Thin Ice (6 page)

I went without juice. I would have gone without breakfast, too, except that Mr. Drummond was taking muffins to work and I cadged one from the bag as soon as I got in their car. Determined to believe we’d have the day off, I hadn’t set my alarm and was rudely awakened at seven-thirty, when Jean called to offer a ride with her father. “You haven’t shoveled your driveway,” she said. “The plow came by and you’ll never get out. Might as well come with us. We leave in five minutes.”

I can be dressed in five minutes. Sweater, jeans, socks, and boots—hell, I can be dressed in three. Maybe I can’t produce a pompadour in that time, but I can be clean and combed. I cannot be cheerful, though. That’s a slow process; don’t rush me.

“Hey,” I greeted the Drummonds when I opened the car door. I knocked snow off my boots before getting in. It had drifted deeply on the front walk and I had kicked my way through.

“Late start for you and Scott?” Mr. Drummond asked. “Or is he taking the day off?” That was the first I realized I hadn’t seen a sign of my brother. Of course, with my sleep-induced grogginess, there could have been a troop of naked fencers in the kitchen and I wouldn’t have noticed. I looked back at the untouched snow on the driveway and the empty spot where he usually parked his sled.

You dog, you, I thought. So he spent the night with the girlfriend. That’s a first. Must be serious.

Mr. Drummond smiled at me in the mirror, waiting for an answer.

“Day off,” I said. True, and all he needed to know.

* * *

The snow on the driveway was still untouched when I returned on the bus after school. Only the letter carrier’s tracks crossed over mine on the front walk. I took the mail out of the box and let myself into the house. I went right to the phone, sure he’d called and left a message.

I was curious about his excuse: the storm was bad, it got late, I’d had a few beers, none of your business. All true, take your pick.

There was only one message, logged at 2:30 P.M. I punched the button and played the tape:

Hello to the Munros. Scott, this is Claire. Sorry we got signals crossed about dinner last night. Wish you had made it. Oh, the car wasn’t making that noise this morning, but I still think it should be checked. Can you get it in this week? That’s all. Um, hi, Arden
,
if that’s who answers.

I walked to his bedroom and pushed open the door. The bed was neatly made, a shirt and sweater were draped on a chair—the same shirt and sweater that had been there last night. The same mess of baseball cards and comic books on his dresser.

“Scott?” I called. My voice sounded loud, sharp, tight,

I checked the bathroom. The towel I’d used was the top item in the hamper. The toilet seat was down. My socks lay on the floor.

He hadn’t been home. He’d never been to his girlfriend’s.

His truck was in the garage, his driving gloves on the kitchen counter.

I looked at the back door. “Walk in,” I whispered. “Walk in now.”

The phone book had a Poole, C., listed with a rural address: County Road PN. Where the hell was PN?

The message on her machine was my second major shock of the day: a child’s voice.
This is Hannah. Mom and I can’t get to the phone
,
but leave a message. Thanks.

Mom and I?

Oh brother, brother. No wonder you didn’t spend nights there. I left my own message, hoping I’d disguised my surprise.

This is Arden Munro
,
Scott’s sister. Please call me. Thanks.

I poured a soda and wondered, should I be worried? Didn’t matter, I
was
worried.

I called the police station and asked for Al. When in doubt, call a cop.

“We’ll have him call you,” the lady said.

Al rang in five minutes. I could hear restaurant noise in the background and resisted making a doughnut joke. I told him why I was calling. He wasn’t too concerned and told me to check with Claire.

“No,” I answered firmly. “He never went there. Claire called and left a message. She was kind of wondering where he’d been last night, only she didn’t come out and say it. But you could tell.”

“His sled is gone?”

“That’s what I said, Al. The ’Cuda and his truck are both here, his sled is gone, and he didn’t make it to where he said he was going last night.”

“Let me make some calls. And stay there; I’m coming over.”

Cop on the way—a bad sign.

