Glare Ice (6 page)

“A rag strip.” She stared at it. Long thin red rag. She remembered where she had seen them before. “I should have thought of this sooner. I think I know what it is.”

S
TEPHANIE
couldn’t believe she was at work, checking over dog food as it went into big paper bags. There were moments when her blood would turn to ice in her veins and her feet would feel frozen to the factory floor. She would wonder if she could even move if she had to run for her life.

She hadn’t been able to leave Snooper at home—the thought of anything happening to him made her start to shake—so she had brought him with her. She checked on him a few minutes ago, to make sure he was okay sitting in the car with a big polar fleece comforter, a bowl of food, and plenty of water. She had parked so the car would be in full sun all day long. She had checked on him twice in the morning and then taken him for a long walk at lunch. He seemed quite content and very happy to see her. He had a very sunny personality.

Nearly as sunny as Buck’s had been. She knew it was stupid, but somehow she felt as if something of Buck lived on in Snooper, some of his kindness. She needed to hold on to that.

The foreman of the factory had made an announcement about Buck’s death the first thing at the start of the shift. After telling everyone what had happened, he had asked for a moment of silence. Stephanie had felt all her fear and tiredness waiting to drop her to the floor, but she remained standing.

Afterward, he had walked over and said, “I’m sorry, Steph. I know you guys had something going.”

She had nodded, accepting his condolences silently. She didn’t want to start crying at work.

Throughout the day, people had stopped by her station, mainly the women, some she hardly knew, just to say a little something. Most of them were awkward and all they might say was, “Too bad,” “So sorry,” but she knew it was heartfelt. Buck had always had a smile for everyone. Even though she knew they were offering her sympathy because of the way they had felt for Buck, she still appreciated it.

The one good thing about being at work was that she was safe here. Maybe she should sign on for extra shifts. Two more days, and she would be gone. She just needed to get her two-week paycheck. It would make a big difference on how far she could go.

She was even thinking of Hawaii. She had never been there, didn’t even know anyone who had ever been there, but she didn’t think she would ever be found there. She would get a little carry case so Snooper could fly in the plane with her.

It was hard to do her work when she was so tired. They kept track of how many bags each checker did an hour, and she knew her average productivity was not going to be what it usually was. But she stayed at it, steady as she could be, trying to keep awake on the line. At least nothing dangerous would happen to her if she fell asleep. Some people could get really hurt if they weren’t careful.

Thinking of Hawaii kept her going. Palm trees—she had never seen a palm tree. Drinking right out of a coconut. Maybe she’d even learn how to hula dance. She and Snooper could go for long walks on the beach.

She’d legally change her name. Stephanie Klaus—she had never liked her name. Maybe Lorna Lake; that had a nice sound to it. She could be a totally different person. A woman who never took shit from any man. Maybe she would find someone to love her. Maybe she would get married again. Kids were certainly still a possibility.

She got giddy when she thought of what her life could be. But when she thought about leaving her house, getting away from him, she started to sweat. She knew he would stay away from her for a while, but then he would come after her. She did not want to think what he would do if he found her.

“Claire?” Bridget said when she heard her sister’s voice. She hated to call her at work, but she needed to talk to her. “Or should I call you deputy?”

“Call me madame.”

“Madame it is.”

“What can I do for you?”

“You busy?” Bridget didn’t know why she asked. She could tell by Claire’s voice, the professional remove in it, that she was.

“Sort of.”

“I’ll be quick. Is there any chance Rachel and I can come for Thanksgiving?”

A pause—she could hear papers rustling. “I thought you were going to Chuck’s folks.”

It wasn’t a good sign that Claire hadn’t immediately been thrilled with the prospect of two more for Thanksgiving. “Well, Chuck and his dad decided they wanted to go deer hunting.”

“Oh, deer hunting. He’s going to miss his baby’s first Thanksgiving?”

“You don’t need to rub it in. I’m not happy about this decision.”

“No, I suppose not. Of course you can join us. Rich’s mother is coming too.”

This explained the reticence. “Oh, I didn’t know.”

“Yeah, Rich just asked if she could come.”

“You haven’t met her before, have you?”

“No.”

“Is there any way I can help?” Bridget grimaced. She felt she needed to offer, but she wasn’t known for her cooking.

“Yes,” Claire said. “Could you bring a nice bottle of white wine, and can you be responsible for the relish tray?”

