Thin Ice Read online

  Cody gave me a nasty look, then pushed past and went in. My desk lamp was glowing soft yellow. He flicked on the overhead light and looked around. Two walls were covered with family photos; a third had a row of flyers.

  “Get out,” I said.

  He ignored me. Hands on hips, he studied the pictures, then laughed at the flyers. He ripped one down. “She likes to be watched by a dead guy.”

  “Get out.”

  “You’re even weirder than I thought.” Then he lifted his vomit-smeared foot and wiped it on my thigh. “Hey, everyone,” he shouted, “we’d better get going. The bitch has got cop eyes.”

  *

  The bitch didn’t call the cops, but she cleaned house for two hours after they all left. In record time they had managed to trash the place. Cigarette burns on the futon, beer on the carpet, bent blinds on the living room window, pizza on the kitchen floor, splotches of urine on the toilet seat, vomit in the hall, a used condom on my brother’s bed. I rolled up Scott’s bedding and bagged it with the garbage.

  Just as the bitch hit the lights, car tires rolled across the packed snow and ice on the driveway. The engine idled as car doors slammed. I heard soft voices; then the doors slammed again. The car drove away.

  Goddamn, they were probably saying. The party’s over.

  CHAPTER 8

  Saturday-morning revelation: I had really screwed up. If the orphan committee found out, all was lost. My mistake wasn’t the party, though I knew I’d be hearing from a few concerned citizens if word got to the wrong people that Arden Munro had thrown a good one. And it wasn’t the overdue frame orders and impatient ArdenArt customers. It wasn’t even the missing schoolwork.

  My screwup? Garbage. For two weeks I’d forgotten to put the can out for Friday pickup. A truly responsible orphan does not forget this sort of detail.

  I’d bagged up all the party mess before going to bed and left it in the kitchen by the garage door, too lazy to carry it out. So I wasn’t hit with the truth until the next morning when I shuffled through the garage to dump the bag in the can. Damn, I thought. Missed another pickup. My errors were piled before me. Good thing it was cold and bound to remain cold; nothing smelled. “Oh, Scott,” I sang out when I was back in the warm kitchen, “wasn’t it your turn to set out the garbage?”

  I’d only just sunk my teeth into the quarter inch of cream cheese glazing a perfectly toasted bagel when the doorbell rang. I cinched my bathrobe and walked into the living room. Nine-thirty Saturday morning, who the hell?

  The bell rang again. I was tempted to peek through the blinds but suspected I’d be face-to-face with Cody. I curled one hand around the knob and twisted the dead bolt with the other. Why didn’t we have a peephole? I yanked the door open.

  Jace smiled at me through the smeared glass of the storm door. The smile faded as he took in my attire and pillow hair. “Did I get you out of bed?”

  “Just having breakfast.”

  “Guess I should have called first,” he said.

  “No one ever does. Come on in.” He stepped in and we fumbled a bit, each trying to close the door. “I drove my mom over to visit my grandma. She lives in those senior apartments out by the mill. They’re cleaning her place and told me to get lost.”

  “Maybe they could come here next.”

  He ran the jacket zipper up and down a few times. “Your place looks fine.” He sniffed. “Maybe a little stuffy.”

  “I had some guests last night. Long story. Want a bagel?”

  He did. I sent him to the kitchen with directions to feed himself. Time for my shower.

  It was a quick one. After all, who dared to spend too much time naked and wet when the only other person in the house was a seriously attractive guy? Not this orphan.

  “You look different,” he said when I joined him in the kitchen.

  “Clean and damp.”

  “It’s the hair. I didn’t realize how long it was and I guess I’ve never seen it loose like that. Don’t you usually have it braided and sort of wrapped around? Long as I can remember, even back to fifth grade in Mrs. Belton’s class, you’ve worn braids. Kind of unusual.”

  “You should see me in a pompadour. Want some more juice?” He shook his head as he tongued some bagel out of the deep pockets of his mouth. I looked away. I couldn’t help thinking about the similar work Abby had done on Cody last night.

  “Have you seen the newspaper today?”

  I snapped my finger. “I forgot.”

  “My grandma had it.” He pulled a folded paper out of his jacket pocket. “Thought you might want to see it.”

