In Winter's Grip (12 page)

“I feel like I'm dreaming you,” he said. “I imagined so many times that we would be together one day, just to talk and see you again, and now that you're here,” he paused, searching for the words, “it's just such an odd feeling. Like real and unreal at the same time.”

I lifted my head and looked at him. I traced the line of his jaw with my fingertips. “We were so young. I sometimes thought maybe I'd dreamed what was between us—that you'd have forgotten all about me. It's not like I feel that I'm anything special. I figured you'd forget me as time went on, and you'd make another life.”

I felt his hand in my hair. “I've never forgotten you, and it feels like my connection with you hasn't changed.” He was quiet for a moment. Then he said, “But we're both married now with people depending on us. That's our reality.”

Happiness and sadness flooded through me in quick succession. “You're like a secret I've always kept to me, even all these years. You know, I never talked to Sam about you. He has no idea.”

“Nina wouldn't have been pleased to know about you either.” His voice trailed off. “Are there any leads on who killed your father?”

“No. He was having an affair with Becky Holmes. That's been my main lead.”

“You've been investigating?”

“Just asking questions mainly.” I propped myself on one elbow. “Jonas is tied up in this somehow, and I need to make sure he's okay. I promised him I'd stay around for a bit.”

The hard line of Billy's jaw relaxed. “Then I can see you more than this one time. I thought you'd be going tomorrow.”

“What do you do for work?” I asked.

“Raymond has an outfitters operation off highway 53 at Vermillion Bay, and I'm giving him a hand. We cater to the Fortune Bay Casino clientele. Nina is working at Lutsen Resort during the week, so she and Ella stay there, and I pick them up for the weekends. It's just temporary. She's got a job at the casino in April.”

“Are you taking people ice fishing?”

“Yeah. Then fishing trips all summer and deer and moose hunting in the fall.”

“Why did you leave Duluth?”

“Got laid off.”

He reached up a hand around my neck and pulled me lower. We kissed for a long time, and it was like we'd never been apart. With Billy, I always felt like our souls were intertwining when we kissed, and I was sorry when he pulled back.

“I have to go, Maja.”

“I know.”

“I'll see you again.”

His words were a promise, and I nodded. Billy rolled off the bed and bent to straighten the covers around me.

“I'll see you again,” he said once more, and his eyes were black pools. “Sleep well.”

He bent to kiss me one final time, and I watched him cross the room and disappear out the door. If I hadn't strained to hear, I would have missed the click of the back door. Billy had always come and gone as silently as that—one of the reasons we'd escaped my father's radar for so long.

I closed my eyes and turned onto my side. Billy Okwari had never forgotten me. I held onto this thought as I fell into a deep, untroubled sleep. For the first time in a long time I didn't dream.
Billy Okwari still loved me.
The knowledge filled something in my soul and gave me back a part of myself that I thought I'd lost forever.

TWELVE

I
opened my eyes and immediately shut them again, groaning. The sun might have been up, but the light was grey in my room, and the air on my face was cool. I snuggled deeper under the covers and tried to fall back to sleep. Once awakened, my mind was racing so much that I couldn't relax enough to let go. After twenty minutes, I gave up trying to slip into dreamland and began a systematic replay of the conversations that I'd had the day before with everyone who'd stopped by our house. Nothing stood out in my mind as relevant to my father's murder. I wasn't sure if I had the skills to unearth his killer, but I
was
sure that I wasn't going to give up yet.

Swinging my legs over the side of bed, I stretched my arms toward the ceiling and shivered as the cold air struck my skin. I forced myself not to dive back under the covers. I had to get Jonas to the doctor and shouldn't put it off any longer than could be helped. I also had to plot out my plan of attack for uncovering what was going on in my father's life before he died. There was lots to do and I didn't know how many days I could spare with Sam angling for me to come home.

