In Winter's Grip (18 page)

“Thanks, Beck. Do you know how he's doing?”

“I went up on my break and checked his chart.” A rosy colour spread up her cheeks. “I know I shouldn't have, but we go way back, and I can't help but worry how he's doing. He had a bad afternoon, so Doc adjusted his dosage and gave him a sedative— just enough to relax him.” Her hand nervously flipped through the book's pages.

“I guess he'll be in for another night then. I was hoping...oh well.” I took a step towards the elevator but hesitated. I moved back towards the desk and leaned in. “Becky, I've been wondering about something.” I waited until her hand stilled and I had her full attention. I spoke softly. “When did you actually start this fling with my father?”

Becky slowly folded the paperback novel over her hand and resumed ruffling the pages. She wouldn't look at me. “Why do you ask?”

“I don't know, really. I'm just confused and trying to figure out what was going on with him. I'm trying to understand.”

“You really want to know the first time we got together?”

“Yeah.”

“Even if you aren't going to like the answer?”

“Try me.”

“It's not that easy to say this. I think if it wasn't for his death... well, the first time was after Jonas and I broke up.”

“But you broke up in twelfth grade.” My voice had risen several pitches.

Becky nodded. Her eyes were defiant, but something else was there too. Guilt? Fear? “I was sad about him and drinking too much. I went over to your house to try to talk Jonas into giving up Claire and coming back to me. I would have done anything back then. Your father was home alone. He started comforting me, and well, one thing led to another.” Becky shrugged and held my stare. “It was the only time until this year, I swear to God. I should never have told you. You can't imagine what it's been like keeping the secret all these years.”

I didn't know what to say. Becky had just shaken me to my very core, and all I wanted was to get away from her. “You never thought of telling anybody?”

“Who would I tell? Jonas? My parents?
You?
I was ashamed. I felt like I'd betrayed Jonas and...your mother. I really felt bad about her.”

I couldn't go there with her. I asked, “Why would you have taken up with my father again after all these years?”

Becky's eyes filled with tears. “I don't know,” she wailed. “I was lonely. Your father was there. Maybe it's that simple.”

“I won't judge you, Becky, but I can't condone what you've done.” I heard my voice break, but I finished what I'd begun to say. “You were little more than a child the first time, and he took advantage of you, but not now. This time you knew what you were doing.”

I turned and walked down the hallway to find Jonas, desperate to erase the image of my father fucking Becky in our house when she was only seventeen and my mother was still alive. Had my mother known? Had Jonas known? Was I the only one who'd never guessed?

I found Jonas sleeping on his side, one arm flung over his pale face and his hair a wild tangle on the pillow. I lowered myself onto the seat next to his bed and reached for his other hand, holding it in both my own. Jonas's eyelids flickered, but he didn't waken. I put my head down on the bed next to him and closed my eyes.

You were right, little brother. The monster we saw was the real
Dad. All the rest was just smoke and mirrors.

EIGHTEEN

I
was shaken. More shaken than I'd been since my mother's death, but this would not be the end of it. Not by a long shot. Now that Becky had told me her story, she would tell others. It's always that way once a secret is out. Guilt makes people seek absolution, and Becky had a lot to atone for when it came to my family. Maybe that's why, when I found Tobias Olsen languishing against the hood of my car in the hospital parking lot, I agreed to have supper with him. I needed to distance myself from the disturbing picture of my father with a teenaged Becky Holmes. It didn't hurt that Tobias greeted me with a wide grin.

“We'll take my car and pick up some Chinese. I have wine and beer in the fridge at home. It'll give me a chance to fill you in on what I've found so far about the murder.” His eyes hadn't left my face, and I finally raised mine. The intensity of his stare was disconcerting. A shadow crossed his eyes and was gone. It looked like sadness, but I was probably imagining the emotion. Tobias wasn't someone I associated with deep feelings.

I shrugged. “Okay. I guess I could eat.”

