Murder in a Very Small Town Page 5

  “She doesn’t fit in.”

  “That’s Abel. Never has.”

  “That’s a shame.”

  “She’s Wesley’s daughter. The ex-cop. You don’t have a chance being a cop’s daughter in high school, and she’s too quiet. Just like her brother.”

  Wiki offered Jame a thoughtful frown, “I admire quiet people.”

  Jame saw her expression and pursed his lips. He changed the subject, “They saw Cain Lorenzo on a snowmobile, and he doesn’t own one. He also had a rifle. That’s who they want to talk to.”

  “Who is Cain Lorenzo?”

  “Abel’s brother. Wesley’s son.”

  “The whacko names his kids Cain and Abel? Bible delusions and a gun?”

  “Yep.”

  Jame turned the plow out of the curve and along a brief straight stretch lined with cabins and cottages on both sides. All of the places were dark. The outline of the road and the terrain out in the headlights started downward. After a moment, the shape of a bridge appeared. Jame aimed for its center.

  He leaned forward, hoping to catch Wiki’s eyes and saw her steady frown. He was still watching when the plow blade hit the iron side of the bridge.

  Both of them were jolted forward, hard. Neither saw it coming. The plow buckled up to one side and the truck rose on the front right side, trying to claw its way over the railing.

  Jame locked the brakes even as he rebounded back on to his seat. The truck climbed another foot, leaning further to the left before coming to a stop. The two of them sat silently on the angled front seats; Wiki lightly touching her hairline.

  “Are you, okay?” Jame asked.

  “Yes. Sure.”

  They were not looking at one another. Jame considered for a moment before accepting responsibility. “I’m sorry,” he said.

  “That helps,” she replied. She turned her sleepy eyes to him.

  “Let’s get to your parents’ place,” she said and paused to offer Jame a taunt grin. “Before you kill both of us.”

  Jame worked the transmission, once again painfully searching for reverse. He tried twice before he found it, but when he released the clutch, the plow didn’t move. He looked out across the yellow hood to the severely angled plow blade. He tried again, with more acceleration. The truck rocked, but didn’t budge. He added more throttle, and the truck swayed but nothing else happened. He let up off the gas.

  “Try one more time,” Wiki suggested.

  “Yes. Third time is the…” he didn’t finish. He pressed the accelerator, harder than before. The big tires churned and the truck rocked and groaned, but they still didn’t move. He kept his foot on the gas for another ten seconds. When he let up, the truck settled. Wiki opened her door.

  “Don’t forget your rifle,” she said, climbing down.

  Her door closed. He turned the engine off and left the lights on.

  “Idiot,” he said to the view.

  He was still looking at the side of the bridge and the bent plow when Wiki pounded on his door.

  “How far is your parents’ place?” she called to him.

  “Mine’s about a quarter mile. Theirs is another half, around the lake.”

  “Yours?”

  “Yes. My place.”

  “Okay. Let’s go.”

  “To my place?”

  “No. Why there?”

  “Right. It’s closer. I misunderstood.”

  They walked through snow that was up to their knees. They crossed the bridge and at the opposite side stepped from the last of the truck lights.

  The trees closed in and the sky lowered as the road turned. Wiki followed Jame, placing her boots in his footmarks. Within the tree cover, the snow was not as deep. They walked silently, staying to the center of the road that Wiki could not see, but Jame apparently did.

  Twenty minutes later, Jame stopped. Wiki had a grip on his coat, and she was watching the rise and fall of her boots as she walked. He was looking off to the left. The shoulder of the road rolled down to the lake. A small cottage was down by the shore.

  “Catching my breath,” Jame said. “Give me a moment.”

  Wiki turned from the view and nodded to her glove clenching his coat. She felt his body rock as he took a deep breath. There were faint tire marks to the small house.

  “Your place?” she said.

  Jame didn’t turn, but answered, “Yes.”

  “I wanna see. Scratch that. I wanna thaw.”

  He exhaled a cold white cloud, looking further up the road in the direction of his folk’s place.

