The Northwoods Chronicles (16 page)

“Would you scan this for me?” Cara asked at the
door to his van. “Tell me when it was sent?”

“Sure.” The driver passed his hand-scanner over
the barcode, and then pushed a button, frowned, scanned it again,
and handed it back to Cara. “Never was,” he said.

“That’s what I thought. Thanks.”

To hell with Pastor Porter, she thought, and
ripped open the envelope.

Inside was a single sheet of paper, a model
release for an ad to run in the northwoods real-estate locator
magazine, signed by Viktor Haas, the playboy who owned the marina
just outside of town.

Cara knew Viktor, and it hadn’t been Viktor who
delivered the envelope. Besides, the return address on the FedEx
envelope was not White Pines Junction, it was Minneapolis. None of
this made sense. She closed up shop and went to find the sheriff at
Minnow Lake.

But the sheriff didn’t have much time to listen
to Cara’s theories. He was busy zipping into a body bag the second
dead female with missing body parts that the divers had found that
day. Neither one of them was Babs Van Rank. Both women had their
heads shaved bald.

Cara sat at the picnic table with some of the
other locals, and, as they speculated about the identity of the
found women, a diver surfaced through the hole in the ice with a
thumbs-up signal, and soon Sheriff Withens was zipping up a bald
and legless Babs.

The sheriff sent the coroner’s car on its way
down to the city with its miserable cargo, then he stopped by the
picnic table. Cara had never seen the sheriff look so worn and
haggard. “I’ve lived too long,” he said. Cara moved over and the
sheriff settled down onto the bench. Jimbo Benson, who edited the
weekly newspaper, offered him a cup of hot coffee from his
thermos.

“Who’re the others, Sheriff?” Jimbo asked.

The sheriff shrugged, sighed, then got up.
“Tourists, I think. I’ve heard no missing persons reports up here
lately, other than, well . . . I’ve got to go tell Gordie,” he
said.

Cara stopped him and told him about the weird
FedEx package. When she said that the model release was Viktor’s,
the sheriff nodded toward the divers. “That’s Viktor down there,”
he said. “Go ahead and interrogate him for me.” Then the man, bent
by his burdens, got into his cruiser and took off, spitting
gravel.

Cara waited for Viktor to unsuit, talk with his
search and rescue pals for a while, then she approached him, and
asked about the strange FedEx delivery. Viktor, ruggedly handsome
and the perfect model for the specialty clothes that Babs sold,
explained that Babs needed the release before the ad was to run,
and he’d left it at his mom’s place in Minneapolis. She was going
to FedEx it back to Babs, but then his kid brother came down to
help in the garage and dropped it off instead. Then Viktor looked
at Cara as though she smelled bad for asking about that at a time
like this, and turned his back.

Cara went back to her gallery to tidy things up,
thought she might stop at the jail to say hello to Gordie, if she
could get in to see him, maybe take him some magazines or
something, find out what Gordie wanted her to do about Babs’s
shop.

She moved the UPS boxes from the countertop to
the back of her frame shop, and then the box of jars of jelly and
mincemeat. Hmmm. Cranberry banana jelly. She took a pint jar out of
the box, held it up to the afternoon light. Beautiful deep red
color. Not clear like a pure cranberry would be, but clouded
because of the banana addition. She pried open the lid and scooped
some out with her finger and tasted it. Yum. She’d have some on her
toast in the morning, and slip an IOU into the box. Then she moved
the tote and the sweaters. Two of them were obviously for a man,
but the other was nice. Very nice. Cara’s colors of brown and blue,
and her size, too, with a little picot stitching around the neck.
She tried it on and admired himself in the mirror. The wool had a
nice sheen to it with what looked like a reddish highlight. Very
nice. It would be perfect for the winter.

She thought about that little hippie girl who
had brought this to Babs. She probably had kids and expenses. Cara
hated to see her stock sit in Babs’s closed shop, or worse, kick
around the back room of her gallery while the whole Babs mess was
handled. Her address was on the tag.

Cara put Mike on her shoulder and headed home.
She’d just make one brief stop on the way.

The winter sun went down early, so when Cara
pulled into the woman’s driveway, she could see her through the
lighted front window with her spinning wheel. Cara carried all
three sweaters and the tote, planning to buy one and return the
rest.

