“I do, sir. Although eighty degrees does sound pretty good right now.”
I thanked the man, and promised to keep in touch. I even promised him one more time that I’d give his regards to Chief Maven. But I wasn’t about to go do that right then. I called Natalie. The machine picked up. I left another message, told her I had talked to the detective who had handled the case in 1973. I told her I was worried about her and that she should call me as soon as she got home.
You’re starting to sound like a nag, I thought. Let the woman be, for God’s sake. Maybe she just had a miserable time with her mother, and she wants to be alone for a while.
From there, I went right back to imagining the worst. She had promised me she would call, no matter what. She’s not the kind of person who breaks a promise.
What the hell was I supposed to do? I didn’t feel like driving back to Paradise. I didn’t want to sit around in my cabin. I didn’t want to hang out at Jackie’s and get another lecture.
I could go visit the Grants, I thought. Or the Woolseys.
No, Alex. You’re not the kind of person who breaks a promise, either.
I sat in the car for a while, watching the snow start to fall again. A county car rolled in next to me. The deputy got out of the car and hustled inside to get out of the cold air.
I picked up the phone again and dialed information. “Grace Reynaud,” I said, “in Batchawana Bay, Ontario.” I had no idea what last name she would be using now. She’d been Grace DeMarco at one time, Grace Reynaud before that. Hell, for all I knew, she was back to her maiden name now, whatever that was. But Reynaud seemed like a good place to start.
The operator found the name, but told me that the number was unpublished. I thanked her and hung up.
I watched the snow some more. I picked up the phone one last time. I dialed Natalie’s number and listened to it ring. The answering machine picked up, Natalie’s recorded voice asking me to leave a message. I turned the phone off.
Now what, Alex?
I put the truck in gear and pulled out of the lot.
When all else fails, it’s time to do something stupid.
Chapter Thirteen
Batchawana Bay was a small town, probably the kind of place where everybody knew everybody else. It wasn’t that far away. In fact, it was closer than Blind River. After I cleared the bridge, all I had to do was head due north on the Queen’s Highway instead of east. The snow was piled high to either side, but the road itself was clear. I figured I could get there within half an hour, easy.
I passed through Soo Canada, then hit the open road leading north through Heyden and Goulais River. There was nothing to see but white fields and trees bending under great weights of snow, until I finally began to see the frozen expanse of Lake Superior to the west. It was Whitefish Bay, my end of the lake, but seen from the wrong side. I had come all the way around the bay because I was worried about Natalie, because she was heading into a tough situation and most of one day had passed and I still hadn’t heard from her. That was all it took.
I would have driven a lot farther. I knew that. I would have done just about anything for her on this cold winter’s day, even with the bruises still fresh on my face, with my ribs still hurting and my knee still stiff. Jackie was absolutely right about me. But I couldn’t change that. That was the way I was, for better or worse.
As the town of Batchawana Bay got closer, I started to wonder why Natalie’s mother was living there. I had been up here before, and it had struck me as one of the loneliest places I had ever seen, the Canadian equivalent of Paradise, Michigan. Of course, maybe that’s why she liked it. I’d been down that road myself.
I figured the simplest thing to do would be to stop in at the most likely bar, ask if Grace was around. If it was her regular place, somebody would know her. Hell, everybody would know her. If it wasn’t, I’d just go on to the next place.
I stopped at a gas station near the public docks. As I stood pumping the gas, I breathed in the cold air and looked out at the bay. The ice stretched as far as I could see. Next to the station was a restaurant, with a long row of windows running along one side. In the summer, it would be a nice place to sit and watch the boats on the water. Today it looked like a nice place to stay warm and get quietly hammered.
I paid the man for the gas and moved the truck to the restaurant lot. When I opened the door, three men looked up from the bar.
“Afternoon, gentlemen,” I said. “How’s it going?”
“Not too bad,” the first man said. He had two empty shot glasses lined up in front of him. A cigarette burned in the ashtray. “Don’s in the bathroom, so you’ll have to wait a minute.”
“Does Don run this place?”
“No, he just cleans the bathrooms as a hobby.”
The other two men at the bar laughed. I closed my eyes and counted to three.
“Okay,” I said, “so do any of you guys know a woman named Grace?”
“Yeah, we know her,” the first man said. “Who’s asking?”
“I’m trying to find her,” I said. “It’s important.”
“That didn’t answer my question, eh? And what happened to your face?”
The other two men laughed again. This was turning into some real entertainment on a gray afternoon. The first man picked up his cigarette and took a long drag.
“I’m a friend of her daughter’s,” I said. “Do you know where she lives or not?”
“Her daughter’s not alive anymore,” the man said.
“What are you talking about?”
“She died a few years ago.”
I stepped up to the man. He had the red eyes and nose of a hard drinker and he hadn’t shaved in a week. Hell, even with all my bruises, this man still looked worse than I did.
“Let me guess,” I said. “Did Grace tell you that?”
“Yes.”
“How did she die?”
“Food poisoning. Not that it’s any of your business, friend. Who are you, anyway?”
I closed my eyes again, counted to five this time. “Look, I just need to know where she lives. Can you tell me that, please?”
“As far as I know,” the man said, “Grace lives right here in this bar. It’s the only place I’ve ever seen her.” He nodded his head toward an empty stool at the far end of the bar.
“What’s going on?” another man said, stepping out of the bathroom. “Did somebody find Grace?”
“I’m looking for her,” I said. “Are you Don?”
“Yeah, who’s asking?”
“I’m a friend of Grace’s daughter,” I said. “Please, don’t start with the food poisoning…”
“Come over here,” he said. He led me away from the men at the bar, toward one of the big windows. “These guys aren’t gonna be any help.”
“So you know Grace pretty well?”
“As well as anybody,” he said. He looked down for a moment, and rubbed the back of his neck. It made me think that maybe he did more for Grace than pour her drinks. “Now, tell me why you’re looking for her, because I’ve been kind of worried myself.”
“She hasn’t been around today?”
“No, she hasn’t.”
“I take it that’s pretty unusual.”
“Yeah, you could say that. This is the first day I can remember that she hasn’t been in here.”
“Do you know where she lives?”
“Up the road a bit,” he said. “Within walking distance. Which is actually… well, let’s just say it’s a good thing on most nights. But anyway, I’ve called her a couple of times today.”
“Did you go over there?”
“Yeah, I did. At lunchtime. Nobody was there.”
“Her daughter was coming up to see her,” I said. “Last night.”
“You mean Natalie?”
“Yes.”
“I’ve never met her,” he said. “I guess she wouldn’t bring her around here, eh? That would sorta ruin the story about the bad clams.”
I was about to smile for the first time that day when I happened to look over the man’s shoulder. Outside the window, at the gas station, a man was finishing up at the same pump I had just used myself. He was using his left hand. His right hand was in a cast.