a letter?” It was her turn to take a deep breath, let it out, but hers sounded more like a frustrated sigh. “Start over with that, Beth. Tell me the details again.”

  “There’s not much more to tell.”

  “Where’s that letter?”

  “I have no idea, but if you find my mom, she might have it with her.”

  “Okay, Beth, let’s spend a few minutes talking about your dad.”

  I nodded and we continued.

  Thirty-Four

  What if Levi Brooks had something to do with my dad? I didn’t see how that worked together, but the coincidences kept piling up. Or it was just a small world after all. Battling memories and flashbacks, I told Detective Majors more about that time so long ago, when my mother first lost her mind, when she first became obsessed. I told her what I remembered about that note, just a quick handwritten thing that said someone saw “Eddy” there at the fire. That was it. It could have been a convenient prank, sent by someone who just liked to jerk people around.

  Or someone could have seen my father at the scene of a crime that someone named Levi Brooks had committed.

  It was unbelievable, and yet it had all actually happened. Nothing was unbelievable anymore.

  We talked about the past, the letter, my mother, and that weird, obsessive time in our lives when I was saved by my grandfather. No one was going to be able to save my mother. She lived her obsessions. She would probably die because of them too.

  The conversation with the detective also took me back again to when I moved in with and then eventually worked for my grandfather. I’d been so good with numbers. Gifted. Talented. Skills that helped solve crimes, or at least prepare reports. Grandpa had sometimes looked at me long moments and shook his head. I could see things—triangulations. I didn’t even know it was something everyone else didn’t have, didn’t see the space in a room and where a bullet might have gone if shot off from different spots. Gramps knew though, he said I had a rare special intelligence.

  Lord, girl, you are smart enough for two people, he’d say.

  I didn’t tell Detective Majors that part.

  Since I’d started writing full-time, I hadn’t had to use those gifts in any practical application for a long, long time. They weren’t gone though; they’d simply become rusty. Until, during a moment in the conversation with Detective Majors when something occurred to me, something all about numbers.

  Measurements. There was something wrong with the measurements.

  No there wasn’t, I told myself. But the voice was persistent.

  After we disconnected the call and I thought more about it, it stuck there in my mind refusing to leave. The numbers came together in my head in a terrifying way.

  Measurements at the Rafferty cabin. Something was off. I suddenly realized what was wrong. I had broken almost all of my grandfather’s rules.

  “Oh.… shiiit!” I grabbed my bag and hurried out of the Petition, forgetting to lock the door behind me. Forgetting everything but one small thing. Something that, in fact, was probably bigger than I’d originally thought.

  The beauty of the Alaska morning was lost on me in my rush to get back to the police cabin. I ran up the steps and found the door locked.

  I banged on it with my fist. “Anyone there?”

  No one answered.

  I pulled out the phone that was in my pocket, but it wasn’t the same burner that I’d used to call the police before. The number wasn’t in the recently called list and I’d left Gril’s and Donner’s cards at the Petition.

  I hurried back to the truck and drove the short distance to the Benedic
t House.

  No one was there either. Where was everyone?

  I grabbed a piece of paper and wrote a note to Viola. I’m running out to the Rafferty cabin to look at something. Come find me if I’m not back in a couple hours. I couldn’t find Gril’s number. Let him know too. I signed off with my name and the time.

  Viola was not going to be happy, but I wasn’t sure exactly why. I just knew she wouldn’t want me to do what I was going to do, but I couldn’t wait another minute.

  Finally, I jumped into my truck and headed out toward the Raffertys’ cabin. I had done the math. I had even seen that entryway—Gril had made sure I went with Donner to see the space. But I had made what my grandfather would have called one of the biggest mistakes ever. No, two of them. 1) I didn’t measure with a real ruler or measuring tape. 2) I didn’t take the time to look at everything around me with doubt. Gramps used to tell us all: Doubt everything, double-, triple-check everything, and for God’s sake, measure at least twice.

