In Winter's Grip (16 page)

Charlie was nothing if not astute. He was also very good at reading expressions. “You and your father were not close, I gather,” he said.

I picked up my coffee cup. My hand was shaking, and I set the cup carefully back onto the table. “We were not on good terms. I don't want to go into it, but please know that nothing you say could startle me. I know he was seeing a married woman.”

Charlie's eyes were sympathetic. “Yeah, she met him a few times over the last month. There were a couple of women, actually. Your father seemed to like them younger. He had a lot of charm, obviously.”

“What did they look like? The women, I mean?”

“The one who came most often, he called Becky. The other one used to pick him up. She never got out of her red van but she had dark hair, I remember. The van was one of those older models—a Dodge, I think. I never knew her name.”

“Did you tell the police?”

“No. I don't like gossip. It's not my place to talk about your father's love life.”

“Could my father have been involved in something illegal?” I watched Charlie to see any sign of guilt. He'd be a logical partner if they were passing contraband through the border crossing. He met my gaze with a level stare.

“Do you have any particular reason to suspect that?”

“My father had a lot of money, a new vehicle and boat. Just seems odd.”

“Your father gambled at the casino on the way home. He could have made his money there.”

“Grand Portage Casino?”

“No, I think he went to Fortune Bay. Kind of a weird choice when you think about it, since it would have been out of his way. Grand Portage is right here, after all.”

“A bit off the beaten track for sure.”

Why was my father visiting Fortune Bay unless he had a
connection?
Billy and his brother Raymond had their outfitters business stationed near there and took people staying at the resort on day trips, but that couldn't be the draw for my father. He'd never had any interest in fishing or hunting. I was at a loss.

Our breakfasts arrived, and we didn't speak again until Charlie had finished eating. I could tell he was getting tired, and I waved off a second cup of coffee.

“Thanks for taking this time,” I said, reaching for the bill.

“No problem. Your dad was always easygoing with me, and I'd like to see them find who killed him. Despite anything I said, he didn't do anything that deserved being murdered.”

I nodded. “Thanks.”

I shrugged into my coat and followed Charlie outside, where we shook hands before getting into our vehicles. I sat in the parking lot with the engine running for several minutes after he'd disappeared toward town. I watched the wind whip snow around the building and debated whether I should let the investigation go or keep pursuing leads that seemed to be heading down paths I'd just as soon not go down. The bleakness of the morning settled over me.

The way I saw it, there were two possibilities, neither of them very appealing. Either my father was involved in something illegal that was making him a lot of money and at least one enemy, or his involvement with a married woman had angered somebody enough to kill him. I knew about his affair with Becky Holmes, which was bad enough, but the second woman was even more difficult to contemplate. It wasn't the fact that there was a second woman. It was the fact that the second woman and the vehicle Charlie Mallory had just described bore a striking similarity to Claire and her red Dodge Caravan.

SIXTEEN

T
he drive to Fortune Bay Casino on Highway 169 took an hour and a half. Blowing snow and white-out conditions made me drive more slowly than I would have liked, but the thought of the car hitting black ice and sliding off the highway demanded caution. I stopped for coffee at a roadside diner and to rest my weary eyes. It was tucked off the highway below a looming rock cut that was capped with a ragged line of fir trees. The owner, who was dressed in a blue checked shirt, baggy black cords and a Yankee ball cap, was close to eighty. He peered at me through inch-thick, oversized glasses.

“Roads ain't safe, young lady. You should hunker down till the worst of the blowing snow is over.”

“I'm ready for a break,” I admitted and obediently took a seat near the window. He shuffled over with a mug of black coffee, a fresh piece of apple pie and the
Duluth News Tribune
tucked under his arm.

“No sign of the storm letting up, but you never know around these parts,” he said after setting the coffee and pie on the table and handing me the paper. His eyes were watery and tinged with pink. “I've seen storms blow in quick and leave just as quick. You going far?”

