The Winter Road Page 15

  She quoted without reading, “‘I always wondered what became of him. So many boys in the class went down the wrong road and I’m afraid most eventually came to a bad end.’”

  “Sounds like your dad grew up in a tough neighborhood.”

  “Sounds like? Don’t you know?”

  “He never talked about himself. We talked about the farm, hockey, things going on around here.”

  “Mom was upset that I was looking in the box, but the letter was the only thing in it that seemed at all unusual.” It began, You don’t know me, but I knew your husband years ago, and ended by offering condolences.

  “Why are you wondering about this now?”

  She hesitated. “Matthew seems interested in him.”

  “Does he?”

  “Do you know why he would be?”

  Uncle Will didn’t answer immediately. What could there be that needed to be considered, rather than spit out in his usual way?

  Finally he said, “Your dad and Daniel went way back. I don’t know what the connection was.”

  “It couldn’t have been too far back. Dad only moved here a couple of years before I was born.” Then his meaning became clear. “They knew each other before Three Creeks?”

  He nodded.

  “No one ever mentioned that. Daniel has told me so many stories from all the places he’s traveled and worked…why wouldn’t he tell me any that included my father?”

  Will shrugged and lifted his hands. “What can I tell you, sweetie?”

  She decided to take the question literally. “Tell me how my dad died.”

  “Well, now.” He looked uncomfortable. “You’ve heard about that.”

  “Why was he out in a damp field without rubber boots? How did a hydro line come down? Why didn’t he notice and avoid it?”

  “Yep.” Will nodded, and kept nodding. “Why and how. That’s what we always want to know when these things happen. Sometimes they just happen, Emily. There’d been a storm the day before, lots of wind and rain.”

  “Then he certainly would have worn rubber boots.”

  “Depends what he wanted to do. Rubber boots are loose, clumpy things. Maybe he figured he’d let his shoes get wet and change them later.”

  “You found him?”

  “I did.”

  “There was nothing you could do? Mouth-to-mouth?”

  “He was long past help, sweetheart. He was a good man and you were the apple of his eye. That’s all you need to know.”

  Emily climbed down from the tractor and gave her uncle a big kiss on the forehead, the spot she always used. “Sorry to bring it all up.”

  “No, no! Any time. I thought you’d ask one day.”

  HER NEXT STEP took her into Jason Willis’s territory. Just plain old break-and-enter, though. No intent to do harm. Maybe this was how criminals were made. Having good reasons to do the wrong things.

  She called Mrs. Bowen. They talked for a while about the last evening’s refreshing rain and the difference a few degrees of mercury made. Then Emily said, “I wanted to ask you a favor. It might sound a bit unusual.”

  “You’ve piqued my curiosity.”

  “Next time Matthew’s out would you be willing to let me into Daniel’s house again?”

  She could hear surprise in Mrs. Bowen’s silence. After a moment the older woman said, “I don’t know whether or not I’d be willing, dear, but it’s not a choice I can make. Soon after he arrived Matthew asked me to give him the spare key.”

  “He did? It seems to me it wasn’t his to take.”

  “I’ll admit that’s what I thought, too. He said it was unnecessary for me to have one in safekeeping while Daniel’s away.” After a pause she asked, “Would you be willing to tell me why you want the key?”

  Emily had expected the question but she hadn’t decided whether to tell Mrs. Bowen the truth. Funny how quickly that became optional once you started. “It isn’t important. I wanted to surprise him. Dinner, tablecloth, flowers, the whole thing.”

  “My, my. This sounds promising, Emily. I’m very glad.”

  “Please don’t mention it to him, Mrs. Bowen.”

  “Of course not. I won’t say a word.”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  MRS. MARSH DIDN’T play too many games before handing Matthew the mail he’d been waiting for—a brown 4x6 envelope addressed to Daniel Rutherford, with no return address. He hurried from the post office to the house and ripped the envelope open.