“Yes, absolutely. I can do the relish tray. I would love to do that. I’ll make it look really nice. Don’t give it another thought.”

“Thanks, Bridge. It’ll be nice to have you with us. I know Meg will be ecstatic when she hears that Rachel will be there. How is the little cutie?”

Bridget looked over at the small sleeping form, curled among pillows on the couch. “She’s fine. She doesn’t seem to like to sleep in her crib. She wants to be with me wherever I am.”

“That’s sweet.”

“She’ll get over it, won’t she?”

“Oh, in about ten years. Then she won’t hardly want to be in the same room with you.”

When they hung up, Bridget walked over and knelt down by her baby. Rachel was pursing her lips in her sleep. Hungry again? Bridget hoped not for another hour or so. Her breasts ached with their intermittent fullness and then the constant feedings. Rachel didn’t seem to take that much at a time and so was hungry an hour or two after she had fed. Bridget had made the big mistake of figuring out how many hours a day she was breast-feeding. When she came up with four and a half, she started crying.

Bridget felt like she was living in a dream world; never really awake and certainly never really asleep. She slept with one ear out for the slightest whimper from Rachel.

She was petrified that Rachel was going to die. She knew it made no sense. She knew that it was a common feeling among new mothers. But none of this knowledge helped her deal with the raw anguish and absolute panic she felt whenever she wasn’t sitting, watching or holding her baby.

She had dreams that she had forgotten about Rachel, not fed her for days, completely forgotten she had even had a baby, until she found her lying on the floor in her bedroom. The dreams would wrench her from sleep, and she would have to go and see that Rachel was all right.

At Thanksgiving, she would try to talk to Claire about this. Maybe she would know some tricks to help her calm down.

Bridget was mad at Chuck for going hunting, but in a way she would be glad to be rid of him for a few days. He loved Rachel and held her and even changed her diapers, but he didn’t like how much attention Bridget gave her. “Let her be,” he would say. “She can cry for a few moments. She’ll be okay.”

Rachel was almost a month old, gaining weight, waggling her feet in the air, and looking at everything. She was a healthy, happy baby. But sometimes Bridget did wish she were ten years old. Or eighteen, going out the door to live in her own apartment.

It wasn’t that Bridget didn’t want to enjoy all the years of Rachel’s growing up, it was that she could hardly wait for the time to come when she would know that she had done her job, raised her darling daughter to adulthood. She hated feeling so responsible for another person.

Two people sat hunched up over the long wooden bar and didn’t even turn around to look as she walked in the door. The bartender was smoking a cigarette near the one window at the far end of the bar.

With an incredible view of the lake, Claire couldn’t understand why they didn’t have any windows overlooking it. Instead there were two small windows at the front of the bar looking out into the parking lot.

The place smelled like a wet ashtray—beer and cigarettes—what a mixture. In a neon sign, the Budweiser beer horse team was galloping over the cash register.

“What can I do for you?” the bartender asked, walking over to where Claire stood by the bar.

Claire would have guessed his age to be mid-fifties. It was hard to be sure as drinking and smoking had obviously taken their toll. The skin around his eyes sagged so much that it was hard to see his pupils. His thinning hair was greased across his balding head.

He looked pointedly at her uniform, then asked, “You in here about what happened at the lake last night?”

“Yes, were you here?”

“I wasn’t, but Norm filled me in.”

Claire took down the name of the bartender who had been working the previous night. “Do you know Buck Owens, the man who went through the ice?”

“He died, didn’t he?”

“Yes, he died. Did you know him?”

“Not really. I knew who he was to see him and all.”

“Did you ever see him in here with a woman? I’ve been told her first name was Stephanie.”

“Yeah, I know her. She’s not bad looking. Comes in now and again. Doesn’t even drink too much. I think she and Buck worked together or something.”

“Do you know where she lived or what her last name was?”

“I think she lived in Fort St. Antoine. And I remember her name. Someone teased her about it. Klaus, like Santa Klaus. But I think she pronounced it differently.”

So it was Stephanie, her neighbor. Felt odd to have it be someone she knew. This never happened to her when she worked in Minneapolis. “How did she and Buck get along?”

“They weren’t a big item. Seemed almost more like friends. They’d meet here sometimes. Never caused a commotion, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“Did Buck ever cause any trouble?”