  “But I—” he started, and stopped. Careful not to shake Wiki’s glove from his coat, he followed her gaze. Jame entered his driveway, staying in the tracks from his truck.

  His own place looked odd to him in the darkness from the power outage. The enclosed porch was dark, and that light was always on. He led Wiki across the short yard to the porch where he opened the door and stepped aside to allow her in. Wiki entered and Jame said, “Wait.” He felt his coat slacken as Wiki let go, and he moved to the tool bench where he had three flashlights.

  Jame lit two, handed her one, and opened the second door.

  Wiki had seen the insides of small cabins before in films at home at la Diana and with Sara in movie theatres. The furniture was what she expected—old and likely second-hand. What was striking were the colors.

  The place was light. No wood-everything look. No rustic cabin sense at all. The planked floor was egg white. The fireplace was white brick. There was little clutter, and the front room said come on in and relax—casual neatness.

  Jame started lighting candles.

  “This place doesn’t say ‘nineteen’,” Wiki observed.

  “How old are you?”

  “In my twenties.”

  “Which one?”

  “Not saying. But in a few, I’ll be in my thirties.”

  “Living decade by decade?”

  “Yes.”

  “I like that. Are you hungry?”

  “Yes. Do you have any pie?”

  Jame turned the long neck lighter from the mantle candles and arched an eyebrow. “Really?” he asked with a smile.

  They left the amber-lit, white front room. The second room of the cottage had a kitchen, a glass-walled shower, an L-shaped couch and large white bed. All the walls were windows; knee- high to overhead. Jame moved about, lighting candles and Wiki admired the home even more—the cottage saying to her, half for guests and half for a simple life.

  Jame entered the kitchen and lit candles on the white wood table.

  “Pie?” he asked.

  Wiki watched him open the oven. He turned to her and the table holding something in mittens.

  “Plates are in the hutch. Forks in the drawer below.” He set the pie on the table within the candlelight.

  Wiki sat with two plates and two forks. She looked to the pie and then to Jame and giggled.

  “Amazing. A fellow pie lover? What kind is it?”

  “Fall apple.”

  “You baked it?” she asked as Jame placed a slice onto her white plate.

  “No. Tito did.”

  “Tito?”

  “My imaginary butler.”

  Wiki took a bite of warm pie. She chewed and said, “I want a Tito.”

  Jame smiled, and they ate.

  “Wiki?”

  “Yes?”

  “Those clothes smell bad.”

  “Oh, you’ve no idea. I feel like I’m wearing a mold suit.”

  “Let me get you a change.”

  Jame put their plates and forks in the sink and then rounded the glass-walled shower to a series of shelves. Wiki watched him pull out and consider clothing; she could see him clearly through the shower walls.

  “These should fit,” he said, setting folded clothing on the table. “I’ll have Tito burn the clothes you’re in. Change in the front room. I’m gonna call my mom and dad.”

  Jame rounded the couch, sat on the bed, and picked up the telephone on the night t
able. They both heard a disturbance from the front of the cottage. The sound was brief.

  “I left the porch door open,” Jame explained, raising the receiver to his ear.

  “Sorry, I thought I closed it,” Wiki replied. She was checking out the pair of blue jeans and the heavy white shirt he had given her. There was also a pair of boxers and gray wool socks.

  “This isn’t good,” Jame said, tapping the buttons in the phone cradle. “No dial tone.”

  Wiki took her cell phone from her coat pocket and held it out to him, tilting her head to the side.

  “No service out here,” he replied.

  “Can I shower?” Wiki asked.

  “Sure. Wait just a moment.”

  Jame left the room and Wiki sat in the candlelight, wondering how close the lake was to all those windows. She heard a motor start from the front of the cottage, and the lights came on. She smiled to Jame when he came back.

  “A box of tools fell over on the porch,” he said, explaining the sound they heard before. “Why don’t you clean up and change? I’ll be in the front room.”

  “Can I take my time? I know we have to get to your parents.”

