Heart of Ice (3 page)

“Where are the cars?” she asked.

“They don’t allow any cars on Mackinac Island.”

“We have to walk everywhere?”

He pointed to the bike-rental shack, and her eyes lit up. She took off again, and he followed her, watching as she wandered down the rows of bikes. She looked up at him.

“These are all old,” she said softly.

“Well, we’re not entering the Tour de France,” Louis said.

His words were out before he thought about it and he didn’t know her well enough yet to tell if he had hurt her feelings.

Those gray eyes slid up to him. “I bet you think I don’t know what that is.”

He sighed. “Knowing your mother, I bet you know exactly what it is. Now pick out a bike. Please.”

She settled on a purple Huffy with a white basket. Louis chose the largest mountain bike, glad he had borrowed his landlord’s bike last week to practice. Lily sped off ahead of him, the sun glinting off the silver barrettes in her hair as she wound her way through the pedestrians, bikers, and horses.

They kept to the eight-mile road that circled the island, biking past the ramparts of an old fort, ancient limestone formations, and steep hiking paths that led up into the dark pines. And always, there on their right, was the deep blue expanse of Lake Huron.

Suddenly Lily stopped her bike.

Louis pulled up behind her. They were about three-quarters around the island. There was no one else on the road, and the whisper of the surf was the only sound.

“Look at that,” Lily said.

Louis looked to where she was pointing. Up on a bluff
was a huge log building. It looked like an old hunting lodge, with a high peaked roof, dormers, and verandas wrapping two of the three stories. A rusted iron fence rose from the weeds in front.

“It looks like a haunted house,” Lily said.

“Could be,” Louis said with a smile.

“Can we go up there?”

Louis remembered enough about Mackinac Island to know that most visitors kept to the lakeside road. Only the adventurous and well-muscled took their bikes into the hilly woods. He looked down at Lily, meeting her expectant eyes.

“It doesn’t look like there’s any way up,” Louis said.

“Maybe there’s a back way,” Lily said.

She jumped back on the bike and was off, her skinny legs pumping. About fifty yards up the road she pointed left and turned.

Her sweatshirt was just a blur of yellow in the dark woods as Louis followed her up the dirt road. At the top he stopped to catch his breath. The trees were thick, the air at least ten degrees cooler here out of the sun.

There was no sign of her.

“Lily!” he called.

“Over here!”

But he couldn’t see her. He rounded a curve and pulled up at a chain-link fence. There was a big red sign:
NO TRESPASSING
. He was at the back of the old lodge. Lily’s purple bike was lying in the weeds near a gap in the fence.

Damn it.

“Lily!” he shouted.

Nothing.

He dropped his bike and ducked through the fence. As he trotted through the weeds, he caught sight of an empty swimming pool littered with leaves, but he was sure she had gone to the lodge.

He jumped onto the wide wooden veranda. All the windows were shuttered. He went to the front of the lodge. The heavy wood front door was boarded shut and padlocked. There was one window with no shutter but covered with two boards. He peered through the crack between them. He could make out a table with an old oil lamp but no sign of Lily.

Where the hell had she gone? His heart was racing. He had never felt this kind of fear before. He didn’t even understand it.

He spun toward the yard but there was nothing to see except the iron fence and beyond that the lake.

“Lily!”

No sound except the buzz of insects.

He headed around the side of the lodge, going so fast he almost missed it—a small metal door about five feet from the ground. It was ajar and there was a cinder block beneath it. It was a milk chute.

He jerked the door open and stuck his head inside.

“Lily! Answer me!”

“I’m here.”

Her voice was small and far away, but he let out a huge breath of relief.

“Come back to the milk chute. Now!”

“But there’s a reindeer head.”

“What?”

“Come in and look. There’s a reindeer head over the fireplace. Come look, Louis!”

“I can’t. Now get back here now!”

“Oh, all right.”

Louis stayed at the chute, peering into the gloom for that spot of yellow sweatshirt.

A sharp crack, a muffled scream.

Louis tried to wedge into the chute.

“Lily!”

Nothing.

“Lily!” he screamed.

He frantically scanned the back of the house. No way in.