The girl stopped her wheel, opened the door and
took a couple of steps onto the front porch, hugging herself
against the cold.

“Hi,” Cara said in greeting, then held up the
sweaters. “I’ve come to talk to you about Babs Van Rank. You know,
from The Tickled Bear?”

“No,” the woman said and backed toward the door.
“I don’t know nothing. You better get off my land, or come back
with, you know, a warrant.”

“A warrant? No, you don’t understand, I’ve come
about these sweaters.”

“Isaac!” she screamed and backed into the
house.

Isaac, the cranberry banana jam man, came out
holding a shotgun.

Cara dropped the sweaters in the snow and raised
her hands. Mike flapped his clipped wings and floated to the
ground, landing on top of the sweaters.

“She’s a redhead,” Isaac said.

The girl peeked at Cara from around his back.
“That’s good,” she said, “it looks natural.”

“Hey, listen,” Cara said, but nobody listened to
her, they listened to Mike, who was pulling hairs from the sweater
and saying, “Hi, Babs. I love you, Babs.”

Cara saw the taillight of Babs’s car hidden
around the funky old garage about the same time realization hit
her, and her last thought was of Gordie, poor Gordie, who had
always loved the way Babs made those mincemeat pies.

Julia owned way too much
property in White Pines Junction. As she sat with her accountant’s
report for the year end, she was appalled at how much property she
owned, how much she paid in taxes, how much she got back in rents,
and what her net worth was. She was pleased, there was no question
about that. When her husband had taken off with his tart, she had
strong-armed him for most of his wealth, and she’d had a little
tucked away herself. It hadn’t taken her long after the wedding to
realign. He’d evidenced his snaky ways the minute the honeymoon was
over. So while Julia was pleased with the bottom line of her
investment portfolio, she wasn’t all that crazy about being overly
invested in real estate. In Vargas County real estate, anyway.

Marcy needed a helping hand, and Julia had no
spare cash. The only thing she could offer her daughter-in-law was
real estate—a little cottage or an apartment—for her and the boys,
but Vargas County and kids . . . not a good match. She could move
Kevin Leppens out of his cottage and into—no, he was a good tenant.
Too good to lose.

She wanted Marcy and her boys nearby, but far
enough away to be safe.

This was the price, she thought, as she had
every day since her son—Marcy’s druggie husband—had become a
problem. This is the price one pays for populating a place out of
the mainstream. Vargas County was a sportsman’s paradise, an
investor’s dream. It had pretty much everything anybody needed,
including wonderful summers and exquisite winters. Everybody in
Vargas County prospered, including—she consulted her financial
statement—her. And the down side was . . . well, the down side was
that Marcy couldn’t move next door, not with those little boys,
because those two sweet little things would be vulnerable to the
down side. And Julia would never forgive herself for sacrificing
them in order to prosper.

She could move. She could set them up in a
close-by town. She could send Marcy some money and let Marcy make
her own decisions. Ultimately, Julia thought, it wasn’t up to her.
It was up to Marcy. And Marcy had her own parents—she wasn’t really
Julia’s responsibility. And if Marcy decided to bring her boys to
White Pines Junction, well, that was between Marcy and her
conscience. Julia would advise her of all the pros and cons.

She set the financial statement aside and picked
up her appointment book. She was to show property to a young couple
at two p.m., and just had time to finish dressing before her
appointment at the hair salon. She’d be finished there just in time
for a lunch date with Mitch, and be ready to show property at two.
Life was good. And if she really admitted it to herself, having
Marcy and the boys close by would cramp her style a little bit.
Julia wasn’t crazy about living the rest of her life alone, but she
was having fun being single, even in the limited local social
scene.

Julia tried not to think about Marcy, and put
her mind on Mitch instead, and dressed appropriately, then bundled
up and headed out for the Shear Pleasure and a little girl talk
with Lexy.

Lexy, true to form, had multiple levels of hair
piled on top of her head, and exaggerated cuts on the side, so they
were asymmetrical and off balance, much like multi-layered,
asymmetrical, off-balance Lexy herself. Her hair was a flaming red,
bordering on purple, and she wore Kelly-green eye shadow. She was
dressed in her signature white lab coat over tights. Today her
tights were purple, and there was a hole in the thigh of one, where
white skin protruded, attesting to the tightness of the tights and
the generous proportion of Lexy’s thigh.