  “Yes, you can. I just spoke to Tito. He’s pulling the snowmobile out front.”

  “Good Tito.”

  “Please not too long? I want to get to my folks.”

  “I’ll hurry while I take my time.”

  Jame smiled, watching Wiki leave the table and round to the shower. He called to her, “There’re fresh towels on the shelves,” and left the room.

  ✳ ✳ ✳

  While the shower warmed, Wiki stood naked looking around the well-lit lakeside room. It was a comfortable blend of white with light blue touches: the couch, a table, and two lamps. Stepping into the shower she thought, Ain’t my body that needs washing. My brain does. Scrub the angry thoughts of Sara for now in this stupid small town madness.

  Wiki adjusted the spray of warm water and sat on the shower bench beside his bottles of bath gel and shampoo. The warm water, almost hot, stung her skin. She did, indeed, hurry but also took her time, roughly shampooing; her fingertips plying her temples, her thoughts.

  She dressed and looked herself over. The blue jeans fit and the heavy white shirt was nicely oversized. She found his brush and combed her hair, looking at her dress. She decided not to put it on over and called out:

  “Jame? Tito? I’m done.”

  She sat on the baby blue couch holding the pair of socks. She knew she had to pull them on, then the boots, but the room was warming, and it felt good being barefoot. Jame rounded the couch, but didn’t sit down. He went to the nightstand telephone instead. Wiki watched him, socks in hand, as he listened, frowned, and hung up.

  “I have an idea,” he said to her.

  She watched and waited. He looked to be seriously thinking.

  “And?” she prodded.

  “You stay here. Warm and barefoot. I’ll go check on my folks. Probably take an hour or so.”

  “I like that idea. Thank you.”

  “Hear that?”

  “Umm, no. What do you hear?”

  “Tito firing up the snowmobile.”

  “God loves Tito.”

  Jame got up from the bed and pulled on his coat. He took his gloves from the pockets.

  “Relax. Thaw. Have some more pie, okay?”

  “I will. And thank you again.”

  Jame left and Wiki set the socks at her side. She reclined back on the light blue couch and stretched her legs out. She heard the faint clicking of the furnace and raised her sleepy eyes to the cold white snow beyond the windows.

  Jame turned the lights off in the front room. No sense in wasting generator fuel. On the sun porch, he pulled his rarely used snowshoes from the hook on the wall. After he had them on, he waddle-walked out the door, killing that light as well. He pulled the coat hood over his head and started up his driveway. It was snowing again, but now he had a flashlight.

  Wiki’s eyes were closed when her chin tapped her chest. She blinked and looked around the white and blue room. Again, she thought about what the room would look like with a splash of gold daylight and decided to have another slice of pie. Warm fall apple pie. She splayed her toes on the warm carpet and smiled.

  After a second slice of pie, Wiki sat at the table considering the room again in the context of a nineteen-year-old. Now that the generator was on, she padded to the door of the front room to look and consider some more.

  When she opened the connecting door, she pouted. The front room was dark, even the candles were extinguished. She stood inside the doorway.

  She reached for the light switch.

  Something—no, a hand—touched hers.

  She recoiled and let out a true girlie scream.

  A girl’s face appeared into the faint light from the doorway behind. Wiki recognized the old-fashioned eyeglasses. The girl was looking at Wiki; no, staring.

  “Hi,” the girl said flatly, like a passing acquaintance in a coffee shop.

  Wiki gathered herself, not saying a word. The girl was dressed in black winter clothes, holding what looked like Jame’s rifle.

  “Can we build a fire? And talk?” the girl asked.

  Wiki knew her sleepy eyes had gone wide. “Sure,” she whispered, her voice huskier than usual.

  “My father’s the one shooting up the town. He and my brother Cain,” the girl said, crossing to the white fireplace.

  “O-kay…”

  Wiki turned on the lights, and the girl turned.

  “Please kill those,” she asked, sounding distant. “Firelight would be nice.”

  Wiki flipped the lights off, and the room returned to grays and shadows. The girl knelt before the fireplace, crumpling old newspaper.