  Inside was a black-and-white photograph. Two men he recognized, Frank Carruthers and Gerald Easton, coming out of a restaurant in Montreal. No message on the back, no date. For all he knew it had been taken in the seventies, before Frank retired. He checked the envelope for a note. Nothing.

  He pulled out his cell phone and hit speed-dial. Not unexpectedly, he got the customer-out-of-service-range message. Over the next couple of hours he continued trying and when the kitchen phone rang he thought for a moment his call was being returned.

  “Emily, hi.” He needed a second to change gears. “Are you calling about the shelves? I could come over this afternoon.”

  “Actually, I wouldn’t mind an outing. I wondered if I could drop by for tea.”

  Something was wrong. Her voice sounded stiff. “Tea? I don’t understand how you Robbs can drink the stuff on a hot summer afternoon. This isn’t the best place to take a break—the rain hasn’t cooled the house down much. Why don’t we go for a walk instead, or drive to Pine Point, maybe to the bakery?”

  “I’d really like to just come for tea, if that’s all right.”

  “Of course it is.”

  “Thanks. I’ll be there in ten minutes.”

  He put the picture back in the envelope and started downstairs, taking out his keys as he went. Ten minutes was time enough for a quick check of his e-mail.

  A couple of subject lines stood out from those that could wait. One said, Young Lovers. It sounded like spam, except he knew the sender.

  He clicked, and read the message.

  Nothing to report on the male or the female. The Tercel is registered to a Philip Sawyer. The same Philip Sawyer took out a marriage license this May. Bride’s name Mavis Butler. Both clean as a whistle so quit yer peepin’.;)

  Sometimes loitering strangers turned out to be happy people smelling the roses.

  He selected the second subject line, Is this a problem? The message read, Just to let you know someone called asking questions about you yesterday. Of course I didn’t tell her anything. It was a woman called Emily Moore. She said she’s from Three Creeks.

  “WE COULD SIT in the basement,” Emily said lightly, when Matthew apologized again for the heat. She felt sure her suspicions must be blaring out of her. “I wonder why Daniel doesn’t build a rec room down there, if it’s the only cool part of the house?”

  “I wonder why you wanted to visit such an uncomfortable place.”

  “I needed a break.”

  “Your mom getting you down?”

  “No,” she said quickly. “Why do people always think that? I don’t get down about my mother.”

  “You must.”

  “It’s required?”

  “I’ve spent time with the two of you. I can see she’s not very good company.”

  Emily felt a surge of protectiveness, the way she used to in the schoolyard, when kids twirled their fingers beside their heads and said in nasty voices that her mother needed help. “I don’t rate the people I love.”

  “Neither do I. It’s not a scorecard. It’s about what you need. Sometimes that cat is more responsive to you than Julia is—”

  Now she was angry. “I know I’m supposed to be off self-actualizing, but my mother needs help with life. It’s an odd world if her own daughter shouldn’t be the one to give it.”

  Mildly he said, “But sainthood isn’t necessary.”

  “We feel differently about it.”

  “You feel sainthood is necessary?”

  “That’s unfair. And not true
. But I’m not talking about that anymore, Matthew. Can we agree not to argue? I came for tea. Tea and company.” She tried to smile. “I’d love a snack with it. Do you have something sweet?”

  “Mrs. Bowen is my personal baker. I have a couple of her cinnamon buns, some muffins with sticky orange stuff on top and some kind of squares I haven’t tried, but they seem to have raspberry jam in them.”

  “I was thinking of chocolate.”

  “Oh, well, when a person is craving chocolate nothing else will do the trick. I’ll run to the store. Will you make the tea? I’ll be back by the time it’s steeped.”

  Emily tried not to show how pleased she was. A trip to Mrs. Marsh’s gave her ten or twenty minutes. With any luck there’d be a lineup and Mrs. Marsh would be in a talkative mood.

  She put the kettle on and threw a few tea bags into the pot, then, when she was sure Matthew was on his way down the road, she started her search. For what, she didn’t know. Anything that would give her an idea if he was in Three Creeks for some other reason than to work on his family history and take care of Daniel’s house.

