Hard Cold Winter (4 page)

B
Y LATE AFTERNOON I
was back in my house on the east side of Capitol Hill in Seattle, trying to cook pancakes. Pancakes because a box of Bisquick was one of the few things I had in the pantry, and late because I’d skipped lunch after seeing Elana’s body. The trying part was courtesy of my elderly neighbor, Addy Proctor.

“You need to use the spatula,” Addy said from where she perched like a stout cockatoo on the tall leather bar stool. She wore a wool sweater the color of cream with a Scandinavian pattern woven in blue around the shoulders. The sweater came down almost to her knees. Because the furnace was still struggling to warm the house, Addy kept her loose-knit scarf wrapped around her neck. “Separate the batter from the pan a little.”

“I like them a little crispy.”

“Did you oil the pan? That helps.”

“I’ll make you your own, if you want.”

She grimaced in horror at the idea. Her dog, Stanley, looked up from where he lay, ever vigilant where food was involved. Stanley took up most of the floor of the cramped kitchen, so that I had to step over
him. I had no clue as to what breeds had combined to make Stanley. Pit bull crossed with white rhinoceros, maybe.

Addy Proctor lived in a yellow house down the hill. Her home was small and quaint. Mine was big and dark blue and looked like a dented helmet on the top of our street. She had seen me return from the Peninsula in the truck, and within half an hour she was knocking on the door, inviting herself over to talk. She’d done that most every day in the weeks I’d been home. I didn’t mind. And even if I did, I owed the old woman a favor, or ten. She’d helped look after Dono while he was in the hospital. And she’d kept his house from falling apart, or being taken over by squatters, while I completed my final year in the Army. I’d spent one more short rotation in Afghanistan before impatiently waiting out my last few weeks at Fort Benning in Georgia. They’d assigned me to RASP—Ranger Assessment and Selection—where I was up hours before dawn every day, pushing the candidates to their limits, and usually beyond. I was discharged from the Army in better shape than I’d been in years.

Just Donovan Shaw now, my grandfather’s namesake. No longer Sergeant First Class.

The dining area of the house was right next to the kitchen, so that the two rooms made one large space. An ancient scarred oak table and three rickety chairs were the only furniture. The table had one of the better spots in the old house, with bay windows that looked out at the backyard with its overgrown lawn and tangles of wild rosebushes. I sat down at the table with my crunchy short stack and a bottle of syrup from the Pike Place Market.

“Your friend, Willard,” said Addy, “he and his niece were close?”

I wasn’t exactly a friend of Willard’s. Dono had been.

“Willard isn’t even sure where Elana was living,” I said between bites.

“But he’s upset. Of course he is, stupid of me to even ask. That poor girl.”

“Mostly, he’s angry.”

“That’s how men get upset. My Magnus once broke a plate that had been his mother’s—the only thing he had of hers, from his childhood
in Sweden—and he shouted the rafters down about any little thing for a full week. I understood, even though I was perfectly happy not to have a reminder of that old witch around anymore.” She waved a hand, too late to stop me tossing a golf-ball lump of pancake to Stanley. He snagged the treat before it hit the floor. “Don’t encourage him.”

“I’m just staying on his good side,” I said.

“And I’m late giving him his dinner.” She lowered herself down from the bar stool. Stanley leapt to his feet, tail wagging. “I hope you’ll serve Luce more than burnt flapjacks.”

I had told Addy that Luce would be coming over. It was the one night per week Luce allowed herself off from running things at the Morgen.

“We’re going out,” I said, although I wasn’t really sure what our plans would be. I hadn’t wanted to tell Luce about Elana’s death over the phone during my long drive back from the Peninsula. However long the two friends had been out of touch, it wasn’t going to be easy for her to hear.

“Good. Put on something nicer than a tank top, take her out on the town, and show her off.”

“Addy.”

“I’m simply saying young ladies like her don’t come around every day.”

“Are you sure you don’t want to take her out yourself? You could hitch up Stanley to a hansom cab.”

We both turned at the sound of a knock and the front door opening. “Clearly it’s too late for you,” said Addy.

“Hello,” Luce called.

“In the kitchen,” I said. She came down the hall to where we were.

