Glare Ice (19 page)

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died with the first blow.” Dr. Lord looked at Claire with his steady blue eyes, then bent his head down to cut off another piece of his pie. He had chosen apple, because it was fresh out of the oven. “The rest didn’t matter.”

Claire could tell he was shaken about Sven Slocum. The body had been a bloody mess when they had brought it in.

Everyone in Fort St. Antoine was very upset. People talked of little else. Sandy Polanski had posted in the post office the obituary of Sven that had run in the St. Paul paper. His children were asking that donations be made to the Women’s Shelter in Durand.

Hard to believe that another nice older man had been killed in Fort St. Antoine. However, at least this time the killer was an outsider, a Minnesotan, not one of their own.

“I’m going to miss him,” Claire said. “The town is going to miss him. The ice rink has drifted over with snow. He was more than a decent man, he was a good neighbor.”

“High praise.”

“It is around here.”

Dr. Lord took a sip of his coffee. “It sounds like you’re trying to become an unofficial member of the Polar Bear Club. Swimming twice in Lake Pepin in the middle of winter.” Dr. Lord laughed as he said it. He bent his head and cut off another piece of his apple pie.

Claire gave him a glare over her cup of coffee. “It took me all night to thaw out from that dip.”

“You were very lucky that help was so close at hand.”

“I hate to think about it.”

“So you were going to tell me what happened to the guy that did all this? Klaus?”

“Yes, John Klaus is his name. Just moved him to the jail. He suffered severe frostbite to his feet. He was wearing the thinnest shoes you can imagine—they had to amputate a couple of his toes. He was in the water a lot longer. First Scott and Billy got Stephanie and me into the warm car. Then they went back for Klaus.”

Dr. Lord’s eyes grew wider behind his glasses. “And this all happened the night of the storm?”

Claire nodded. “We could tell Stephanie was okay. She didn’t want to go back to Durand, so she stayed with me that night. Scott and Billy drove Klaus back to Durand at the full height of the storm. Then they both ended up staying the night there. I think they slept in a couple of the jail cells. Once there, they couldn’t leave. But at least we didn’t need to keep Klaus at my house all night.”

“So you know for sure that Klaus killed Buck Owens?”

“Yeah. He told Stephanie. His wife admitted that she didn’t know where he had been that night. Oh, I didn’t tell you. He had left her at home with a broken arm and a bruised face.” Claire looked out the window. Overcast, but not too cold outside. They hadn’t had any snow since the big storm. “We’ve got him on two murder counts. And the assault of Stephanie Klaus. If there were a death penalty in Wisconsin, he’d be a candidate.”

“And his tie with Stephanie Klaus?”

“Legally they were siblings, but they’d been lovers for many years. Nothing wrong with that, again legally. However, because they were raised as siblings, it’s a little weird. According to her, he had been beating her up for most of that time. Once she started talking, it all poured out of her.”

“Well, the good news is that Stephanie has done what she needs to do.” He pointed his fork at Claire, but she didn’t take it personally. “She came through this thing alive. Too many women get killed by their abusers.”

“But I think she feels awful about Sven. She kept saying that night that she hadn’t even asked him in for a cup of coffee when he dropped her off from the hospital.” Claire thought of her dead husband for a moment. “Sometimes that’s all you want—just the chance to have another cup of coffee with them.”

When the bell rang, Meg shouted a silent hurrah in her mind. School was finally over for this year. She wouldn’t be back in this classroom until after the New Year. But she couldn’t leave right away. Mr. Turner had asked Meg to stay for a moment after school was out. She had all the stuff she needed to take home with her piled on top of her desk. Two weeks of vacation. Her mom was even going to take a few days off to hang out with her. What fun.

She wasn’t too worried about Mr. Turner anymore. He was letting her read when she finished her work and had even told her her last project on Wisconsin state history had been excellent. She had written a report on the Chippewa, or Ojibwa, Indians. They had lived in Fort St. Antoine before the people from Europe came and pushed them off their land. She had once found an arrowhead down at the park. It was a soft pink color. She kept it in her collection of special things in a box next to her bed, and had drawn a picture of it for her report. He had liked the picture; most of the other kids hadn’t illustrated their reports.

But as she watched the other kids leave the room, she got a bad feeling. She looked up at Mr. Turner. He was taking his time, wiping down the board. What would he do to her now? Something to ruin her vacation?

He turned around and walked back toward her desk. His face was scrunched up as if he were making it a point to look like he was thinking. He really looked more like he had a fly on his nose and was trying to look at it. He stood above her for a few moments before saying anything. Meg got a sick feeling in her stomach.

“Meg, I’ve read your story. The fairy tale you turned in for extra credit. You have a very vivid imagination. When the princess pushed the monster out onto the ice and he fell through, I was quite surprised.”

She nodded. She was pretty pleased with how that had turned out.

“The reason I asked you to wait is … I think it’s quite good.”

Meg felt relieved. Was that all?

Mr. Turner sat down in the desk in front of her. It felt weird to be at the same level with him. She could see that he was getting wrinkles on his forehead.

“I just wanted to let you know how happy I am that you have come to see things my way.”

Meg decided he could think that if he wanted to. She got to read in class whenever she was done with her homework. She got to write stories that she made up for extra credit. She felt like she was getting everything she wanted from school. She wasn’t going to argue with him about whose idea it was.

“Thanks, Mr. Turner.” She stood up and picked up her books. She had a bus to catch. “I’m going to try to write another one over Christmas. Is that all?”

“That would be fine, Meg.” Mr. Turner seemed to shrink as she stood there. His shoulders sagged, and he looked a little bit lonely. She wondered what he was doing for the holidays.

Meg started to leave, and then turned back and said, “Have a merry Christmas, Mr. Turner.”