“Atta girl.” He pushed himself from the car and crossed the short distance to a car I hadn't seen before—a 1979 black Mustang restored to mint condition.

“You aren't in uniform,” I said, looking from the car to his blue-jeaned legs next to the driver's door.

Tobias stopped and looked at me with his hand on the key already inserted into the lock. “The odd time they let me have an evening off. This is one of those times as luck would have it.”

“Nice car.” I ran my fingers along the chrome as I walked around it to the passenger side.

“Yeah. She's my baby. I only take her out for special occasions.”

I didn't say anything. This didn't sound like his usual banter. It was close enough to a compliment that I didn't know how to respond.

Tobias lived alone in a second floor apartment in the Bayview Apartments one block in from the downtown strip. It was a tan brick six storey high rise—high for Duved Cove—built in the housing boom of the late seventies. Tobias's balcony overlooked the back field of Duved Cove Public School, now an alpine field of white, shimmering in the lights strung atop wooden poles around its perimeter.

After a quick tour of his apartment, three sparsely furnished rooms, we sat together on his leather couch, holding plates of chicken fried rice, Szechwan chicken and broccoli beef on our laps. It probably wasn't a meal that called for a 1995 Sauvignon Blanc with a hint of lemon and rose aftertaste, but I wasn't complaining as Tobias filled my glass for a second time.

“Thanks.” I took a bite of chicken, swallowed and said, “So what new information have you got for me? Are you close to solving the case?”

Tobias drank from his wineglass before answering. He grimaced. “Usually, I drink beer. This is a bit fruity for my taste.” He set his glass on the coffee table. “Not too close to solving the case, no. Interesting thing, though. When I went to the border this afternoon to talk to your dad's usual partner, Charles Mallory, seems you'd already done the breakfast shift.” He spoke the words lightly but couldn't conceal his displeasure.

“Yes, I wanted to get to know him better, since he spent so much time with my father these last few years. As you know, my father and I lost touch for the most part, and I just wanted to talk to someone who...well, someone who knew him.” The words sounded lame even to me, and I took another large forkful of rice and studied the big screen TV, the only other piece of furniture in the room. It might have served as a more plausible distraction if it had been turned on.

“Charlie told me you seemed most interested in where your father went after work. He also told me your father had girlfriends.”

“My father was allowed. My mother's been gone a long time.” I was reluctant to share information with Tobias. I was on my own journey of discovery, and I'd found out things I never wanted anyone to know. Let Tobias carry out his own investigation.

“Younger girlfriends. He said you weren't surprised.”

“I was surprised they were younger, but not surprised he had some.”

“Why's that?”

“My father was in good shape and liked women. Women liked him back.” I shrugged. “I'd have been surprised if he didn't date.”

“Do you know their names, by any chance?”

“Charles didn't name anyone?”

“No. He said he didn't know.”

“If I told you a name, it would only be hearsay. I don't want to spread rumours that could hurt somebody's reputation.”

“The name won't be going any further than me.”

“I really can't say, Tobias. If you find out on your own, that's one thing. I won't be telling confidences.”

He sighed. “You always were stubborn and protective, Maja Larson. I admired that in you when we were kids—how you looked after Jonas like a mother bear. Remember the time you knocked over Eric Vogel when he took Jonas's lunch pail? Man, you were some kind of fierce. I like protective women.” He set his empty plate on the coffee table and picked up his wineglass. “Is that what you're doing here, Maja? Looking out for Jonas? Making sure I don't find out anything that points his way? ”

“You're the detective. You tell me.”

“I'll find out, you know. One way or the other. It might be easier if you just told me and hand over what you know like you have nothing to hide. Might go better in the end.” He sank back into the couch and stretched his legs out in front of him. He eyed me over the rim of his glass as he drank.

“So basically, you're no closer to finding out who killed my father, is that it?”

“I wouldn't say that. I know your father was making money, probably illegally.” Tobias held up one hand to stop me as I began to protest. “And he was likely dating a married woman. I'd say that's two lines of possibility right there. Would you happen to have found out anything you want to share with me about his finances?”

