In Winter's Grip (19 page)

“It's time for you to do your homework, Gunnar. You know better than to sit there reading a comic.” Her voice was firm— harsher than it needed to be.

Gunnar glanced back at me then collected his bowl and fork. “Okay, Mom.”

I watched him skirt the table as he headed for the door to the hallway. Claire crossed the room and sat in his empty seat. She promptly pulled out a package of cigarettes and book of matches from her pocket. She offered me one, but I declined.

“Did you have a good day?” she squinted at me through a haze of smoke. “I was starting to wonder if something had happened to you.”

“Yes, thanks. I thought I'd do a bit of sightseeing before I head back home. It's such beautiful country, and I've missed it.”

“I guess we take it for granted. Did you make it over to see Jonas?”

“Yes, but he was sleeping. Becky said he had a bad day.”

Was it my imagination, or did Claire flinch at Becky's name? Perhaps I was looking for signs and reading too much into her expression.

“I expect he'll be back home within the next day or two,” she said. “How much longer are you planning to stay? Oh, I should tell you that Sam called earlier. He says your cellphone isn't working.”

“My cell's out of battery. I'll call him in a bit. I'm not sure how much longer I'll stay. I want to get over to the house tomorrow and start tidying it up. It's in quite a state after the break-in.”

“Sam mentioned he'd bought airplane tickets for next week. He wanted me to tell you.”

“So the trip is on,” I mumbled to myself, and for the rest of our conversation, my mind was working on how to swallow my anger and stand up to my husband. I had no intention of going to a tropical island, not while Jonas was struggling and not before I knew that he and Claire were safe from Tobias Olsen's investigation.

The first time I called Sam, I got a busy signal. A half hour later, I managed to get through. I'd almost decided to give up and try again in the morning when he picked up on the third ring.

“Maja, I've been trying to reach you. Where have you been all day? Claire wasn't certain.”

“Oh, just doing some sightseeing. Tomorrow I'm heading to my father's to start sorting through his things. Jonas is still in the hospital, so it's up to me.”

“Claire said Jonas had a collapse. I'm sorry it's been so rough. I'd come in a minute if it wasn't so crazy at the office.”

“It's been toughest on Jonas, Claire and Gunnar. Did Claire mention they believe my father was murdered?” I was sure she'd let it slip and thought it best to tell him so he wouldn't think I was hiding information.

“She told me. I hope you're not getting involved, Maja. I worry about you with a murderer running loose.”

“They certainly aren't after me. I think whoever hit Dad with a shovel did it in a moment of anger. I'd only be concerned if I believed it was premeditated.”

“I miss you, Maja. Did Claire tell you I bought the tickets? I thought we'd try Cuba this time. We fly out Sunday.”

“Oh, Sam, I'm not sure I can make such an early date. I might still have another week here and then my practice...can we postpone a few weeks?”

“I had to lock in the package. No way to change or we pay a hefty fee.”

“We may need to pay the fee. I can't see making it for Sunday. I wish you'd cleared it with me before booking.”

I could hear Sam's sharp intake of breath. “I'll be going, even if you decide not to. I'm sure I can unload your ticket on somebody. I'd rather you came, but if not....”

I was suddenly wearier than I'd been in a long time. My head felt stuffed with wool, and pain had started behind my left eye. Was this what it came down to then? A contest of wills? “Do what you have to do,” I said softly.

Sam didn't respond, and the silence lengthened uncomfortably. In the past, his silent treatment would have worked. I was always the first to back down.

“I'll call you soon,” I said at last.

“Fine,” Sam said. A moment later, the dial tone buzzed in my ear.

I hung up slowly and stared at the phone for a long time, wondering what had just transpired beneath our civilized words. Was I being contrary on purpose? Should I phone back and apologize? Would agreeing to the trip keep my marriage on course? I reached for the receiver and dialed the Ottawa area code before hanging up a second time. I wasn't ready to make nice yet. I'd sleep on the idea of going to Cuba and see how I felt in the morning.