“Hey, baby!” she greeted Julia, as she opened
the door to the salon, which used to be a garage attached to Lexy’s
little house. Julia wanted to believe that Lexy knew her name, but,
in reality, she believed that Lexy didn’t know anybody’s name, she
just marked her appointment book with X’s.

Julia took off her coat and unwound her scarf.
It was too hot in Lexy’s place; it always was. But it was festive
with tacky Christmas decorations that were still up two weeks after
New Year’s, and that made Julia smile.

“Oooh, so dressy, Miss Sassy,” Lexy said. “Looks
like you’ve got a date. Go take off that dress and put on a
smock.”

Julia did as she was told behind the Oriental
screen.

“Wash and set? Perm? Color touch-up? Nails?
Pedicure?”

Julia smiled. She’d like all of that, but wasn’t
sure she could put up with the company for all that long.

“Wash, trim, blow dry,” she said. “That’s it for
today.”

She got her wash, then Lexy examined her roots
and pronounced they were good for two more weeks before she would
be so obvious people would be able to see her gray part approach
long before they saw her face.

Julia appreciated Lexy’s idiosyncrasies. She was
fun, for a while.

As the ends of her hair were beginning to coat
the floor in little dark commas, as the tiny silver scissors
flashed around her head, a cold lick of wind blew in and the jingle
bells on the door handle jangled.

“Hey, baby!” Lexy said.

Margie came in, and pulled her stocking cap off
her head. She rubbed her reddened cheeks with mittened hands and
sat down in the other swiveling chair. “Hi, Lex. Hi, Julia. I
thought I’d come by and see if you had time to give me a trim.”

“Hmmm,” Lexy said, “let me look.” She left Julia
and consulted her appointment book on the table by the phone. “If
you don’t need too much, I can squeeze you in quickly right after
her.”

“Great,” Margie said, and unbuttoned her coat.
“I’ll wait.”

Julia tried not to stare at Margie, but whenever
she looked at the once-beautiful young woman who pioneered the area
by opening the best diner in the county, all Julia could see was
the grief she held onto so tightly it showed in her face. Margie
had never recovered from Micah’s disappearance. Would Julia be able
to recover if she encouraged Marcy to move her boys to town and
one—or, god forbid, both—disappeared in the same way? Would Julia
be able to recover if she were merely silent in her encouragement
to Marcy?

The thought gave her a hot flash.

Lexy blotted Julia’s forehead with a tissue, and
with it came most of her makeup. She’d have to go home again to
repair the damage before meeting Mitch.

Lexy went back to trimming Julia’s hair while
Margie watched, and Julia watched Margie in the mirror. Lexy
hummed, the heater fan wouldn’t stop, and the three women were
otherwise silent. Then Margie spoke.

“How do you stand it?”

Lexy stopped clipping and they both turned to
look at her.

“How can you live here?”

Lexy dropped Julia’s strand of hair and pulled
up a chair. Julia looked at the clock. She’d never have time to go
home to primp for Mitch. Oh well. She’d have to make do.

“It’s where we live, baby,” Lexy said. “Why?
What’s the matter with you?”

“I’ve been thinking about trying to get pregnant
again,” Margie said with a catch in her voice, “but I could never
have another child and keep living here.”

“It’s been what, two years since Micah?” Julia
asked.

A tear tripped down Margie’s cheek. She nodded.
Lexy handed her a tissue. “I know your kids are grown, Julia,”
Margie said, “but what about your grandkids? Don’t they ever come
to visit you? And you, Lexy, don’t you want to have a couple of
kids? Don’t you think we sell our souls to live in this place where
they steal our children?”

Julia was disappointed that she hadn’t followed
this train of thought through earlier in the day, and then maybe
she’d have some answers.

Margie dried her eyes and her sorrow was
immediately replaced with anger. Righteous indignation. “I make a
good living here, just like everybody else. We prosper, Jimbo and
me. And you, Julia, hell, you own more real estate in this county
than anybody else. We know you’re rich. Lexy, your appointment book
is full. It’s the same for everybody up here. Everybody does well.
There isn’t an unemployed, poor, street person in this whole
county, except for maybe Recon John and Chainlink Charlie, and they
want
to be that way. They aren’t poor, they’re just
weird.”