I stood and felt for my slippers where they'd been pushed under the bed. I bent to tuck my feet into them, and a rush of happiness made me pause when Billy's image flashed through my mind. I touched my lips and smiled. I knew I should feel guilt for having been with him the night before, but I couldn't raise any remorse even after I reminded myself that we were both married. Perhaps the guilt would come later. I wasn't sure what to expect, because for the ten years of my marriage, I had never even contemplated being unfaithful. And what Billy and I had done, what we had always had between us, didn't make me feel like I was being unfaithful to Sam. It was like I was in my real life again, like I was finally being true to myself. What was between me and Billy had nothing to do with my life in Ottawa.

I looked over at the chair where Billy had sat watching me. I could still picture him there, his black hair loose about his face and his soft eyes the colour of onyx. He'd taken off his jacket, and underneath wore a denim shirt open at the neck to reveal a beaded choker in black, white and red with an eagle design at its centre. Perhaps if I could conjure him up in my mind at will, that would keep me going. I could keep putting one foot in front of the other and carry on with my life in Ottawa with Sam; I could push my emotions back into the place where they would not cause me any more pain.

Claire was in the kitchen sitting at the table with a cup of coffee in front of her and a cigarette in her hand. She blew two smoke rings across the table as I sat in the chair next to her with my cup of coffee. Dark smudges ringed her grey eyes and uncombed black hair stuck out like so many clumps of grass. She'd thrown on sweatpants and a fleece pullover and didn't look her normal, pulled-together self. She tossed a scowl in my direction.

“Taking another day off?” I asked, then blew on my coffee before taking a swallow of liquid caffeine. It coated my throat in hot bitterness.

“A wee headache today. I planned to take the day off anyhow.” Claire sucked another puff from her cigarette and inhaled deeply. The smoke streamed out of her nose like a dragon breathing fire. “Jonas isn't doing so well today. Says he's not getting up.”

“Oh?” I was sure he hadn't had so much to drink the night before that he couldn't function. This was not a good sign. I couldn't hide my worry from her any longer. “I think he's headed for another depression.”

Claire's eyes were marble hard. “That would be my guess too. In fact, I just got off the phone with the doctor, and I'm to take Jonas in as soon as I can get him moving. I thought I'd give him till lunch to sleep.”

“That's good,” I nodded, relieved that she'd already started arrangements. “He'll be needing an antidepressant to get him back on track.”

Claire turned her face towards me. “You doctors all believe in the power of drugs, like they're the answer to our problems. Maybe, they'll get him functioning again, but I'm not so sure drugs are enough to make him normal.”

“Jonas has clinical depression, Claire. It's a real physical condition that happens when chemical messages aren't delivered correctly between brain cells. Sometimes, he needs medication to be able to function. If he doesn't get it, well, he just gets worse.”
Till he cashes out, like my mother.

“Well, sometimes it just seems to come at convenient times.” Her tone was sulky.

“Is there something you aren't telling me, Claire?”

Claire met my gaze. She dropped her eyes first, but not before I saw into a well of anger. Her long fingers ground the cigarette into the ashtray like a pestle. “Jonas always falls back into depression instead of facing his issues. I swear to God, it's getting to be a tiresome record that keeps playing over and over. I don't know why I've put up with it all these years.”

“He really is sick, Claire. He can't control his depression. Stress makes it worse. I know you've had to shoulder a lot, but Jonas counts on you.” I'd unconsciously slipped into my doctor voice.

Claire stood and looked down at me. “And maybe I'm tired of being the strong one.”

I watched her stride over to the sink and pour the coffee down the drain. “It's not sitting well in my stomach this morning,” she said with her back to me. She set the cup on the counter, then put both hands on the sides of the sink. “I'm sorry, Maja. I don't mean to burden you with this. Your father's death has been such a shock and...well, I'm just starting to question things, you know, like how quickly life can end.” She turned quickly towards me and leaned back on the counter, folding her arms across her chest. “...you know, whether I'm doing what I should be with mine.”

“It's normal to question. I do too.”

“Oh really? You, a successful doctor with a loving husband who's also making a good living?”

“Even me,” I said.

“Well, misery loves company. I know you're probably ready to fly home now the funeral's over. Don't worry about Jonas. I'll sort it out. This has been a particularly trying time, but we're a good team and will put this behind us. I'm going to change my clothes.” She attempted a smile. “I have some errands in town to do before I coax Jonas to the doctor's.”