The heat hadn’t been turned up all day; Scott always did that. I felt cold, so cold. I crossed my arms and looked out the window.

Winter dark settles in about four o’clock and it comes quickly, a sneak attack after a day of blinding sun-on-snow. Across the street, the Drummonds’ lights went on through the house like a current—flick, flick, flick. I saw Kady in the suddenly illuminated kitchen working at the counter, saw her mother walk past behind her, saw Jean pull the curtains in her room, saw their father pushing a vacuum in the living room.

Had anyone looked at this house, they’d observe nothing but stillness and shadows.

CHAPTER 17

This is what we know,” Al said as soon as he walked in the door. “Scott was at Winker’s Tavern around four yesterday afternoon. He told the men there that he’d been out alone and was headed to Claire’s place. She’s the naturalist at the state park. That’s where she lives.” County Road PN, I thought.

He reported more. Scott and the others at Winker’s had discussed the distance to the park. Eight miles, they’d decided, if you went on the county trail and then up the road. Six if you crossed the river and rode the state trail. Scott had been drinking a little. Buck, the bartender, thought maybe three beers. And he’d been giving advice on cars, made a promise to check out Tom Koski’s Lumina in exchange for a load of firewood. He’d made a toast to his girlfriend, though by then no one was left to hear except Buck.

Buck had been in the back when he left, and he thought maybe he heard him head down toward the river. Hard to tell, he was rattling glasses, cleaning up.

“That’s all?” I asked.

“I called Claire. She’d just gotten home and heard your message. She confirmed that she never saw him yesterday, hadn’t talked to him since he and I were out there on Saturday.” He made two fists and rubbed them on his thighs. “The sheriff has called a search.”

“At night?”

“They can start by patrolling the trails around that area. It will be morning by the time a whole crew gets there. He’s called for the State Patrol helicopter. It uses an infrared system and can spot bodies in the woods.”

Bodies. We both flinched when he said it. “I want to come with you. I want to help, Al.” I picked up a pillow and punched it. “I should have figured out yesterday that something was wrong. I should have called you then. It’s been a whole day, Al, he’s been out there for a day.”

“You didn’t know. Claire didn’t know. Everyone thought he was somewhere else. No one knew he was missing. Arden, there are two shelters on those trails. Maybe he had trouble and holed up for the night. We’re checking now.”

“I want to help.”

“Arden, if we don’t find him on the trail tonight, the search gets tough. You’ve never even been on a sled.”

“I’m telling you, I want to help.”

He took a moment to speak. “If we don’t find him tonight, it’s not good. If we find him, you don’t want to be there. Not when we’re looking for a— Cripes, Arden, is there someone who can stay with you tonight? Maybe those two girls, Danny Drummond’s sisters, the twins.” He couldn’t come out and say it, but this is what he meant. We’re not looking for your brother, we’re looking for a body.

* * *

Al called the Drummonds and within five minutes Kady and her mom were over with food. I didn’t eat. They talked to Al and got the story while I looked out the window. Mr. Drummond arrived with his snowblower. He went to work on our driveway, disappearing behind a soaring shaft of powder.

Al left and called an hour later with bad news. The trail and the river had been patrolled, with no sign of Scott.

“This damn wind,” Mrs. Drummond said. “They won’t know where to look, it’s blown away any tracks. Goddamn wind. Goddamn it to hell.”

Kady stared at her mother, who never swore.

Midnight. Kady was asleep in a chair, Mrs. Drummond was knitting. I sat and stared out the window, holding a cup of cold tea.

Two
A.M.
Mrs. Drummond snored softly, Kady talked in her sleep. “Huh-ya, huh-ya, huh-ya,” their juggling chant.

Four
A.M.
I moved my tea mug to the other hand.

At six I was in my car. As I backed down the driveway I looked at the house and saw Mrs. Drummond in the window. She lifted a hand and waved.