NINETEEN

I
n the capricious nature of late winter weather, with morning light, the temperature began to climb. By the time I greeted the day, the mercury had settled some five degrees above freezing, and the sun was beaming down from a cloudless blue sky. Claire and Gunnar were long gone when I finally made my way to the kitchen, drawn by the smell of strong coffee that Claire had made and left warming. I poured a cup and stood in front of the kitchen window. Dagger-like chunks of icicles that hung from the eaves had turned into dripping faucets. Sunlight reflected off the snow in a shimmering carpet.

I took my time getting ready—three cups of coffee thick with cream while I read the paper, a generous, hot shower followed by a lost hour of morning talk shows on the television. Finally, I was ready to go to my father's house to begin the task of sorting through the remains of his life. I poured one last cup of coffee as comfort for the road.

The walk to the car was made treacherous by a mixture of patchy ice and water that pooled in the laneway. The cold from the icy puddles seeped through my boots, but my feet stayed dry. I approached my rented car slowly but still slipped on the slick ice hidden beneath the water. It would have been a certain tumble into the brink except that I managed to grab onto the car's roof. Afterwards, I stood fishing for my car keys in my purse, lifting my face to feel the full brunt of the sun's warmth. Today, I didn't mind that the car heater wasn't working properly. I even opened the window a crack to let in the fresh winter air that now hinted of spring winds, muddy fields and new growth. The strong sunshine had turned the roads into slush the consistency of cooked oatmeal, but even that wasn't enough to dampen my spirits. This change in the weather had invigorated me more than anything else in recent days—enough that I could face a day of family memories.

The warm weather had drawn my neighbours out of their homes. I passed two joggers then three boys huddled together in yellow rain slickers and black rubber boots, building a water dam beside the creek that paralleled the highway. Closer to my father's, I spotted Mrs. Lingstrom walking from town with a cloth shopping bag of groceries, a loaf of French bread sticking out of the top. I slowed and pulled onto the shoulder. Mrs. Lingstrom glanced my way and smiled when she recognized me. I leaned over and swung the passenger door open. She climbed in slowly, her movements deliberate like someone who's being careful not to reinjure a sore back. Still, she was moving more easily than the last time I'd had coffee in her kitchen, and the hands that set the shopping bag at her feet were not as deformed as I remembered. Arthritis could be crippling one day and better the next, I knew. Medication helped, but it wasn't perfect.

“I thought that was you, Maja. Normally I don't mind the walk when I'm having a good day, but this is a nice chance to see you again. How are you, my dear?”

“Good. I'm finally going to my father's to begin sorting through his things.”

“Yah, I wondered who would be getting around to that. I thought it would be Claire.”

“Claire's teaching today, and Jonas, well, Jonas is resting.”

Mrs. Lingstrom nodded. She'd tied a triangular-shaped gold scarf with a rose pattern over her hair, knotting it at the nape of her neck. The splash of colour contrasted with the greyness in her face and her black wool coat. She seemed unwell, the whites of her eyes tinged with yellow and an angry rash visible on her hand when she removed a glove.

“Have you heard from Katherine?” I asked, taking my eyes from the road to glance at her. It would be good if someone were home to help Mrs. Lingstrom.

“Yah. Yah. Katherine is on a trip. She'll be back in a few weeks.” Mrs. Lingstrom waved a hand back and forth as if brushing away a cobweb. “I tell her I'm going to be fine. I've been living on my own a long time.”

“I'm glad Katherine is enjoying a holiday, but I'm sorry I'll miss her. Can I take you anywhere later? Do you have errands or appointments in town?”

“I have all I need, but thank you for asking, Maja.”

The driveway was potted with tire ruts and melting snow. The house didn't hold up well under the scrutiny of the glaring sun.

It needed work, but the sale of my father's land would devalue her property even further. The thought of what lay ahead for her and others along our road made me sad.

“I would ask you for tea, but my kitchen is a mess. I haven't done the dishes.” She turned her face to me, but her eyes were lowered as if she was too embarrassed to meet my eyes. I didn't want her to feel that way because of me.