  “I ran an ad.”

  “I saw. Sure surprised me. I thought, ‘Wow, he’s not dead.’ Then I read—oh, here, you look.” Jace handed over the paper. “It’s across from the editorial page.”

  Op-ed page, the big-time papers called it. In the Journal, though, it was just another page filled with local stuff, usually short articles about visiting relatives, school events, and senior bus trips. Today there were quite a few ads, mostly for restaurants and beauty parlors.

  And a missing brother. “Perfect,” I whispered.

  “See the article?” Jace said.

  I checked the headlines. Doyles to Celebrate 45th; Open House for Pastor Severt; Local Family Leaves for Russian Mission; Deputy Disputes Theory.

  “It’s a rumor with no foundation,” Sheriff’s Deputy Felicity Kay told the Journal. “On February 3 Scott Munro had a terrible accident and drowned in the Gogebic River. This is not a missing-persons case, it’s a fatal accident. This department and other law enforcement agencies are treating it that way. The surviving family members are free to pursue their own ideas, but this agency sees no reason to cooperate because there is no evidence to suggest a disappearance and plenty of evidence that tells us otherwise: Scott Munro is dead.”

  “He’s not dead,” I said.

  “Do you know something the cops don’t?”

  I folded the paper, pressing hard on the creases.

  “She practically called me a wacko.”

  “She didn’t say anything like that, Arden. But tell me why you think he’s still alive.”

  “I don’t ‘think,’ I know.”

  “Then tell me.”

  I told him, and as I talked, his expression didn’t change a bit, not one twitch, not one flicker. Stone face. He didn’t believe me, either.

  “Just take off, Jace,” I said. “Go help your mother scrub a floor. I’ve got lots to do.”

  “I can help you.”

  “Why bother? It’s obvious you think I’m crazy.”

  “I don’t.”

  “Then what do you think?”

  “I think…you want your brother back.”

  “And so you’ll humor me until I’ve worked through my little fantasy. Well, don’t patronize me, okay?”

  “I’m not.”

  “Then go.”

  “Where? To a cramped apartment where I’ll end up washing miniblinds? Look, Arden, you’ve got a project and I have time. Let’s do it.”

  *

  According to the phone book there were eleven c-stores, twenty-four taverns, and nineteen service stations in the area. We focused on the ones along the roads running nearest the river, and on the two main highways leading out of town. The tavern owners were the grumpiest, but only a few refused to put up the flyer. One bartender actually said missing-person posters depressed his customers. Three men already at work holding down his bar stools puffed on their cigarettes and nodded in agreement.

  At the c-stores Scott’s face usually joined a few others on the front windows. Almost everywhere we went there were identical circulars for a pair of six-year-old twins and one for an older girl, Janelle, an “endangered runaway.” I felt lucky. Scott was missing, but not in danger.

  At one gas station back in Penokee the clerk refused the poster. “I read about that today in the paper,” he said. “Deputy says he isn’t missing. I’ve got enough cluttering up my windows without putt
ing up something that doesn’t need to be there. Go on, now.”

  We ate a late lunch at Lena’s. Once again she wouldn’t give me coffee. She just looked at our faces—whipped red from walking up and down Main Street, where we’d taped posters to windows on deserted stores—and delivered two mugs of hot chocolate. “How ’bout some enchiladas to go with that?” she said, and walked away before we could answer. Mexican food with hot chocolate. Jace and I exchanged looks and smiled. Made as much sense as anything.

  Jace tapped his knife against the water glass. “I’ve been thinking.”

  “That can be dangerous. About what?”

  “This flyer.”

  “Jace, you’ve been a good sport. Don’t start hassling me.”

  “Uh-uh. Now that you’ve dragged me all around the county I’m starting to get into it. It’s the flyer itself I’m thinking is wrong. Here, look at it carefully.” He lifted off the top one from the stack and set it in front of me.

  “It’s my brother. So?”

  “It just occurred to me that we’re looking for the wrong guy. This might be a waste.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “If Scott really isn’t dead, what’s the first thing he did after faking the accident?”

  “Got in a car and drove away.”

  “No. Think about it.”