  He had told her he slept in the basement, because of the heat. She hurried down, exclaiming when she slipped and banged her leg on the last few steps. She bent over, breathing between clenched teeth until the worst of the pain had passed. Blood trickled from a long, wide scrape.

  There was no bed or sleeping bag or clothes in the storage area. She tried the furnace room door and felt over the frame for a key, but Matthew was no more careless than his uncle.

  Wincing with each step she climbed back to the kitchen. She tore off a paper towel to hold to her leg, dabbing at the blood so it wouldn’t drip on the floor. She crumpled the towel and stuck it in her pocket.

  The kettle was on the verge of whistling. She poured the almost boiling water onto the tea bags, then made a quick check of the kitchen drawers before going to the living room to start on Daniel’s desk.

  The pile of Rutherford family photos wasn’t hiding anything. Neither were the pages of notes Matthew had written. She opened a drawer. Bills marked paid, stamps and envelopes, a sheaf of papers stapled together. She unfolded it. A car rental agreement for a gray Honda Accord.

  She had already skimmed the top of the page. She read it again. It was an international rental company, but under the name, in smaller letters, was a Winnipeg address.

  The car had Ontario plates. Matthew said he’d driven it from Ontario. The long, hot drive was his excuse for being grouchy. The drive from his supposed home where a Rutherford relative had nothing to say about him.

  Why would he lie about that? To cover up what?

  With unsteady hands she returned the papers to their place and continued to search the drawers. In a back corner of the middle drawer, a single key sat loose.

  “What are you looking for, Emily?”

  Her heart hit her rib cage with a thud. As she pushed the drawer shut, she closed her fingers around the key.

  “Matthew. You startled me.”

  “I’ll bet.”

  “The tea should be steeped.” She tried to keep her voice even. “What did you get for dessert?” If she looked a fraction as guilty as she felt, she was in trouble. She took a step toward the kitchen but Matthew moved into her path, enough to make it clear she wasn’t going to leave the room.

  “You wanted something from Daniel’s desk?”

  She had prepared an explanation, just in case. “You’ve been so stubborn about giving me a number where I can call him. I thought I might find one in his address book. I didn’t see it, though.”

  He leaned past her, opened the drawer next to the one she’d been searching and pulled out a small leather book.

  “This address book?”

  “Oh, good. There it is.”

  He held it away from her outstretched hand. “Do you want to try a different story?”

  “Matthew, you’re acting weird. Daniel wouldn’t mind me looking in his desk. Now, let’s have the tea before it’s cold.” Again, she tried to move to the kitchen.

  Matthew took hold of her shoulders and backed her into the chair by the desk. He pulled another chair close and sat down in front of her. “I want you to tell me what you were doing.”

  “Mrs. Bowen saw me come in.”

  His expression changed. “You’re not in danger. I just want to know what’s going on. You created a situation that left you alone in the house. I found you searching the desk. What were you looking for? What else did you do?”

  He didn’t sound like a criminal. But maybe a good one wouldn’t. If he was a criminal, was he really Daniel’s nephew? If he wasn’t Daniel’s nephew, how did he get here and where was Daniel?

  “I didn’t do anything else,” she said. “Well, I made the tea. And you still weren’t back, so I decided to see if I could find a number where I could reach Daniel.”

  “You scraped your leg making tea?”

  Emily didn’t bother answering.

  “You’ve been different the past couple of days. Guarded.”

  “You know what? I don’t even want tea. I’m going home.”

  She stood as she spoke, expecting to meet resistance again, but this time he left her alone. She got to the kitchen doorway, and still he didn’t stop her. She was surprised to reach the back door, then the driveway, then her car. As she backed out to the road, she saw him watching from the living room window.

  WHAT DID SHE KNOW?

  Emily took a pad of paper from her desk drawer. She wrote Daniel. Joined to the name by short lines she wrote—where? and—aunt?