“Buck?” The bartender laughed. “You gotta be kidding. Couldn’t have been a nicer kid. If you ask me, almost too nice. Helped anybody out. Even when he got drunk, he stayed nice. Some guys do that. They get kinda sweet and slobbery. Know what I mean?”

“Yes, I do. My husband got sentimental if he had a drink.” Claire was surprised to hear herself say that. She didn’t talk about Steve very often, but that behavior reminded her of him.

“Sorry to hear that Buck was killed. I’m also hearing it might not have been an accident. Is that true?”

“We’re checking into that.”

“Take it to mean it’s true, otherwise you’d deny it.” He looked Claire over. “I’ve heard about you—the woman deputy. Guys talk about you in here. You’re even prettier than they say.”

Claire nodded her head at the compliment. Before she turned to walk out the door, she couldn’t resist saying, “Smarter too. Thanks for the info.”

S
TEPHANIE
didn’t care if she didn’t finish the rug. She had to weave. She needed something to keep her hands busy, and weaving soothed her like nothing else. The only other thing that worked for her was drinking, and she didn’t want to start doing that. She had to keep her wits about her. That was something her mother would say. Her mother had lived with a man who was very similar to Jack, Stephanie could now see. Very similar.

Snooper sat next to her on the couch and watched her as she moved the shuttle back and forth. His head moved as her hand did, and she could have sworn that he was trying to learn how she did it. He was such a smart dog.

She hadn’t paid much attention to him when Buck was still alive and had always been rather astonished at the degree of Buck’s attachment to the dog, but now she felt like she understood it better. He seemed like a remarkable animal to her: devoted to his master, whoever that might be, and attentive in a way that she had never experienced before. She felt utter love coming off the dog, but sometimes he gave her the willies. Like he was reading her thoughts.

At night, in her double bed, he would curl up on the pillow next to her head. He would fall asleep before she did, but in the morning when she woke, his eyes would be fastened on her face.

“What do you think, Snooper?” she asked.

The little dog wagged its tail, pounding it against the couch cushions.

“I should make you a little rug. Something for you to lie on that would be your very own.”

He wagged again and this time gave a small yelp.

She laughed. “You like that idea.”

She was more than half done with the rug, and it was turning out nicer than she had hoped. A green stripe and then a red stripe. She was making it two and a half feet wide and the same length—a square to fit under a small tree.

She remembered the first Christmas after she had fallen in love with Jack. She had thought he was everything. They had opened presents early Christmas morning. He had given her a pair of earrings, boasting that even though they were zirconium they still cost him fifty bucks, and she had given him a CD that had the song “I’ve Had the Time of My Life” on it. It was their song. She had also knit him a scarf, which he said was too precious to wear. She thought he didn’t like the way it looked on him but was afraid to tell her. He had gotten through that phase fast.

She also remembered that they had made love later on that day. He had made her put on her earrings, and then he had touched her all over in places she had never been touched before. She had the thought that she wasn’t sure if she was in love with him, but she knew that her body was in love with his. She had been only fifteen.

Her hands moved on their own over the rug, and her thoughts could go where they wanted to. But she had to quit thinking about Jack. He wasn’t who he once had been. He hadn’t been that man for many years. She had put up with him for far too long.

Then there was a knock on the door. She froze. Only one more day, and she would be gone. Please don’t let it be Jack. She couldn’t let him see the dog. He might hurt it—he was mean to animals. She scooped up Snooper and put him in a crate that she had gotten from work, then she gave him a treat and hid him in the back of her closet, telling him to be quiet.

Whoever it was continued to bang on the door. She smoothed her hair down and peeked out the small window at the top of the door. A woman. Then she recognized the woman. It was the deputy woman, Claire.

For an instant Stephanie fantasized about telling her everything, pleading with her to help, but then she remembered what had happened last time. She had sworn never again. She would take care of herself. The police never listened.

She opened the door.

Claire tucked the Polaroid of the red rag in her purse before she left her house. She had stopped home before she dropped in on Stephanie, feeling that this was an instance when her uniform would not serve her well. She had changed into a sweatshirt and jeans. Let Stephanie see that she was just another woman, that she might understand what she had gone through—maybe that way she would open up and talk, telling Claire what had happened to Buck.

As Claire drove over to Stephanie’s house, she felt very odd to be stopping over at a neighbor’s to see if she had killed someone. When she had worked in Minneapolis, she had never interrogated anyone she had known personally. She felt very uncomfortable and wondered if she should have come with Scott or Billy. Made it more official.