I was always a little bit stunned at the sight of Luce Boylan. She was taller and more alive than my memory could hold, somehow. She wore a knee-length black wool coat, silver scarf, and black boots. Her blond hair was free and fell down between her shoulder blades, much longer than when we’d first reconnected last year.

Luce leaned down to kiss Addy on the cheek. “Afternoon, Addy.”

“Good evening, I believe. Which means I have my own date with
Alex Trebek. You two have a lovely night.” She cocked an eyebrow at me. “Remember what I said.”

She and Stanley left. Luce looked at me. “What was that about?”

“Addy needs a hobby. Come here.”

She put down her overstuffed shoulder bag and we kissed. I might have given it less than my usual enthusiasm.

“What’s wrong?” Luce said.

“Let’s sit down.”

“Van.” She didn’t like suspense.

“It’s bad news, Luce. Elana is dead.”

The fact took an extra few seconds to sink in. It usually did. I’d had to tell a lot of people about unexpected death in the past few years. Mostly guys in my platoon. Soldier or civilian, the first reaction was usually stunned quiet.

“Oh. Oh, Van. What . . . ?”

“Take your coat off. Here.”

We sat on the rickety chairs of the dining room, and I told her about the sad end of her friend, and of Kendrick Haymes. She cried. When I came to the part about it looking like Kend had killed them both, she stared at me like I was insane.

“Why, for God’s sake?”

“I don’t have the first clue. I guess you don’t, either.”

Luce took another tissue but didn’t wipe her eyes, just twisted it in her fingers. “Last time I saw Elana was just after high school. I guess she would have been nineteen or twenty. That was before she followed some guy to Chicago, I heard.”

“She do that a lot? Latch on to guys?”

“I don’t know. I don’t really know who she was, as an adult. You know what her life was like, as a teenager.”

I did. Better than most.

“She was a really good friend, when we were kids,” Luce continued. “Helped me a lot, when I needed an extra hand taking care of Albie.”

Luce and Elana had a lot in common, when it came to defective parentage. Elana’s folks were space cases. Luce’s mother had left the
family when she was a baby, and her dad had wandered in and out of her life while Luce lived with relatives. She’d finally settled with her uncle Albert when she was ten. Through a combination of the bottle and his own misadventures, Albie wasn’t the most dependable, either, for as much as he loved her. Luce had grown up fast.

“I’m sorry,” I said.

She nodded and leaned forward for a long hug.

“We’ll stay in tonight,” I said.

“No. No, I want to be out. That’s okay?”

“That’s okay.”

I found a clean pair of jeans and a shirt in the single bedroom upstairs. It was still odd to think of it as my room. Dono’s books filled most of the shelves, and the flat-screen on the wall was preset to his news and sports stations, with an emphasis on European football matches.

We took my truck up the hill to the row of restaurants and bars on 15th Ave, and found a table with no waiting at Smith. One side of the restaurant had rough portraits of unknown people from the first half of the past century, and a long, very tall bar. The opposite wall was sparsely decorated with stuffed animal heads and the occasional pheasant trapped forever in flight. Our table was on the wall of taxidermy, under the head of something vaguely like an antelope. We ordered drinks—a cocktail with rum for Luce, bourbon neat for me—and held hands across the table. Her phone buzzed in her pocket. The second time since we’d left the house.

“You’re not answering?” I said.

“It’s either Marcie in a panic because she’s low on a brand of vodka or something, in which case she should learn to deal with it herself. Or it’s Fye, letting me know she’s really okay after her latest breakup, really. Either way, not tonight.”

Or it was someone else. I’d been back in Seattle barely a month. Luce and I hadn’t talked about being exclusive. I knew other guys had called her.

“Not tonight,” I agreed, and took a sip after we’d clinked glasses.

Luce hesitated before drinking. Maybe the toast felt too cheerful, half an hour after crying for Elana.

“Speaking of work,” I said. “I have a lead on something. It might even match our weird nocturnal hours.”

“I didn’t know you’d been thinking about that,” she said. “Matching our schedules.”

“I have. I’d be teaching night classes.”

“In military work?”