I didn't set her straight about my intention to stay on. “Do you need help with anything? I don't mind coming with you.”

“No, that's okay. I'm just dropping by the lawyer's. She called to say that your father made a change to his will so that needs a review.”

“I'd like to come too.”

“It's no bother, Maja. I can tell you the details when I get back.”

“It would be good for me to come along,” I insisted. “I'll go brush my teeth and will meet you in a few minutes.” I ignored the obvious displeasure in her eyes. Suddenly, I was extremely interested to know what my father had left and to whom. Maybe, the information would shed light on who benefitted from his death. I'd read enough murder mysteries to know that one should follow the money trail when looking for motive.

We took Claire's van into town. I decided that after the visit to the lawyer, I'd walk back to Jonas's with a stop to see Katherine Lingstrom along the way. She may not have any information about my father's life, but her parents wouldn't have missed much of the small-town gossip. I knew Katherine's mother couldn't resist sharing what she knew. Sonja Mattsen's words replayed in my head from the night before and I worried for my childhood friend. Katherine and I may have let our friendship go by the wayside, but perhaps there was something I could do to help her now. At least I could be a good listener if she wanted to talk about her troubles.

Claire was nervous high energy during the short drive to Greene and Reynolds Law Firm, housed in a heritage grey clapboard house that had been converted into offices. She talked nonstop about Gunnar and his troubling new attitude towards school and life in general. I listened sympathetically but figured the kid was likely showing the first signs of puberty. It became more and more evident that Claire was going to have a hard time letting him grow up. All of my dealings with Gunnar so far pointed to a troubled boy who might be carrying the depressive gene of my mother and brother. For his sake, I hoped he was just experiencing a domineering mother and raging hormones. I didn't hold out much hope for understanding during this visit what made him tick.

We parked in the post office parking lot and crossed the street, avoiding patches of glistening ice that had been exposed by the snow plow. The Greene and Reynolds sign, oval with gold lettering on a black metal base, swung gently to and fro above the front entrance. An oil lamp sent a welcoming glow through lace curtains in the bay window. Greene and Reynolds had nurtured their folksy, down-home image with a burnish of prosperity—they'd been in business for at least three generations and managed to outlive all competition.

Georgia Beaufort, a South Carolina transplant in her early sixties with hair the colour of pumpkin and skin the colour of coal, hustled us into Patricia Reynold's office. She delivered cups of coffee as we waited for Patricia to arrive. This room was bright and high-ceilinged with curlicue crown molding and tall windows that looked out on a large expanse of snow-covered lawn and woods beyond. Patricia had an oak desk clear of work and framed prints of cottages on the walls. Georgia seated us in arm chairs upholstered in yellow and green flowered fabric that were positioned in a semicircle around a stone fireplace original to the building. A crackling fire completed the tranquil picture. Claire appeared to sink deeper into her chair as she sipped from her coffee cup and looked into the fire. It seemed best not to interrupt her reverie.

I remembered Patricia Reynolds as a scrawny ninth grade girl who had mousy brown hair and thick glasses. The boys had given her the nickname Flatsy Patsy and delighted in teasing her until she learned to make herself almost invisible. I heard the click of high heels on the hardwood floor and turned my head, preparing myself for an older version of the girl I remembered. My brain did a double take. The voluptuous platinum blonde who strode across the room towards us was as far from the flat-chested girl I remembered as Twiggy was from Jayne Mansfield. I stood, and as we shook hands, I studied Patricia's face. Whoever had done her plastic surgery had done good work. Her nose was narrow and delicately flared at the nostrils, with red lips larger than humanly possible. Even her eyes were wide, with the lids pulled tight, and the glasses had probably been exchanged for laser surgery. Capped by a mane of tousled blonde hair, she looked more like a Barbie doll than the flat-chested, gawky girl I remembered in high school. For thirty-five, she was remarkably constructed, right down to her breast implants that in my view, were too large for her tiny frame. She kept her face expressionless, but I couldn't miss the triumph in her eyes as she extended a cool hand for me to shake.