When Stephanie opened the door, she flung it wide as if she had nothing to hide. “Oh, hi,” she said as if she had been expecting someone else.

“I need to talk to you.”

Stephanie didn’t say anything, but continued to stare at her. Claire stared back, surprised by how small the woman was. Claire put her height at under five-foot-three and wouldn’t have guessed she weighed more than a hundred and ten pounds. The bruises on her face had faded until they looked like a smear of makeup in the wrong spot.

“Just a few questions,” Claire added.

“That sounds ominous.”

Stephanie’s use of the word surprised Claire. It stopped her for a moment. What did she know of this woman? What had she presupposed? She needed to start over again.

“I don’t mean it to sound that way. I guess I just thought it was time we talked. I’m Claire Watkins. I work for the sheriff’s department.”

“I know who you are. Come on in.” Stephanie’s shoulders dropped, and she stepped out of the way, allowing Claire to come into her house.

Claire followed her into the living room. A 1960s-style sofa with a teak frame and what looked like the original fabric sat up against the wall.

“I like the sofa,” Claire said before she sat down on it.

“Salvation Army. Thirty bucks.”

“These sixties pieces are getting trendy again.”

Stephanie ran her hand over the fabric and said, “Reminded me of one we had when I was a kid.”

Then Claire looked at the work set on the tiled coffee table. Stephanie was weaving a green-and-red rag rug. The red strips looked like a match to the one that had been found tied around Buck’s neck.

“I love your rugs,” Claire said and then felt disingenuous saying it. But she did love Stephanie’s rugs. How to be both a neighbor and a cop at the same time? “I do a little quilting. Is weaving hard?”

Stephanie smiled for the first time. She looked Claire full in the face. “That isn’t why you came here.”

Claire said honestly, “I wish it was. It’s about Buck.”

Stephanie’s head dropped and she nodded. “I thought so.”

“Do you have the dog?”

“Oh, the dog.” Stephanie stood up and ran out of the room, returning a minute later with a small, fluffy dog under her arm. “I forgot about him. I had put him in his crate.”

“What kind of dog is he?” Claire asked, looking at the tawny powder puff with deep brown eyes.

“A Pomeranian.”

“What’s his name?”

“Snooper.”

“Kind of a silly name.”

Stephanie looked at Claire and nodded. “Yes, I’ve been thinking of changing it. Maybe just adding on to it. Gentleman. Gentleman Snooper. It would suit him better. He has more manners than most men I meet.”

Claire decided she better get down to it and ask Stephanie some serious questions. As she was reaching into her purse, Stephanie stood up.

“I could make some coffee?”

“No, that won’t be necessary.”

“I don’t have anything to eat in the house.” Stephanie looked toward the kitchen.

“Really. I need to ask a few things about Buck. Sit down.”

Stephanie did as she was told.

Claire held out the Polaroid of the red rag. It was taken against a white sheet and stood out well. “Do you recognize this?”

“What kind of question is that?” Stephanie pointed at the rug she was weaving. “A trick question? Of course I do. It looks like one of my strips of red cloth. Why?”

“No trick, Stephanie. Calm down. It was found in Buck’s car. When we dragged it out of the lake.” Claire had decided she would tell her no more than that.

Stephanie squinted her face. “His car? Let me think. I know what might have happened. I think I brought my weaving over to his house one night, and I bet that piece fell out of my bag.”

Not a bad explanation. Claire went on. “Do you know what happened to Buck? How he died?”

“Just what everyone knows. His car fell through the ice. I assume he drowned.”

“Did you see him that night?”

Stephanie answered quickly—maybe too quickly. “No. We had talked of meeting at the bar, but when I got there, only Snooper was still there. Buck was already gone. I was surprised.”

“Was he meeting anyone else there?”

Hesitation. “No, not that I know of. He didn’t say anything to me.”

“What was your relationship with Buck?”

Stephanie’s eyes filled with tears, but she blinked them back. “I guess you might have called us girlfriend and boyfriend. I don’t know. We were more friends as far as I was concerned.”

“Stephanie, it looks like someone tied Buck into his car and then drove it out onto the ice. It looks like he was murdered.”

Stephanie didn’t react. She stroked the dog who was leaning into her lap. “I wondered.”

“You don’t seem surprised?”