“Training, for police. Or at least survivalist types. A major from our battalion started his own firm. Eberley Tactical Instruction. He says there could be openings, if he lands a couple of contracts. It would be short-term, to start. He’ll let me know.”

“Well. All right.” She grinned then, and I would have leaned across to kiss her but the waiter arrived to take our orders.

“It might mean some travel,” I said when we were alone. “It wouldn’t be as close as working together at the bar.”

“No.”

“There are too many memories there. With Dono, and after.”

“I understand,” she said. “I wouldn’t even set foot in the place, if I were you.”

We fell silent again. Luce looked up at the antelope head on the wall. I drank a little of the bourbon. I’d learned enough about the lovely Miss Boylan in the past weeks to know that when she was distracted in the middle of a conversation, she was hauling on the reins on something inside herself.

“Do you think the police will learn why Kend killed her?” she said.

“They’ll try. But mostly, they’ll try to confirm Who and How.”

“Two out of three.”

“They take what they can get.” I held her hand, which was cool from holding the iced drink.

“It’s still a crap deal,” Luce said. “Willard must be terrible. And terrifying.”

“I think he’s in shock. Elana was his last family member he gave a damn about.”

The waiter brought our food. We concentrated on our plates for a few minutes. I tried to show some restraint while eating my venison pie. Luce picked at her salad. After a few bites she gave up.

“I took some numbers off Kend’s contacts,” I said, tapping the phone in my chest pocket. “If you know any of them, maybe they should hear about Elana from you.”

“Let me see,” she said. She took my phone to scan the short list of names, and shook her head. “I don’t know them.”

“I’ll call them anyway. Willard said she hung out with that bunch, mostly.”

“Because they might know if things were bad between Kend and Elana?”

“Or they may have seen it happen,” I said. “There were other tire tracks at the cabin.”

Luce leaned back.

“You’re wondering if Kend didn’t do it,” she said.

“I don’t know one way or the other,” I said. Luce raised her eyebrow. “And yeah, I want to. I saw how they were left, Luce. Like bags of trash.”

She considered it. “If there’s really a chance.”

I knew what her hesitancy was about. My way of looking into things tended toward the extralegal. After growing up around thieves and robbers, Luce preferred her life less complicated. She’d met enough bail bondsmen.

“If I find anything useful, I’ll hand it to the cops,” I said. “Any evidence that points to Kend Haymes being murdered will make them very motivated. They don’t want to fumble this one.”

“All right. Elana deserves that.” She tapped her rum drink. “And afterward, I want to go someplace very warm, with a lot of these for hydration.”

“A vacation? You?”

“Us. Before you start whatever job you find. After that it’ll be tough to get time off for a while. What’s that face?”

“I had a horrible vision of a pension fund chasing me.”

Luce stole a bite of my pie crust. “I think you can take him.”

I DREAMED OF DARK
wings. They formed patch by patch in midair, each new sweep of feathers announced by long orange flashes of rifle
fire off to my right, as if the gun were painting in precise strokes. I kept thinking that I would turn to see who was shooting, but the wings held me rapt. The next burst would be straight at my face. As I was tensing for the coming bullets, I woke.

I knew where I was. Lying in my bed, Luce beside me, turned away and curled half into a ball like she did when sleep was at its deepest. Her hair was a pale splash in the black room.

Safe.

Safe.
Say the word a hundred times. It loses its meaning but gains something in power.

Sweat beaded on my forehead and chest. The natural cool of the old house in winter felt like the hospital morgue had. I got out of bed and pulled up the covers so the cold wouldn’t touch Luce, and went downstairs.

Moonlight cast everything in the front room into shades of indigo and navy. I sat in Dono’s old leather chair. And breathed.

Dark wings, and automatic weapon fire. A new dream, mixed with an old one.

I had believed that the nightmare that started with the three flashes was gone. Or at least subdued. I’d beaten it down over time with treatment and medication and a lot of sleepless nights.

But it rattled its tail from time to time, just to remind me it was still there. A subconscious stress response, the therapists had called it. The sight of Elana’s blood splashed wide and sweeping across the cabin wall had given the dream strength, and determination.

I didn’t believe in ghosts. There were too many dead people in my past to buy the notion that any of them cared enough to tap me on the shoulder, symbolically or otherwise.