He ran back to the front, back to the one window that wasn’t shuttered. He ripped the two boards off and used one to smash the glass. Inside, he took a second to get his bearings, then headed toward the back. The dark hallways were narrow and he kept calling Lily’s name. But there was no answer.

Then he saw it—a ragged hole in the floorboards. He dropped to his knees, but it was pitch-black below.

“Lily!” he shouted. “Lily!”

A muffled, kitten-like cry from below.

“Lily! Are you okay?”

“I’m scared.”

He let out a painful breath. “Are you okay?”

“My arm hurts.”

He could hear her crying now.

“Don’t cry,” he said quickly. “I’m coming down to get you. Don’t move!”

“Okay.”

He jumped to his feet, scanning the dark room. It
looked like it was a kitchen but with no light he couldn’t be sure. And because the shutters were on the outside, he couldn’t even break the window. His mind raced and then suddenly he remembered the oil lamp he had seen through the window. He ran back to the front and grabbed the lamp. He shook it and let out a breath of relief when he heard a sloshing sound.

Matches . . . goddamn it, matches.

He took the lamp to the kitchen and started yanking open drawers. Nothing. He was about to give up when he spotted a small tin box on the wall near the stove. He thrust a hand in the bottom and pulled out a handful of wood matches.

“Louis?”

“I’m coming, honey!”

It took four strikes against the fireplace to finally light a match. The old kitchen shimmered pale gold, and he dropped to his knees at the hole in the floor.

He carefully lowered the oil lamp into the darkness.

A spot of yellow. Then Lily’s tear-streaked face looking up at him.

Oh my God.

She was lying on a pile of bones.

I
t had been almost forty minutes since he had scooped Lily off that basement floor and carried her outside to the veranda. He tried to stay calm as he gently examined her. He could tell that her right arm was sprained. Going down to the iron fence facing the lake, he managed to flag down a bicyclist to go get help.

When he returned to Lily she was crying. He cupped her face in his hands and asked her if she was all right, even though he could tell by the blank look in her eyes she was nowhere near okay.

Louis heard the sound of a car engine and looked up, surprised to see an ambulance pull in behind the chain-link fence.

“I thought you said there were no cars here,” Lily whispered.

“For kids who get hurt there are always cars. Come on, let me carry you over there.”

She pulled away from his touch. “I can walk.”

“Keep your arm tight to your chest,” Louis said.

Lily walked with him to the ambulance to meet the young paramedic. It didn’t take a genius to see Lily had fallen into something—she was dirty, her yellow sweatshirt was torn, and her face had some cuts. But the EMT’s
eyes went right to the arm she cradled against her body. When he began to examine it Lily started to cry again. Louis moved a little closer, trying to keep a reassuring smile on his face.

Louis had dealt with death many times, seen bodies floating in water, left in shallow graves, and laid out on the medical examiner’s table. He had even held a baby’s skull in his hand. But seeing Lily scared and in pain touched him in a way he never thought possible, in a place he didn’t know he had.

He heard another voice and turned to see a man dismounting a bike. He wore a white shirt and dark pants dusty at the cuffs. As he ducked under the fence and started across the yard, Louis could see the gold badge on his chest and brown leather holster on his hip.

Louis had intended to get Lily settled somewhere and then visit the island police to tell them about the bones. He hadn’t expected a cop to respond to an accident call. But on a small tourist island it was probably standard procedure.

The officer greeted the EMT by name and looked first at Lily, then at Louis. His badge read
MACKINAC ISLAND CHIEF OF POLICE
, the sleeve patch displayed an embroidered horse’s head.

“Jack Flowers,” he said, extending a hand. “Chief of Police.”

“Louis Kincaid.”

Flowers gave a slight nod, indicating Louis should follow him. They stopped a few yards away from the ambulance.

“Your little girl okay?” he asked.

“Scared mostly.”

“Chuck says you were inside the lodge.”

“Yes, sir. Lily—”

Flowers cut him off. “Guess you didn’t notice the boarded-up windows and
NO TRESPASSING
signs?”

“Lily snuck in through a milk chute,” Louis said. “When I heard her scream I broke a window to get to her. I’ll pay for any repairs.”