“Because Buck would never have gone out on that ice. He knew better. He wasn’t dumb like that. He knew that lake better than anyone I know.”

“Do you know anyone who might have wanted to hurt him?”

Stephanie snorted. “Buck? No way. He might have annoyed some people, but he was too nice for his own good.”

“Did you have anything to do with what happened to Buck?”

Stephanie’s eyes widened. It wasn’t much, but Claire had been watching for it. “No. I don’t think so. Not that I know of.”

“How could you not know?”

“Maybe somebody at work liked me. Maybe someone had a grudge against Buck. I don’t know.”

Claire tried a different tack. “Who beat you last week? Was it Buck?”

“You’ve got to be kidding. Buck literally wouldn’t hurt a flea.”

“Then who did it?”

“My own clumsiness. I admit it looked bad, but it all happened when I fell down my front stairs. They had gotten icy in the night.”

“Stephanie, I think you need to tell me what really happened.”

Stephanie looked at Claire and then said a little more loudly, “Why are you asking all these questions? Do you think Buck beat me up, so I killed him?”

Claire sat still.

“You do, don’t you? Why the hell would I do that? Why would I kill the nicest man I’ve ever known? Can you answer me that?”

Claire watched her.

Stephanie picked up Snooper and held the dog up to her face, burying her face in the dog’s fur. Her shoulders shook as she started to cry. Then she lowered the dog into her lap and looked at Claire with tears flowing down her face. “Why would I take his dog home with me?”

“A good question.”

Stephanie gave a squeak of a laugh. “Maybe that’s why I killed him—so that I could get the dog.”

“Don’t worry.” As soon as the words were out of his mouth, Rich wished he could clap them back.

Claire reacted the way he thought she might. She stopped pacing in the middle of his kitchen and snapped at him, “Don’t tell me to not worry. I hate it when someone does that to me.”

“Fine.”

“Fine?” She burst out laughing and sat down next to him. “Thanks for that. I’m being a jerk, aren’t I?”

“I hadn’t noticed. Let’s see if I’ve got this right. You went over to a neighbor woman’s house who you suspect has been assaulted recently and whose rag rugs you like, and you asked her if she had killed her boyfriend, and she said no, and now you feel shitty for having accused her.”

“She has his dog, for God’s sake.”

“I’m on your side. I’m on her side.”

“I think she liked this guy. I don’t think she was in love with him, but I think she thought it might happen. From everything I know about him, he was a nice man. And now he’s dead. But I do think she knows something she’s not telling me. I think she might have an idea who did it.”

Rich watched her work through all this.

“But what if I’m wrong? What if he beat her, and she killed him?”

“Don’t you think you will figure that out—that something will give it away?”

“God, I hope so. But someone did beat her up. She tried to tell me that she slipped on the ice, but you don’t land on your face and have bruises around your eyes if you fall. Only another person pounding you leaves marks like that. How am I going to get her to talk to me about it?”

“Try again.”

“You’re right. Persist, as my father would say.”

Rich decided to change the subject. “You ready for us all tomorrow?”

“I think so. It will feel weird to me not to be working on this case over the holiday, but nothing will change, and it will give the crime lab more time to analyze what they’ve got. The house is pretty clean. Is your mother fastidious?”

“She keeps her house clean, but not always neat. Anyway, don’t worry about what she’ll think.”

“That’s easy for you to say. Both my parents are gone, so you will never be faced with this.”

Rich could tell she was spoiling for a fight. He didn’t want to go there. “What would you like me to say?”

Claire thought about it for a moment. “That your mother will love me.”

He took her hand and held it to reassure her. “I can’t promise that, but I know she will like you.”

“That everything will go off like clockwork.”

He lifted her hand to his lips and kissed it gently. “Better than that, we will all have a good time.”

“That I will find who killed Buck and I will find them fast, before anything else happens. I’m worried about Stephanie.”

“Does she seem scared?”

Claire thought back to Stephanie. “Numb would be a better word. When I told her that we thought Buck had been killed, she didn’t seem surprised. More resigned. Like she’d been waiting to hear that.”

Rich thought of his pheasant chicks. “When one of my chicks is being pecked at, after a while, they give up.”

Claire gave him an appraising look. Then she stood up, walked over to his coat closet, and took out a scarf. She wrapped the ends around both of her hands and then walked behind him and wrapped it around his neck. “I want to do an experiment. Try to get away from me.”