  Then, Matthew, followed by—nephew?—books?—my father?

  My father—Daniel?—letter?

  Jason—thief?—Matthew?

  With long lines, she joined Matthew to Daniel, Jason to Matthew, my father to Daniel.

  They were all connected, but by what?

  Her father had lived in a rough neighborhood, with friends who came to a bad end. He’d met Daniel, when Daniel was a Mountie. Was it like movies she’d seen? A group of friends, most get into crime, one becomes a cop and brings the rest to justice.

  Then why would Matthew be involved? That brought her back to the possibility that he wasn’t a Rutherford. That was why Daniel hadn’t mentioned him, why Grandma and Aunt Edith didn’t recall hearing his name.

  Maybe Daniel and her father had arrested Matthew’s father years ago and now Matthew had come for revenge. Or to find an incriminating notebook Daniel or her father had kept. And Matthew had hired Jason to help him.

  But if any of that was true, any of it… She closed her eyes at the thought of Daniel in trouble.

  It didn’t feel right. It didn’t feel true of Matthew. Black sheep, though. He had mentioned black sheep himself. Was he trying to warn her? What was that, a game? Or conscience?

  She looked at the interconnecting lines she had drawn. She couldn’t go to the police with something so vague, maybe something so wrong. She needed to know more.

  ONE BY ONE she removed the books, leafing through the pages, feeling the shelf under and behind them. The occasional bookmark fell out, but that was all.

  “Don’t! Don’t touch!” Julia’s voice was unusually expressive. She hurried over and ran a hand along the books that had been disturbed.

  “I put them back exactly the way I found them.” Emily hesitated, then asked, “When you go through them, are you looking for something? Something hidden?”

  Of course Julia didn’t answer. Emily stopped to gather herself. Her mother avoided emotion the way some people avoided the dark, or horror movies. She wouldn’t get anywhere with her if she couldn’t stay calm.

  “Can I ask you about Daniel?”

  “Ask what?”

  “Do you dislike him?”

  Julia heaved a sigh. “Keep away from the books. I mean that.” She walked quickly to the kitchen.

  Emily followed. “Uncle Will said my father and Daniel knew each other before they lived in Three Creeks. No one in our family has
ever mentioned they were friends. Neither did Daniel.”

  Julia chose a cookbook and flipped it open. “Moussaka. That’s something I’ve never made.”

  Almost everything was something she had never made.

  “Your reaction always puzzles me when I talk about Daniel.” Emily had never pushed her mother like this. She could hear herself beginning to speak more quickly, louder. “Even when I was little, if I came home after skating on the creek with him and Sue and Liz, you’d make some huffing sound as if you were saying, ‘Oh yeah, you think he’s nice because he skates with you.’ Are you angry with him, Mom? Did he do something wrong? Something that hurt you or Dad?”

  Julia stared at her book, stubbornly silent.

  “Please, I don’t want to upset you, or pry into something between you and my father. But odd things are going on. I’m trying to understand.”

  Julia’s hand, brushing the page, trembled. “Something is going on?”

  It was a little late to be careful. Emily spoke more softly. “Matthew might not have told us the truth about what he’s doing here. I think he might be looking for something in our house. Or on our land. I wondered if it might be a book.”

  Julia had gone very still. She started nodding, slowly and repeatedly.

  “I don’t want to accuse him if I’m wrong, Mom. So I need information.”

  The nodding turned into rocking. Julia’s whole body went gently back and forth. “They had an argument.”

  “Daniel and my father?”

  “After Frank disappeared. They were loud. Shouting.”

  Frank. The name sounded familiar.

  On the card. Congratulations on the birth of your daughter. Hope you get some sleep one of these years!

  “Who’s Frank?”

  Again, silence. Emily tried a different tack. “Did you hear what Dad and Daniel argued about?” She almost missed the slight shake of her mother’s head. “You didn’t hear?”

  A more perceptible shake. “I went upstairs and shut the door. They were too loud. Booming. I put the pillow over my head.”