“They’ll find out eventually.”
“Maybe, maybe not,” she said. “But I don’t have to tell them.”
“Helen..” Vinnie said. He tried to find some words but couldn’t.
“Let’s go,” she said. “Let’s go do this right now.”
They tried to talk her out of it, but it was obvious her mind was made up. A few minutes later, we were standing outside in the cold dead yard, watching Vinnie and Helen drive away. Helen looked at us through her window, then lifted her hand and put it flat against the glass.
I said my own goodbyes to Maskwa, this incredible man, and to Guy and his mother. I got in my truck and started down the road. There were snowflakes in the air. I drove down the empty highway, all the way to the station in Hearst, and parked next to Vinnie’s truck. I knew it would be a long wait, so I settled in and went to sleep.
A couple hours later, I picked my head up and saw Vinnie coming out of the station. He was alone, and he looked as tired and miserable as any man I had ever seen.
He gave me a nod and got in his truck, and then I followed him all the way home.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
That winter came in as if it wasn’t really sure of its mission. It would snow a few inches, then stop. We never got buried. It would go down to zero at night, but we didn’t have any of those thirty-below nights where you worry about your pipes freezing.
I spent Thanksgiving with Jackie and his son, the three of us alone in the Glasgow. The place was open that night, but nobody else came in until after nine o’clock. I left the place and drove over to Vinnie’s mother’s house and finished up my Thanksgiving night with my new adopted family.
We had one big snow in early December, but aside from that the winter stayed mild and some of the snowmobilers even canceled their reservations. That meant a little less noise and fewer drunken fools running into each other. Somehow I adjusted.
When Christmas came, I had my busiest holiday in years. I started out over at Vinnie’s mother’s house again, had lunch with Jackie, and then I headed over to Leon’s house for dinner. I gave toys to his kids and a bottle of wine to Eleanor, and they actually seemed to enjoy having me around this time. It helped that I wasn’t asking Leon to do any private eye work.
Until after dinner.
Eleanor was putting the kids to bed when I told him what I was thinking about. I had seen what Vinnie had done for Helen. I was thinking maybe I could do something for somebody, too.
“And maybe a little bit for yourself?” Leon said.
“Okay, maybe. Just a little bit.”
He called me a couple of days later. I sat on the whole idea for a couple more days. Maybe I was trying to talk myself out of it. I woke up on New Year’s Eve day convinced that it was a bad idea.
Sometime late that afternoon, I changed my mind.
I had a bottle of champagne in my fridge. I had been saving it for God knows what, for drinking by myself again on another New Year’s Eve. This year I might have shared it with Vinnie and his family. Or Jackie and Leon. I had more family now than ever.
But that wasn’t enough. For some reason, after what I had been through, I felt like I needed something more.
I put the bottle of champagne in the truck, drove out into the cold day. I had the plow on the front of the truck, the cinder blocks in the back for traction. Even with no snow on the ground, I was ready. That’s the way I am.
I drove over the bridge. The man in the customs booth looked my truck over and asked me if I had heard something about a snowstorm. I told him no, but the minute I took the plow off we’d get dumped on. He thought that was funny. He wished me a Happy New Year and sent me on my way.
I had the directions on the seat next to me, courtesy of Leon. It wasn’t that far away, that was the crazy thing. I figured I’d have to drive all day again. But the address was in Blind River, a little town on the North Channel, maybe an hour and a half east of Sault Ste. Marie.
I took the Queen’s Highway out of the Soo and followed it through all the small towns on the coast. I had come down this same road on the way to Sudbury, when I was looking for Vinnie. This time there was a lot less at stake. So why did I feel so nervous?
The sun was going down when I hit Blind River, the days so damned short now. I found the intersection in the middle of town, took a left and headed north. The town gave way to wetlands and empty fields spotted with thin traces of snow. I went over a little bridge and found the farmhouse on the right, set back from the road. I pulled up the gravel driveway and stopped. There was a car pulled up in front of a small barn, but the house looked dark.
I got out and went to the front porch. There was a Christmas wreath hanging on the door. I rang the bell and waited. Twenty seconds passed. I rang the bell again.
The door opened. Natalie Reynaud stood there in the light of the doorway. She was wearing jeans and a white cotton shirt, and she looked at me like I was the last person she ever expected to see standing on her porch. Which I suppose I was.
“McKnight?”
“Good evening.”
“What are you… What is this?”
“I’m here to give you something. May I come in?”
She didn’t move. “What are you talking about?” She looked down at the bottle in my hand. “Did you come here to give me a bottle of champagne?”
“No,” I said. “Something else. The champagne is just…” I ran out of words. At that moment, I started to feel like an idiot and I might have left if she hadn’t opened the door all the way for me.
“Come on in,” she said. “You’re letting the warm out.”
“My father used to say that,” I said as I stepped inside. “You’re letting the warm out.”
She stood in front of me with her arms folded. “I’m not on the job right now,” she said. “I took a leave.”
“I know,” I said. “I mean, I don’t know, but I’m not surprised. I did the same thing myself.”
She kept one arm folded around her and ran the other through her hair. “McKnight, I don’t know how you found me, or why you came all the way out here, but-”
“Here,” I said. I gave her the piece of paper.
She took it from me. She held it for a moment like she was unsure what to do with it. Then she unfolded it and read the article. She read it quickly and then she looked up at me. “What’s this about?”
“Can we sit down?”
“Over here,” she said. She led me to her dining room table. It was an antique oak table with ornate claw feet, and it matched the rest of the room perfectly. There was a hutch with china plates displayed in rows, and an old pie cabinet with the air holes in the metal panels. A chandelier hung from the ceiling with five crystal bowls.
“It’s a nice house,” I said.
“It’s my grandparents’ house.”
I looked out into the next room. “I hope I’m not disturbing them.”
“I doubt it. They’re both dead.”
I sat down at the table. My collar felt hot around my neck.
“Look,” she said, “are you going to tell me what this article means?”
“Please sit down,” I said.
She let out a long breath and sat down across from me. I couldn’t help but notice what the antique light did to her eyes. And for the first time I saw a hint of red in her hair.
“Read the names again,” I said.
She looked at the article. The expression on her face changed. “Gannon. St. Jean. Trembley.” She looked at me. “Where did you get this?”
“Someone at the newspaper ran a search with those names. It was easy.”
“I know what happened up at that lodge,” she said. “I read your statement. Was that the way it really went?”
“I thought you said you were on leave.”
“I’m getting a little concerned here. Maybe you should go.”
“There’s another name in that list,” I said. “Olivia Markel.”