“I would have to decline anyhow. My father's house will take the entire afternoon.” I smiled. “I'll try to see you before I leave.”

“I would like that.”

I waited until Mrs. Lingstrom had entered her front door then slowly turned the car back around and started down the drive, the tires jolting up and down like a bronco ride in the uneven grooves of slushy snow. Before turning onto the main road, I let the car idle for a moment and looked back at the house one last time. My eyes were drawn to a movement, a curtain dropping into place at the upstairs bedroom window, a glimpse of a ghostly pale face and tangled hair. I must have been mistaken. Mrs. Lingstrom hadn't had time to put away her groceries and climb the stairs at the front of the house. She wouldn't have had any reason to stand in the shadows of Katherine's old bedroom window watching me, just as there had been no need for her to lie about Katherine being on holiday if she was really still in the house, staring down at me from her bedroom window like Mr. Rochester's crazed wife in
Jane Eyre
. I wouldn't give in to such a flight of fancy, but for the first time that morning, I shivered inside the warmth of Claire's borrowed parka.

“Where are you, Katherine Lingstrom?” I said into the rearview mirror as the Lingstrom house disappeared from view. “And if you're home, why won't you come out to play?”

I was about to turn into my father's driveway when I saw a police car round the corner coming slowly towards me. At first I thought Tobias was popping up with uncomfortable regularity but then saw that it wasn't him after all. David Keating was behind the wheel. With his aviator sunglasses and black fisherman cap, I almost didn't recognize him until I saw his droopy moustache. He waved and turned right into the driveway ahead of me. I followed and parked alongside his car. We got out at the same time and walked towards the backyard, trudging together through wet snow that hadn't been shovelled since the last snowfall. I'd have to clear the laneway or it would freeze as soon as the temperature returned to below freezing. David had his dark green parka open, and I could see a radio and gun holster hanging on his belt.

“I didn't get a chance to say congratulations on your fourth child,” I said. “Boy or girl?”

“Our fourth boy, if you can believe it. Olive was desperate for a girl and cried for a week solid after the birth. The doctor said it was hormonal, but that didn't make it any easier. Now she wants to try for a fifth.” David grinned wryly.

“Wow, five kids. Is that Olive Chan, the math whiz from two years behind me in high school?”

“The very same. We married when I was six years out of high school. Our oldest is turning seventeen next month. I tell Olive I'm too old to change diapers, but she's determined. Says she's young enough for one more kick at the can. She has effortless pregnancies and is never happier than when she's carrying a kid.”

We stopped at the bottom of the deck. I looked across the yard to where my father had been struck down in the snow. Then I looked back at David. I couldn't see his eyes behind the reflected light of his green tinted sunglasses.

“How about I help you clean up for a bit?” he asked softly. “I know it's a real mess after the break in, and I have a few hours to kill. I'm actually just off shift.”

“Shouldn't you be heading home to get some sleep?”

“My sleep is all screwed up. This is my last night shift, and I try to stay up late so I can get to bed closer to when I should.”

“Well, okay then. I could use the help.” I started wading through the wet snow up the stairs to the back door. “I haven't actually been back since the time I saw you here. It's taken me awhile to get up my courage to face this again.”

“I understand. I'm glad I was going by when you made your return trip. It's not great to tackle these things alone if you don't need to.”

I thought I'd prepared myself for a second look at the destruction in the house, but I was mistaken. We stepped into the kitchen, where the stench of rotting food and the violent mess strewn about the room made the bile rise in my throat. My eyes watered and the room blurred. I blinked rapidly.

“This looks as good a place as any to start,” I said.

“First job is to clean out the food,” agreed David.

For the next three hours, we worked nonstop. First, we put the kitchen back in order then washed down the cupboards and floor. The sickening smell of garbage was replaced by that of Windex and pine cleaner. I sat back on my heels, where I'd been kneeling on the floor and surveyed the space. David put down the sponge he'd been using to scrub the sink and leaned against the counter.

“Well, this room is livable. Are you ready to let me buy you a late lunch?”