His voice followed her out the door. “You too, Meg.”

Beatrice saw the town of Fort St. Antoine come in sight, then they drove right by Rich’s farmhouse and on to his girlfriend’s. What an odd thing to call a woman in her forties—a girlfriend. They really had to come up with a better word: companion, mistress, or even compatriot. It was a week before Christmas, and Beatrice had been invited over to decorate the tree at Claire’s house.

Beatrice had decided that she would not make them put up with her this Christmas Eve or day. Let them have that time together without the old woman there. She had good friends in Rochester who had begged her to come and have dinner with them. There might be other Christmases that she could share with her son when he was more settled with this new arrangement. If it lasted.

When she walked in the door of Claire’s house, she was struck by how warm and pleasant it felt. A fire going in the woodstove, a sliced fruitcake sitting on the coffee table, a bottle of wine opened and at the ready.

Claire brushed her cheek with her own, pleasant but a little distant. However, Meg hugged her around the waist and reached up to give her a kiss. Beatrice could see no way out of it, so she bent over slowly and received the kiss, like a touch of a snowflake, on her cheek.

Beatrice had brought over a wrapped present for Meg and Claire. She handed it to Meg after their greetings.

“May I open it?” Meg asked.

Beatrice nodded.

“Now?”

“The sooner the better.”

Meg tore off the wrapping paper, and her mouth grew round and her eyes widened as she lifted the tissue paper off the prettiest blown-glass ornament that Beatrice could find—a swirl of soft pastels.

“For the tree?” Meg asked.

“Unless you want to wear it in your hair.”

Claire looked at the gift. “It will be the very first ornament we put on the tree. I will find it a place of honor.”

Claire gave Beatrice a shy hug and handed her a glass of wine, showing her to a spot on the couch from where she could watch the tree-trimming with ease.

“Hey?” Meg said to her.

“Straw is cheaper,” Beatrice said back.

Meg looked blankly at her, then her face broke into a smile as she got the joke. “Good one.”

“What, Meg?”

“Beatrice, that bulb you gave us is a real flower now. Come and see it.”

Meg took her hand and led her into the kitchen. There on a shelf next to the window, but out of the light, as she had told them, was the amaryllis “Picotee,” looking as lovely as it could look: a long dusky green stem rising up a good foot and a half with four huge blossoms facing the four directions.

“A white ghost of a flower with just a hint of red,” she said to Meg.

“It will still be blooming on Christmas Day, don’t you think?” Meg asked.

“Yes. Now, Meg, when the flowers die back, then you cut the stem off, but let the leaves grow. Keep watering it. I’ll tell you what to do with it in spring.” Beatrice stopped as she realized she sounded as if she was sure this relationship would last. She hoped it would. She placed her hand on Meg’s dark hair. “If you treat it right, you should have this flower blooming at Christmas for many years to come.”

When the stars faded behind her eyes, she opened them and saw Rich’s face close to hers. Handsome man. He sniffed her neck as if he still hadn’t gotten enough of her. She bent her head and found his lips and kissed him. She stretched in his arms, and he held her tight.

“That was positively celestial,” she whispered.

“So close to Christmas I do my best.”

“I’ll have to remember that.”

“I’m good on all the holidays.”

“After New Year’s there’s Ground Hog Day.”

He snuffled harder into her neck, sounding like a wild animal. “Don’t forget Boxing Day and President’s Day.”

Claire pulled herself up in bed and cradled Rich’s head in her arms. “I don’t have to work tomorrow.”

“That’s a reason to celebrate in itself. That job has been taking a lot out of you lately.”

She didn’t say anything. She had noticed that he had started to snipe a bit about her work, hinting that she might think of doing something else. It wasn’t a good sign. It hadn’t helped at all that he had been there to see Stephanie Klaus after she was beaten. It had given him too strong a sense of what her job was all about. She might need to nip his concern in the bud. He didn’t have as much to keep him busy in the winter, and he had too much time to think about what she was doing.

“The job is fine. It’s a lot easier down here in Pepin than it was up in the big, bad cities.”

“You seemed a little upset when you came home from work today,” he said, pulling himself up next to her.

“Oh, yeah. I didn’t want to say anything with Meg around. I didn’t get a chance to show it to you, but I read a story that she wrote the other day. It was really excellent. She’s turning into quite a writer. But there was a dark side to it. I know that isn’t unusual with kids. But it worries me that she might be hearing too much about what I’m working on.”

“Meg’s growing up. I think she can handle it. I think you just need to keep putting it in perspective. There is evil, and there is good. Just think of what’s on TV, in the newspaper. You can’t keep the world from her.”

“Yeah, I guess.”

“So what happened today?” he asked again, wrapping an arm around her back as if protecting her from what she was about to tell him.

Claire sighed. “Maybe it means nothing. I wish I could believe that. But I was leaving work, and as I was walking down the steps, I saw Stephanie Klaus park her car. I got into my car and then watched as she walked up the steps of the jailhouse and went in. She went into the jailhouse, Rich. She had to be going in to see John Klaus. After all he’s done to her.”

Rich rubbed Claire’s back and shoulders. He could feel her tense up just talking about it. “Any addiction is hard to get over. Whatever they have is like an addiction to both of them.”

“Should I have said something to her? Stopped her? Reminded her of what she looked like when we found her on Thanksgiving? Isn’t it my job to stop this kind of thing from happening again?”

“I don’t think so. You have done your job. He’s in jail. He will be convicted. He will go away for the rest of his life. That’s where your job ends. You can’t save everybody, Claire.”

There was one more thing, but she didn’t tell Rich. She wasn’t sure why. It twisted inside her, and she didn’t even want to say it out loud. Stephanie had been carrying a present in her hands. It was all wrapped up in Christmas wrapping paper with a big red bow.