I thought it over. It wouldn't hurt to give Tobias something to keep him busy. Tossing him a bone might even generate a decent lead. “Dad liked to gamble at the Fortune Bay Casino on his way home from work.”

“Bit out of the way?”

“I thought so too. The guy I talked to this afternoon said Dad never won that much...”

“Whoa, right there! You went to the Casino this afternoon?”

I nodded. “Seems it's just been taken over by the Motego brothers. I gather it wasn't a happy takeover for Rainy Wynona. Do you know the Motego boys?”

“Let's say they're well known to law enforcement. Shit.” Tobias slapped a hand on the couch. “This could be the connection we're after.”

I could see the wheels in Tobias's head grinding into action. It would be good if his investigation went the casino route and left my friends and family to me.

“This has been fun, Tobias, but I'm kind of zonked and should be getting home. My cellphone is out of battery, and I forgot the charger at home in Ottawa, so I haven't been in touch with Claire all day. She's probably wondering where I've gotten to.” I set my plate on top of his and stood too fast. The wine and sudden motion made me light-headed. I waited for the feeling to pass.

Tobias stood too. “I was planning to take you dancing after we ate. Figured you should see the nightlife before you return to the staid married life in Ottawa with Stu.”

“Who told you married life had to be staid, and it's with Sam, not Stu.”

Tobias laughed. “That's the other thing I always liked about you, Maja Larson. It never took much to get a rise. Not to mention the only place people dance in Duved Cove is out of excitement when they knock down all ten pins in the bowling alley.”

“Another time then,” I said.

“Another time.”

If I hadn't known better, I would have sworn the look on Tobias's face was wistful. It was a disconcerting thought.

“Mom's upstairs lying down,” Gunnar said, spooning another scoop of Kraft Dinner into his mouth and turning a page of the comic book he was reading. His eyes weren't on the page, though. They followed my progress across the kitchen to the sink, where I filled a glass with cold tap water. By the time I walked over to the table and sat across from him, his head was back down and he was making a show of ignoring me. His blond hair had grown into his eyes, and he was using it as protection from my gaze. I looked at his thin shoulders and felt a sadness for all he was having to deal with at such a young age. A murdered grandfather and a father with depression. It was a lot for anyone to handle, let alone a twelve year old kid.

“I saw your dad today,” I began. This opening made him lift his head, although he kept his eyes focused on the comic book. “He was sleeping. I'm hoping they let him come home tomorrow.”

“Mom says he's better off in the hospital. He can't hurt himself there.” Gunnar spoke without emotion. If it wasn't for the tremor in his jaw, I might have bought his tough-guy act.

“I don't believe your dad would ever intentionally hurt himself. He just gets very sad sometimes and needs some medicine to balance what is going on in his body. It's the same as someone who has the flu or a broken arm. They need time to get better.”

“My friends say he's crazy.”

Gunnar's words were shocking, but I understood. I'd felt the same shame for my mother. I'd tried to protect my mother from my friends' curious stares and questions, to keep my family's secrets hidden away from public scrutiny. Gunnar was doing the same thing for his father.

“Your dad is definitely not crazy. Your friends don't know anything.”

“I know that. They're all stupid.”

“So how's hockey going? What position do you play?”

“Right wing. It's okay.”

“Do you score many goals?”

“I was till the coach stopped giving me a regular shift.”

“How come he did that?”

Gunnar's face twisted with sudden anger. “He said I was fighting too much on the ice. He
said
I had to learn a lesson.”

“And were you fighting a lot?”

Gunnar shrugged. “I guess. He didn't need to bench me though.”

We sat quietly for a moment before I said, “Did you spend a lot of time with Grandpa? You must miss him.”

Gunnar finally met my eyes. His were filled with secrets. He seemed to be thinking about what he was going to say to me. Then he looked past me toward the doorway. I turned. Claire was standing behind me, her arms folded across her chest, dressed in a silk housecoat the colour of butter, her feet bare.