  “Just like him,” she said, rising and taking the long-necked lighter from the mantle, “The fire is already built.” She lowered and put the flame to the paper under the kindling and heavier pieces of wood.

  The fire caught and began to grow. Wiki stepped into the room. She took two steps closer after the girl leaned the rifle against the bricks.

  The girl untied her boots. When she got them off, she also removed her big coat and scooted closer to the fire, extending her hands to the light and the warmth. Wiki sat down slowly, facing the girl, ignoring the fire, watching the girl’s face.

  “Just like him,” the girl said again, looking into the room. “No television. Or is there one in the other room?”

  “Not that I saw.”

  The girl turned to Wiki. “Are you his girlfriend?”

  “No. Far, far away from that.”

  “But you’re wearing his clothes.”

  “Yes. I got cleaned up. Jame was in another room.”

  The girl frowned and crinkled her nose. “Okay,” she said, sounding like she was giving approval.

  Wiki choose a question carefully. “What are you doing here?”

  “Getting warm,” the girl replied, her tone saying, duh.

  Fair enough, Wiki thought, hearing the girl’s false bravado. She’s a quiet one. Maybe shy as well.

  “I’m Wiki.”

  The girl heard her, turned to the fire, and didn’t respond.

  Wiki followed the girl’s eyes to the growing flames climbing up into the larger pieces of wood.

  “Is there anything to eat here?” The girl spoke to the fireplace.

  “Yes. Do you like pie?”

  “Depends. Fruit or meat?”

  “Apple.”

  “Apple? That would be good. I’m Abel.”

  Both girls rose. Abel reached for the leaning rifle.

  “Is that Jame’s?” Wiki asked.

  “Pretty sure. It was on the porch.”

  “He left it behind?” Wiki was surprised.

  “I’d say so,” Abel replied, with an edge of sarcasm. “Just like him. To forget it.”

  “You say that a lot.”

  “What?”

  “‘Just like him.’”

 
; “I do?”

  “No matter.”

  The girls watched one another as they let that topic fade.

  “Come on,” Wiki said, “the pie is still warm.”

  “I like apple pie,” Abel said in a slow soft voice.

  Almost dreamy, Wiki thought.

  Wiki opened the door between the two big rooms, spilling light on both of them.

  “I’m my father’s sleeper,” Abel told her.

  Wiki let that go until she was in the well-lit room with Abel no longer behind her.

  “What do you mean?” Wiki asked, pulling a chair out and holding her hand out to it. “Have a seat.”

  After the girl sat, Wiki turned around and opened the oven. She took a dishtowel from the counter and reached in for the pie. The girl had not answered her first question so Wiki nudged, “What do you mean by sleeper?” She hoped the answer was not a creepy one.

  “After father and Cain punish Dent, I’m to explain all the reasons and justifications.”

  Wiki worked the pie out quickly, now uncomfortable with the girl at her back. She set the pie on the table, got two plates and two forks and a butter knife without looking away from the girl.

  She pulled out her chair and turned it so she could face Abel instead of sitting beside her. The girl was studying the knife. Wiki slowly handed it to her. She watched the girl slice twice and serve Wiki and then herself.

  “Is there any milk?” Abel asked, fork in hand.

  “Let me look.”

  She opened the refrigerator and the girl said, “I like this room.”

  There was a bottle of milk on the middle shelf. Wiki set it on the counter and spotted a row of coffee cups in the glass cabinet next to the stove. She took one out and asked, “Do you come here often?”

  “Not inside. But yes.”

  “I’m sorry, but what?”

  “I watch him. From outside. Mostly at night, after he gets home from work.”

  Wiki poured milk in the cup and set it before the girl.

  “Know what he likes to do in that shower?” Abel asked.

  “Um, no.”

  “He touches himself.”

  Wiki looked to the shower and the three walls of windows. She noticed that there were no lights on outside; the large panes were black save reflections from the inside lighting.

  “Tell me why your dad is punishing the town,” Wiki asked, changing the topic.