“Just to Fortune Bay. I'm almost there,” I reached for the fork he'd set on a paper napkin in front of me. The pie tasted homemade, cinnamon and brown sugar flavouring the tart apples. I swallowed appreciatively. “Say, do you know of an outfitter named Raymond Okwari?”

“Ray's the best muskie fisherman around, bar none. Owns a little lodge not far from here that brings in the tourists. Course them natives have a jump on the rest of us when it comes to knowing their way around the wilderness.” He smiled, showing his nicotine-stained teeth.

“Where's Ray's lodge?”

“Just off Trail Road. Hang the first right past the purple house about ten miles from here. Only purple house in the area, thank Christ.” He pulled a cloth out of his pocket and wiped his hands. “Some damn people have no taste whatsoever.”

I waved my fork in a circular motion at chest level. “Great pie.”

“Can't take any credit. The wife baked it. She's normally working but had to go into town. Expect she's holed up at the granddaughter's till the storm lets up.”

He turned to leave just as the front door opened. I looked over then ducked my head. Wayne Okwari, Billy's nephew, had stepped into the hallway, shaking snow out of his long black hair and stomping his work boots on the rug at the entranceway. He was wearing the same hunting jacket he'd had on when I'd seen him at Hadrian's. I hoped he hadn't recognized me.

“Hey, Verl. Quite a day.” Wayne's voice was deeper than I'd expected.

“Say that again.” Verl blocked Wayne's view of me as he headed toward the counter. I waited a few seconds then glanced over. Wayne had his back to me, leaning on his elbows next to the cash register. I was thankful he hadn't noticed me. Maybe it was folly to have made this trip. What did I think I could find out about my father's tie to Fortune Bay Casino? Likely nothing, and I'd only succeed in embarrassing myself. I lifted a section of the newspaper and pretended to read.

“Heading to your dad's?” Verl asked. Mercifully, he didn't mention that I'd been asking directions to Ray's lodge.

“I'm coming from there. I'm on my way to Duved Cove. I just stopped to fill up my thermos with coffee. Then I'll be heading out again.”

“Hell of a day to be travelling.” I could hear liquid splashing into the thermos. “Read in the paper that Peter Larson was hit over the head and left for dead at his backyard in Duved Cove. That true?”

Wayne lowered his voice, and I didn't hear his answer.

Verl laughed. A pause and then, “What's your old man up to? He hasn't been in for a bit.”

“Ice fishing with Chinese tourists mainly. Damn, those people like to fish. Don't even seem to mind the cold. They've been flocking in like Canada geese all month. My uncle Billy is working with us, and they've been going flat out. We're looking forward to spring thaw so we can have some time off.”

I lowered the paper enough to see over the top. Wayne was in profile, screwing the lid onto his thermos. He looked less like Billy from this vantage point, with sharper features and thin lips—thin lips that matched his thin body. His hair was plastered back from his face in a matted toss of wet strands.

“Bet they're taking lots of pictures. Never seen one without a camera around their neck,” said Verl.

“Good one.” Wayne started towards the door. “Say hi to Marco for me. Tell him I'll stop by and see him on Sunday.”

“Marco's sleeping. Just came back from taking a load of paper products to Dallas. He's taken another load out Monday.”

“I'll be by to see him before then. Let him know.”

“Sure thing.”

I folded the paper and placed it on the paper placemat then waited a few minutes before going to the counter. Verl looked up at me from where he leaned reading the sports section of the paper. “Leaving already?”

“I don't have far to go. Say, was that Wayne Okwari?”

“You know Wayne? He's a friend of my grandson Marco. Marco has a rig and works out of Duluth. Never can keep up with all his comings and goings.”

“I don't exactly know Wayne, but I know his uncle Billy.”

“Oh yeah, you were asking earlier about Ray. He'd be Billy's brother and Wayne's dad. Well, Wayne works part-time in Duved Cove at a garage then helps out Ray when the spirit moves him. Never know when Wayne's going to turn up either. Kids these days just can't seem to sit still like in my day.”

“It is a different generation.”

Verl took my money and handed me back some change. “Looks to be letting up out there. Hope the roads ain't too icy for you, young lady.”