  The numbers that had been written in the file and the ones I’d had in my head when I’d looked inside the Rafferty cabin were written down in centimeters. But that space where Linda had died was bigger than those centimeter measurements, I was now almost sure. It was something I would have noticed years ago—but that was a long time ago now. The ME had based her conclusion of suicide on a blood spatter measurement of thirty-two centimeters—I remembered the report Gril had shown me; I could still visualize it. If that measurement was actually thirty-two inches, either Linda would have had a harder time holding the gun to her own head or it simply wouldn’t have been possible. I just needed to see that space again.

  I should measure exactly, but I didn’t have any way to do that. But now that I knew what I was looking for, I could peer inside briefly. Thirty-two centimeters was a little over twelve inches—twenty inches away from thirty-two inches—a long way. A glance inside, even without measuring, could probably tell me if everything was off by about twelve inches.

  My truck rumbled over the dirt road, and I was again grateful for the new tires. I remembered what Donner had said about conducting a better search of the area where we’d found the backpack. Maybe that’s where everyone had gone.

  I’d get to the Rafferty cabin, but maybe everyone else was searching the woods behind it. That’s where I’d look first. I turned and redirected the truck toward the spot where we’d found the backpack, but I didn’t see anyone else on the way.

  Had this area already been searched? Where else might they be searching?

  I parked next to the tracks I’d made the day before and hopped out of the truck. There was no one anywhere, but the woods weren’t as thick here as they were in other areas and the sky was clear blue up above the tall treetops. I walked to where the pack had been.

  Curiosity made me temporarily change gears. How did the pack get here? The only possibilities I could fathom were that it was thrown across the river, which someone with a good, strong arm could manage; or someone put it there after traveling the circuitous route I’d taken, because I didn’t think the other direction made sense. The other direction was the ocean. Finally, I wondered if there was another way across the river, a way that was farther down, that Donner didn’t know about. I dismissed the possibility of him not knowing about it; he probably knew everything about these woods.

  I took another moment or two of thought, but I looked in the direction where I thought the Raffertys’ cabin was located. I set out that way. I hiked with some confidence, telling myself I would turn back if the path became too much to handle or if I felt like I was getting too far away from the truck. However, I didn’t have to go much farther before I came upon a bridge, of sorts.

  “Ah-ha!” I exclaimed, my voice pinging with a surprising echo, as I spotted a fallen trunk, wide and secure enough on each side of the river to serve as a bridge. Donner and I would have seen it if we’d moved down some, but if he knew about it, he hadn’t wanted to take the time to get to it.

  I didn’t walk across it, but it wouldn’t have been too difficult. Unless you fell in the river, it would be a short, easy trek.

  I turned and looked back in the direction of the truck. I couldn’t see it but since I’d traveled the path of the river, I’d be able to get back easily.

  I looked over the bridge and tried to think if I knew where I was in relation to the Raffertys’ cabin. Was I correct in thinking it was straight out from the bridge? I stepped closer and peered at the spot in the berm where the trunk had landed on this side of the river. The mud splayed around it had seen recent trauma. Grass or weeds covered the berm—except for that spot. This trunk had been turned into a bridge recently. And, that first day I’d come out with Donner, George had sprung from the woods in decent shape. He didn’t look to have spent even one night out in the elements. Maybe he hadn’t been away from his cabin; maybe he’d slept there and had lied to the police, or there was another place he’d gone.

  I looked the other direction, toward the woods and toward where I thought the ocean would inevitably be found. Was there a shelter out there somewhere?

  I stood and looked hard. My eyes zeroed in on a dark patch in the distance. It was far enough away that I couldn’t be sure I was seeing anything more than shadowed leaves.

  I didn’t know what I was doing, really, but I had put extra socks into my jacket pockets. No one had told me to do it, but I’d walked through so much mud since arriving in Alaska that it seemed like a prudent idea. I took out one of the bright white socks and tied it to a high branch in a tree not far from the bridge. I would try to walk in a straight line and then put the other sock on a branch about halfway to the dark spot. Hopefully, my plan would help me get back to where I’d originally come from.