Winker’s Tavern was crowded, but no one was drinking beer. I had to park out on the county road because the lot was full. Two sheriff’s cars, a State Patrol cruiser, lots of pickups. A German shepherd was tethered outside the door. It rose and stared as I approached. I kicked snow off my shoes and pushed open the tavern door. The buzz of conversation had been so loud I’d heard it through the door, but as soon as I walked in, dead silence.

“Geez, Arden,” Al said. “Everyone, this is Scott’s sister.” People crowded around, touching my arm, tugging my sleeves, laying hands on my shoulders; talking. I heard only snippets and kept jerking my head back and forth, trying to respond to each with a nod or a smile.

…snow cover on the river…

…if I’d known he was alone…

…river ice…

…search and rescue…

…river current…

The river, the river, the river. On and on, people kept talking about the river.

“I want to go out,” I said, and they all shut up.

“Arden,” Al replied, “you don’t even have boots.” Everyone looked at my feet.

True, no boots. I sagged, and someone put an arm around me. “I want to know what you’re doing,” I said to everyone. “Don’t hide it from me.”

A big guy came over and introduced himself, Buck Winker. “How ’bout some eggs?” he said. I nodded and let myself be led to a booth. Someone brought me cocoa. I warmed my hands. Just the walk from the car had chilled me through. Twenty below windchill, Buck said when he delivered the eggs.

A woman wearing deputy brown slid into the booth. “Felicity Kay. I’m the search coordinator. We’ve got twenty people out, Arden. They’re doing a systematic search of the area. The patrol helicopter should arrive soon. We’ll have it do a flyover of the river, and then we’ll pull in the people and let it cover the woods.”

I peppered my eggs.

“I’ve led a lot of searches, Arden. I know you want to help. And you can.”

I set down the pepper shaker. “Stay out of the way?”

“If you don’t want to wait at home, and I can certainly understand that, then just stay here. Buck will take care of you.”

I looked at Buck, who stood behind the bar, a wooden toothpick rolling across his lips. He winked. Felicity Kay rose and zipped up her coat. In spite of the panic that was gripping me, I had to smile—she even zipped with authority.

There’s maybe no sound louder than a helicopter, and the one that buzzed the bar at that moment nearly knocked me out of the booth and rocked glasses off the shelves. Buck cocked his head and looked up. Deputy Kay turned and strode out of the building.

In a moment it was just Buck and me in the tavern. “Good eggs,” I said.

He leaned on his arms on the bar. “Scotty started coming here this winter and we all liked him real well, Arden. Kind of a greenhorn, considering he’d lived in Penokee for a while.”

Twelve years, I thought, if you count the year at Yale.

“Never even hunted, he told me.”

“Didn’t fish, either,” I said.

“Not like most of the guys, that’s for sure. But we liked him. He was funny, sheesh. Always had one to make you laugh. And sure, maybe he didn’t know the first thing about what was around him once he stepped outside, but the guy could work his way through an engine.” Buck stood erect and stretched. “I’ll be in the back doctoring numbers for the taxman. Just yell if you want anything.”

I poked at my eggs, then smashed what remained under the tines of the fork.

Okay, so I’d always gotten lousy grades in English, but I was alert enough to have learned one thing: past tense. I knew what that was and why you used it

Past tense. Buck had used it to talk about my brother.

CHAPTER 18

I fell asleep in a bar. I realize that for most people this would not be an event you’d want to talk about. After I ate my eggs and finished my cocoa, I stretched my legs out on the booth’s bench, covered myself with my coat, and prepared to spend the morning watching the entrance of the tavern. But I slept.

Drool dripping across my chin woke me up. Or maybe it was the yelping dog. Or the sound of car doors slamming. Or maybe I’d just had enough rest. I woke up hurting, my neck stiff and my butt sore from the hard wood. I knew then I’d never make a good drunk and I smiled, thinking that Scott would be pleased.