“I'll drive slowly. Thanks for everything.”

“I'm sure you're welcome. Come again if you're back this way.”

“I will.”

I came suddenly upon the purple house with canary yellow shutters and green roof several miles up the road. As I rounded a tight bend, the house appeared through the blowing snow like a two-storey rainbow in a universe of white and grey. I slowed but not fast enough to make the turn. The car ignored my change in direction. I knew enough to pump the brakes but could feel the tires resisting as the car slid wildly sideways into a tailspin on a piece of black ice. The steering wheel didn't respond to my frantic cranking, and the brakes may as well have been severed. I felt a throbbing pain where the door handle suddenly dug into my hip as I was flung against the door. A sudden spin and the tires ground against the snow bank lining the road. The solid mass of snow directed the car back onto the highway. I was thrust back then forward. My neck snapped and my head banged against the steering wheel, then thumped hard against the headrest. The seat belt tightened across my shoulder in a band down to my waist. It felt like all the air had left my lungs. Pain darted across my forehead and throbbed down my side. I closed my eyes and prayed.

Just as I was beginning to believe that the car would never stop its crazed slide across the road, the tires gripped onto something solid, and the wild ride ended. I opened my eyes and leaned forward to peer out the front windshield through the falling snow. Miraculously, the car seemed intact and was pointed in the right direction. I put one hand on my heart to still its beating and took in a deep breath. Nothing was broken. My breath came easily. It took me a few seconds to regroup before I gingerly began a slow descent down the hill, not daring to pull over in case the fickle car slid off the road. I spotted a sign with a toque of snow draped over its top that announced the outfitters lodge a few miles further on. I would keep going. I needed to see Billy.

The road swooped down a hill and would have dropped into the white belly of the lake but for the sharp right turn at the base of the incline. I was driving cautiously now, little more than a crawl, covering the last mile in record slow time. A sign that said “Ray's Outfitters” came into view through the swirling snow. Just past it was a newly plowed parking lot, which I pulled into, sidling up next to three skidoos and a truck with a blade for plowing snow attached to its front. I looked past the truck to a log cabin painted a chocolate brown, visible through a stand of birch trees and falling snow. Smoke rose from its stone chimney and billowed sideways, caught by the wind that cut across the ice coating Lake Vermilion.

I left the semi-warmth of the car and made a dash for the front door of the cottage, feeling my right boot sink into a drift. The sudden shock of cold inside my boot made me cry out. I stopped and emptied the snow from my boot while the wind did its best to blow me sideways into another bank. Boot back on, I struggled up the wide steps to the front door. As I reached for the handle, the wind caught me in a backwards gust that set me off balance. I pulled the door open, and it wrenched from my grasp and banged against the wall. The wind was stronger here than on the highway. It was a relief when I finally made it inside the cabin.

The first thing I noticed was the heat radiating from a cast iron stove in the corner and the smell of wood smoke in my nostrils. A two-seater couch and a recliner took up one corner of the office, and immediately in front of me was a counter with colourful postcards facing out from a wire rack next to cartons of gum and chips, fishing lures and maps. Above the desk, a deer head and shiny fish kept guard over the room with dead, beady eyes. As I stood looking around me, Billy and Raymond entered through a door to the right of the counter. I wouldn't have recognized Raymond, but then, it had been a long time.

“Can I help you?” His black eyes were like raisins in a doughy face. He must have been carrying three hundred pounds on a six foot frame. Now that I was here, I couldn't find the words to say why I'd come. Billy stepped from behind his brother.

“Raymond, you get the gear ready, and I'll look after this customer.”

“If you like,” Raymond said and ambled to the door. He looked me over as if he was trying to puzzle out where he'd seen me before. I smiled and looked away.

Billy crossed the floor and stood in front of me. He lifted a hand and touched my face. His eyes were filled with concern. Even though his touch was gentle, I flinched as pain throbbed across my forehead.

“How did you hurt yourself? Come sit and I'll get some ice.” He took my arm and led me to the couch. I lowered myself onto the cushion while Billy went behind the counter and began rummaging.