  It wasn’t until I’d passed well beyond the halfway mark where I’d tied the other sock, that I realized the dark spot was the tip of a hut-like structure. Someone had built a shelter out of tree branches and old blankets. It was almost as primitive as a kids’ fort. If we hadn’t noticed the backpack, Donner and I probably would have found it the day before.

  Keeping a distance from the seemingly abandoned fort, I grabbed my phone and tried to call Gril. I knew there was no signal, but I had to try. It was a useless effort.

  I needed to do two things: make sure there wasn’t someone who needed help inside the hut, and get the hell out of there.

  “Shit.” I put the phone in my pocket. “Hey, anybody there? My name is Beth and I’m new in town. I’m a bit lost.”

  I sounded like a fool.

  And, I received no response. I listened hard and heard absolutely nothing. Even all the wildlife was quiet, like when you knew no one was home.

  I approached. “Hey. Anybody there?”

  Still no answer. I didn’t hesitate much longer before I pulled back one of the blanket walls. I was momentarily impressed. It was bigger than it seemed from the outside camouflage of branches.

  About eight feet by eight feet, it was equipped with a cot, a small table, and an electric lantern. I recognized all the items as things being sold in the Mercantile. Wrappers from cheese or peanut butter and cracker packets littered the blanket that had been thrown onto the ground. I looked up at the roof, a piece of aluminum. It was a good shelter, and would keep the rain away.

  There was no indication who used it, but I smelled something that made me think of George Rafferty. I hadn’t noticed that he smelled like Zest soap, but either I was smelling it now or I was making up my own imaginary story about where he’d been after his wife died.

  I just couldn’t understand why.

  Since no one needed assistance, I wanted to get out of there and back to town. I left the shelter and set out for the first white sock. It was easy. I followed the path with no problem, but when I made it to the second sock, my confidence high and my sense of safety only growing, I heard a high-pitched scream.

  I froze and listened hard. The longer I stood there, my hands up and reaching for the sock, something happene
d. That scream I wasn’t sure I’d heard turned into my own screams, at least memories of them.

  I was in Levi’s van. I screamed and yelled. Begged and pleaded too, but mostly, I screamed. Someone was bound to hear me at some point.

  Levi didn’t try to stop me. He just laughed. I could see his blue eyes now, and hear his maniacal laugh.

  “No!” I yelled in the here and now.

  My gaze landed on my hands, still up and reaching for the sock. How long had I been standing there? Had I lost seconds or minutes?

  During those long, frozen moments, my hands iced. I hadn’t seen a glacier in Alaska yet, but I was suddenly cold to the bone. I was ice.

  But I had to shake it off, get past whatever this was.

  I’d almost forgotten about the real scream I thought I’d heard, but it was when another one rang through the forest that I came fully back to reality. Someone was screaming; someone needed help.

  I stood and headed the direction I thought the scream was coming from. It wasn’t an easy journey through the woods, which got thicker as I went, but my boots kept my feet dry, warm, and safe from sharp things as I trudged clumsily along. I couldn’t break into a run, but I moved as quickly as I could. Long seconds passed and then as I came around some trees, I saw the Rafferty cabin.

  I was breathing heavily as I stopped and tried to look in all directions. I bent over with my hands on my thighs, and waited to see something or hear another scream. Had I gone the right way?

  It didn’t take long to learn the answer, and for all hell to break loose. Again.

  Thirty-Five

  Two people came into view. Fists flying. Bodies being pummeled, falling, getting up again. They weren’t skilled fighters, but they were both trying their physical hardest. I recognized them—Willa and George Rafferty. They were both holding their own, even though George was bigger.

  I couldn’t quite tell what was going on, and I was fully aware that I didn’t know who the bad guy was in this scenario. Did one of them, or both of them, conspire to kill Linda? Or had she taken her own life and they were fighting for a reason I couldn’t understand yet? Gril didn’t think Linda had killed herself. No one I talked to seemed to think so.