Flowers glanced at Lily, then looked back at Louis. “I’ll need to see some ID for the accident report,” he said.

Louis reached for his wallet and handed Flowers his Florida driver’s license. He thought about telling Flowers he was a private eye but decided against it. The title brought him little respect with most police departments, less here in Michigan, where he had been told he was red-flagged in the state’s law enforcement computer as a troublemaker.

Flowers’s radio crackled, and the chief keyed it.

“I’m out at Twin Pines, Barbara,” he said. “Just some overly curious tourists.”

Louis used the moment to size up Flowers. He was about forty, with a rough-hewn face and short jet-black hair that sprang from his head like mondo grass.

Flowers handed Louis back his license. “I should give you a trespassing citation,” he said. “But I won’t. Looks like your little girl over there feels bad enough.”

“You have no idea,” Louis said.

“What do you mean?” Flowers asked.

“There’s something inside the lodge you need to see,” Louis said.

Flowers’s thick black brows arched. “We got squatters?”

“I better show you,” Louis said.

Louis went back to the ambulance, explained to Lily that he had to take the policeman back inside, and made sure she was comfortable staying with Chuck the EMT. She gave him a small nod.

When Louis got back to the chief, Flowers was just lowering his radio. From the curious expression on Flowers’s face Louis knew the chief had run a quick background on him.

“So you’re a PI out of Florida?” Flowers asked.

“Yes, sir.”

“You carrying?”

“No, I’m on vacation.”

Flowers considered him again for a moment, then gestured toward the lodge. “Okay, Mr. PI from Florida. Show me whatever it is in that lodge you think I need to see.”

“You’d better get a flashlight.”

Flowers gave him a quizzical look, then went back to get a flashlight from the bag on his bike.

Louis took Flowers through the broken window. He picked up the still-lit oil lamp from the fireplace mantel and led Flowers to a narrow hallway off the kitchen. The wood steps leading down to the basement were steep and worn. The air grew colder as they descended into the darkness.

“Over here,” Louis said.

The beam of Flowers’s flashlight skittered across the floor, finally stopping on a spot about ten feet from a giant boiler in the corner.

“There,” Louis said.

Flowers’s Maglite caught the white of the bones and for
a long time stayed steady before Flowers slowly began to move it again. The beam picked up the distinct shapes—from the large heart-shaped pelvis to the tiniest finger bones.

Flowers angled the light upward to the hole in the ceiling. “Sweet Mother of God,” he whispered. “Your little girl fell from there?”

“Yeah,” Louis said.

Flowers turned a slow circle, skipping the light over the stone walls, across the floor, and around the base of the boiler. Dust swarmed in the beam like a million gnats.

“You see any clothing?” Flowers asked.

“No,” Louis said. He paused, moving the oil lamp slowly over the floor. “I don’t see the skull, either.”

Flowers swept the beam over the floor again, then he went behind the steps. He came out and looked behind the boiler before coming back to Louis.

“Maybe an animal got in here and took it,” he said.

“They usually take the smaller bones,” Louis said. “And from the looks of it I’m guessing most of the bones are still here.”

“You touch anything?”

“Lily fell right on the bones. I wasn’t thinking of preserving the scene when I was getting her out of here. But I didn’t touch anything else.”

Flowers turned the light back on the bones. Louis had seen detectives in big cities screw up crime scenes. Flowers looked like he knew enough not to stomp around down here in the dark. But he also looked like he didn’t have any idea what his next step was.

“First homicide?” Louis asked.

Flowers looked to him quickly. “What?”

“I asked if this was your first homicide.”

“Who said it was a homicide? Maybe someone just came down here and couldn’t get out for some reason.”

Louis hesitated. “There’s no clothing. And the fact the skull is missing could be important.”

Flowers just stared at him. Then he turned in a tight circle, running the flashlight beam again into the dark corners.

“Chief,” Louis said. “I have to go. Lily’s—”

“What’s that?” Flowers asked.

“What?”

Flowers moved forward and his beam of light picked up a glint of metal on the floor near the bones. He squatted down, drew a pen from his pocket, and poked at the metal.