  “I have, Jace, that’s all I’ve been doing for days.”

  “The beard, detective girl, the beard. If a guy with this much facial hair runs away and doesn’t want to be found, first thing he does is shave.”

  I closed my eyes. “He had it the morning he left.”

  “Of course he did, that’s how he wanted to be remembered.” The enchiladas arrived, borne on the arms of a beaming Lena. Jace took a quick bite of his and his eyes widened.

  “Hot?” I asked.

  He sucked in air through his mouth and nodded.

  “Pepper-hot or heat-hot?”

  “Pep-per,” he breathed. He took a long drink and exhaled. “These are great,” he said, and took another mouth-stuffing bite. “Scott was at that tavern before he disappeared,” he said through a full mouth. “Did anyone mention he’d shaved?”

  “Not that I’ve heard. Are you saying that between the time he dumped the sled and walked to the road he stopped and shaved? It was practically a blizzard.”

  He shrugged and cleared his mouth with water. “He wouldn’t dare be recognized. I think you should put up pictures of him without a beard. Got any?”

  “You mean start all over?”

  “If you have to.”

  “He’s had the beard for years. He was kind of vain about it. He grew it when he started losing hair on top.”

  Jace nodded. “Lot of guys do that. Me, I’ll never go bald.” He ran his hands over the short dark bristle on his head.

  “Now I’m discouraged.”

  “And after he shaved, how do you figure he got away?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “No one but Scott knows. What do you think?”

  “He must have had a car stashed somewhere. He didn’t use his own.”

  “Where was it stashed? Where did he get it from? Buy it? A rental? Is there a credit card record?”

  “I don’t know, Jace. I don’t know.”

  “Have you checked on these things, Arden? I mean, maybe he took a credit card and he’s using it all over the country. Have you checked? If he used it to rent a getaway car and the charge shows up on a bill, then you have the proof you need to interest the sheriff.”

  “I don’t think he’d be that careless, but I guess I’ll check.”

  “And how did he even get to the road from the river? The snow is pretty deep and just to walk through it would take ages. A guy running away doesn’t have that time. Did he have snowshoes? Are they missing? Did he buy some? Where?”

  “He’s never even tried snowshoeing, as far as I know.”

  “So how’d he do it, then? And how did he dump the sled into the water and not fall in? Okay, that’s easy—just jump off and send it on. So getting the sled into the water is no big challenge. But wasn’t there an ice claw stuck in the ice where it wasn’t very safe? How did he set that up?”

  “Obviously, there’s lots I haven’t figured out.” I bit down into the hottest pepper ever used by a cook in the state of Wisconsin. Tears immediately spilled over onto my cheeks, but they’d been there long before I tasted the enchilada.

  “You okay?” he asked after I’d taken a long drink. His voice was so soft, the tone was an apology.

  “I feel so stupid. I hadn’t thought of any of it. I’d worked out in my mind why, but not the details of how he actually did it. Some help you are. Now I feel like giving up.”

  He left his side of the booth and moved next to me. An arm dropped on my shoulder, a hand pulled me in, his head hovered over mine. One kiss, another, a third. “You just feel crummy because you’re hungry,” he whispered. “Eat.”

  Lena arrived, commented on our new seating arrangement with a raised eyebrow and smile, and without asking, took away our empty mugs and returned with refills, each topped with a tall pile of whipped cream. My frothy tower wavered as she set it down, then spilled over onto my plate. Whipped cream on enchilada. Only in Wisconsin.

  “The old pictures I have won’t be any good,” I said. “He’s hardly recognizable with all the hair he used to have. I agree, though, that it makes sense we should be looking for a clean-shaven guy.”

  “I can fix it.”

  “How?”

  “Computer. At school we have a great art program in the lab. Give me one of the flyers and an old picture without the beard. I’ll scan them both and make a composite. Easy.”

  “I’ll have to make new flyers and put those up everywhere. Buy a new ad.”

  Jace smiled and shrugged apologetically.

  Square one. Meanwhile, Scott was slipping farther and farther away, as surely as if he were rolling in the river current toward the huge, unyielding grave of Lake Superior.

