In Winter's Grip. Brenda Chapman
“Yeah, that’d be her.” Tobias stopped talking and took a sip of coffee. He set the cup down. “I’m thinking about heading to Florida soon.”
“A transfer?”
“Sure. I’m getting tired of these winters and the snow. I want to try out beaches and heat for a bit.”
“Are there many from our high school still living around here?” I asked. I would never ask directly about the one person I craved to know about. When I’d turned my back on Duved Cove twenty years earlier, I’d never said Billy Okwari’s name again, not even to Jonas.
“Quite a few left from our class. Your buddy, Katherine Lingstrom, she married a dentist and moved to Madison. Her mom still lives in that house on Strathcona near your dad’s place. Do you keep in touch?”
I shook my head.
“Too bad. You two were joined at the hip all through school— and pretty nice hips at that. I guess time and distance can end any relationship.”
“I’m glad she’s doing so well.” I ignored his comment.
“Of course, your brother is still here. He’s got a few buddies in town from his original gang. Adrian and Fish. They’re both working at the mill.”
“Jonas mentioned Becky Holmes is working in the hospital.”
“She’s Becky Wilders now. There’s probably lots of people still around who you’d recognize, although we’ve aged enough that we’re all starting to look like our parents.”
I tried to hide my disappointment. Billy Okwari had been in our class at school but had been quiet and kept to himself—I’d say invisible to almost everyone else. It had taken me some time to realize he’d wanted it that way. No wonder Tobias didn’t give me any news of Billy now.
Our breakfasts arrived, and we ate without talking. I wasn’t as hungry as I’d thought. The eggs acquired a rubbery consistency as they cooled, and I knew they’d come out of a package. I put down my fork and looked at Tobias. “So what do you know about my father’s death? Have you any idea who killed him...or why?”
Tobias chewed on a piece of toast and waved the crust at my plate. He talked with his mouth full. “Should have warned you against the scrambled. If you want real eggs, you have to have fried or poached.” He looked around the room as if it held the answers. “Can’t tell you much about who’d want to kill your father,” he said before taking a swallow of coffee. “Your dad was well liked. He’d recently notified U.S. Customs that he’d be cutting back his hours to part-time, which doesn’t mean much as far as I can see. He also told them he was planning a vacation and needed a few months off. Not sure that was a cause for alarm either, but it marks a change in his pattern.”
“Nobody had threatened him?”
“Not that we’re aware of. Look, your dad was known for being opinionated, and he was a take-charge, bullish kind of man. That was balanced by his natural charisma and all around good nature. Bottom line, people liked him.”
“What about when he got let go from the police force?”
“Yeah, that was a long time ago, but apparently, people felt like your dad was set up. Nobody liked what happened to him, so he was pretty much handed the customs job.”
“How was he set up?”
Tobias slopped up the last of the egg yolk with the remainder of the toast and pushed aside his empty plate. He looked at me. His green eyes were thoughtful. “You really don’t know much about what happened?”
I shook my head. “My father never spoke about it to us.” I didn’t add that we’d been too scared to probe. The temper my father showed with us had not extended past the inside of our home.
I wasn’t surprised that everyone liked him. He’d been adept at hiding his rages behind a mask of good old boy charm. It seemed unlikely that Tobias knew I’d been estranged from my father. My father would never have let on. “After my mother died...”
Tobias shifted uneasily in his seat. “Yeah, sorry about that too. I never saw you around Duved Cove after the funeral. She died soon after your father’s dismissal, now that I think about it.” I could almost hear the gears in his head clicking.
“It wasn’t our best spring,” I said.
“No, I guess not.”
I reached behind me for my purse slung over the back of my chair. “Jonas said you’d let us know when we can have my father’s body. We’re going to have a quiet burial.”
Tobias waved aside my money. “This is on me. The autopsy is scheduled for later today in Duluth. I’m driving down there after I leave you. We’ll send your father’s body back tonight to the Fisk Funeral Home.”
“Thanks.”
“You staying up at Jonas’s then?”
“Yes. We’ll be waiting to hear from you if you find out anything.”
“I’m pretty sure the autopsy’s going to show he died from the shovel blow to the back of the head.” Tobias paused and added more gently, “At least it was quick.”
We left the warmth of the restaurant and headed to our cars. Tobias walked past his to mine and reached around me to swing my door open. As I lowered myself into the seat, he leaned over the top of the window and said, “Don’t go back into your father’s house until we’ve had a chance to go through it, Maja. Unfortunately, we don’t have the police force of a larger town, and Chief Anders is using up some leave and David Keating’s wife just had their fourth kid, so he’s been a little preoccupied.”
“Okay.” I wasn’t sure if I’d keep my promise, but it seemed best to let him think I would. “Is that the same Anders who was chief twenty years ago?
“The very same, but not for much longer. He’s easing into retirement. I’m organizing the goodbye party for March.”
“Nice seeing you again, Tobias.” I turned the key in the ignition.
“Likewise,” he said and grinned at me like I was someone worth smiling over. “It’s just too bad it was your father’s death that brought you home.” He sounded wistful, like he’d hoped I’d have made the trip for more nostalgic reasons.
“It’s not the way I’d want it either,” I said as I swung the door shut.
When I pulled onto the main road, I could still see Tobias in my rearview mirror, watching me from where he leaned against the hood of his squad car with his arms folded across his chest.
I found Jonas out back in his workshop. He was slicing up a board with a table saw and the loud grinding noise of the blade kept him from hearing my approach. Thick glasses protected his eyes from floating sawdust, and with his fly-away mass of blonde curls, he resembled a mad scientist hunched over some fiendish experiment. I waited for him to finish his handiwork so that I wouldn’t startle him. I used the time to look around.
Jonas was as meticulous as anyone I knew. He craved order, everything in its place and predictable. His workspace was organized and clean to the point of obsession. Hand tools hung in rows on the wall, while nails and other items were in pull-out boxes, carefully labeled. Directly in front of me was a wooden tabletop attached to the wall with a stool tucked underneath. He’d installed three fluorescent lights that illuminated every corner of the cedar-panelled room. The air smelled of sawdust, varnish and linseed oil—all comforting and solid. When Jonas finally saw me, he removed the glasses and smiled. “You were up early.”
“I went to Dad’s and had a look around.”
Jonas’s eyebrows shot up, and I knew I’d surprised him. “Was it like you remembered?”
“Pretty much. He had some new furniture and stuff. Same view out my bedroom window though. Where are Claire and Gunnar? I looked