  *

  It was threatening more snow when we returned to my house. “Are you heading back to Moose Lake or spending the night with your grandmother?” I asked as we approached the front door. I fished in my pocket for keys.

  He blew on his bare hands. “Mom’s the church organist; we can never be gone on Sundays. And I’ve got some history cramming to do, it’ll take the whole day tomorrow. Plus, there’s play auditions on Monday and I need to come up with a song. They’re doing Camelot and I’m going for it.”

  “You can sing?”

  “Not that great, but I look good in tights.”

  I laughed and dropped the keys. Jace picked them up and unlocked the door.

  He waited in the foyer while I went to my room for the photo. As I studied the pictures on the wall and debated which to use, I could hear him humming. When I returned, he had his eyes closed and his head tipped back against the wall.

  Square jaw, strong neck, broad shoulders… He opened his eyes and we looked at each other. An adult-free house, a good-looking guy. Hmm, what happens next?

  He lifted the photo from my hand and laid a chaste kiss on my cheek. “Gotta go. Be in touch.”

  He ran down the steps toward his car, waving both hands. I closed the door and locked myself in.

  CHAPTER 9

  On Monday I was pink-slipped in algebra. Normally this is not an earthshaking event. Everybody gets summoned to the office a few times a year, usually to pick up money or a band instrument or forgotten homework a parent has delivered.

  Arden Munro to office after third period. I read it over a dozen times during the remaining ten minutes of math. I had no one to make emergency deliveries, so I was pretty sure this wasn’t about the lunch bag I’d left on the kitchen table.

  Mrs. Rutledge held out her hand when I walked into the office, but I was primed and pumped to preempt any lecture. “If this is about my missing work,” I said immediately, “you’ll be glad to know I spent all day yesterday
at it. I’ve turned in three math worksheets today, I made up a bio test, and I’m caught up in English.”

  “Arden, that’s marvelous! But I don’t want to talk about your work. Would you please come into my office?”

  I had a choice?

  A tall woman with silver hair rose from her seat when we entered. Mrs. Rutledge shut the door and we all sat down. I sneaked another look at the stranger; she caught me and smiled.

  Mrs. Rutledge wasn’t smiling, so I knew something was really wrong. Normally, she was so chronically cheerful you wanted to shoot the woman. Not now. “Arden, this is Dina Peabody. Dr. Peabody is the district’s new staff psychologist.”

  I let my book bag fall to the floor; it made a good loud thump. I didn’t take my eyes off Mrs. Rutledge, not even when the doctor held out her hand to shake. “I hope she didn’t have to drive far,” I said. “Terrible to waste her time.”

  Mrs. Rutledge murmured some soft nothings and fluttered her hands, all to show that she was leaving and I’d be alone with the psychologist. She closed the door ever so gently, then undoubtedly rushed away to the office coffeepot.

  “I drove from Ashland,” Dr. Peabody said. “Not far. I actually work for three districts.”

  “Then you have quite a few students who need you more than I do.”

  “I’ve been briefed on your situation, Arden. I’d offer my condolences, but I gather you don’t think them necessary.”

  “I think I’m abandoned, not bereaved.”

  “Then I’m sorry about that. It’s a loss too.”

  “Why are you here, Dr. Peabody? Obviously, the school thinks I need help, but it’s been that way for weeks. What’s happened now to bring you here?”

  “Mrs. Rutledge called me at home on Saturday. She was deeply concerned when she saw your ad in the paper and the article accompanying it. She thought it was time I see you and evaluate the situation.”

  “You mean she wants you to check and see if I’m nuts. Well, go ahead.”

  “This morning I spoke with the deputy sheriff. I needed to hear her description of the, um, case. I did. Now I want to hear from you why you think your brother is alive.”

  I rose, hauling the chair up with me, and made a robotlike turn in her direction. Face-to-face. Let her took me in the eye and search for madness. “He was too smart to have a second accident He left no embarrassing secrets behind. He was almost thirty and must have felt buried alive in a life he hadn’t chosen. With a baby on the way, the final nail was about to be driven into the coffin. He had too strong a conscience to just walk out. He’d promised a friend he’d give her something, then he left it where I’d be sure to see. He had this sudden urge to tell me about my parents and tell me about my name.”