Читать книгу In Winter's Grip - Brenda Chapman - Страница 9

THREE

My brother Jonas and I were thought to resemble each other, often mistaken for twins when we were younger. My father Peter Larson had Scandinavian roots, like many of the families who had made the trip from Sweden to settle in Minnesota. My mother Annika Sigredsson was first generation American. Her parents had emigrated to up-state Minnesota six months before she was born. Jonas and I had the same blue eyes and white-blonde hair of our ancestors, although where Jonas had curls, my hair hung in poker straightness. Like my father, Jonas had grown to six foot while on that score, I resembled my mother, both of us topping out at five four. When I wrapped my arms around my brother for the first time in six years that January morning, the bond was as strong as if we’d never been apart. After giving me a kiss on my forehead, he stepped back and looked at me.

“You haven’t changed much,” he said. “You’re wearing your hair shorter, but the rest of you is the same.”

“Thanks,” I said. “I think. I was hoping you’d find me more sophisticated or something.” Secretly, I was pleased that Jonas saw me as I’d been. There were many times when I felt like that young me had disappeared. I looked him over too. He was two years younger than me, but his hair had darkened and was streaked with grey strands. Tiny lines now rimmed his eyes. He still looked lean and slightly curved inward at the shoulders. “You’ve grown a beard,” I said. “It suits you.”

Jonas ran his hand over his chin and cheeks and grinned. “Keeps me warm.” He lifted my suitcase, turned and motioned towards the house. “Come inside out of the cold. I’ve put on a fresh pot of coffee.”

I followed him around the back of the house and climbed the steps to his deck. It had been freshly shovelled, and weathered cedar planks showed through the snow. I took a moment to look over his property. It extended back to the woods with a steep drop down to Lake Superior. His nearest neighbours, the Lingstroms, were a good mile away, half the distance back towards town. The snow continued to fall silently around us. I could smell their wood stove—he was burning spruce if my nose remembered correctly. We stepped inside.

My brother was a carpenter, and he’d built this house using local pine and cedar. Inside, the kitchen and the walls were red cedar, and the cupboards were painted a soft white. Jonas had built a table and stained the wood a golden brown, tucking it into an alcove encircled by windows that looked out over the side yard and a stand of birch trees and spruce. A gold and brown-glassed Tiffany lamp hung over its centre. I watched him pour two cups of coffee, noticing his hand trembling. He set the cups on the table and we sat kitty corner to each other at one end. As he handed me one, some of the coffee slopped onto the table. I pretended not to notice.

“Claire’s gone into town to buy something for supper and then she’ll pick up Gunnar from a friend’s. They should be back in an hour.”

“It’ll be good to see them.” We both drank from our cups. The coffee tasted of hazelnuts and sweet cream.

“So, what’s the situation with Dad?” I asked. With Jonas, I didn’t have to couch what I said. We didn’t speak often, but we understood each other. “How did he die exactly?”

Jonas held his coffee cup with both hands and seemed to hunch into it. He looked into its depths as he spoke. “Dad decided he was well enough to leave the hospital and checked himself out. That was Friday, the morning after I called you. First I’d heard that he’d left was when I drove into town to visit him in the hospital around two o’clock. Becky Holmes was on the floor and she filled me in. I told her I’d drive to his place to check on him.”

“Becky became a nurse?”

“Yeah. She married Kevin Wilders, but I still think of her as Becky Holmes.”

“There was a time, I thought you and Becky...”

“Well, high school romances don’t always end happily.”

“That’s for sure.” You and me, Maja, we’ll be together forever. Billy Okwari’s black eyes intense and certain. His lips warm on mine, sealing the deal. “Did you find Dad?” I asked, more harshly than I’d intended.

“I didn’t get over to see him until about five o’clock. I got held up.” Jonas’s eyes met mine then slid away.

What aren’t you telling me, Jonas, I thought, but I let it go. He’d tell me when he was ready.

“It had started snowing just after lunch. I thought I’d shovel off Dad’s back steps before I went inside to see him. I tramped through the snow to his shed and took out the first shovel I grabbed for. The sun was setting, but there was still enough light to make out shapes in the shed. The shovel wasn’t hanging up as usual but leaning up against the wall. You know how meticulous Dad is about putting things back in their place, and I guess that was the first indication that something wasn’t right. Didn’t seem like much at the time, though. Anyhow, I started back towards the steps. Dad has his outdoor lights on a timer, and it was bright enough. I was about to start shovelling when I looked over and saw him next to the woodpile.”

“Dad?”

“Yeah, Dad. He was covered in snow, but I could make out his shape. The snow was dark around his head.” Jonas hesitated. “I took off a glove and brushed the snow off him. I don’t know why, since I knew he was dead. He was lying on his stomach, but his head was turned to the side like he was listening for something deep in the ground. It was a shock to see his eyes open, frozen in place. His mouth was gaping as if he’d been trying to yell. The back of his head was caved in like a melon. I...I grabbed the shovel and leaned it up against the steps. I just left. Man, there was blood...everywhere. It looked like somebody’d spilled a bowl of cranberry sauce in the snow.”

“You didn’t call the police?”

Jonas shook his head. “I couldn’t seem to make myself think. I sat in the truck for I don’t know—a minute and then drove to Hadrian’s bar. That’s where they found me. I sort of blanked, I think. All that blood. It got to me, you know?”

“Oh, Jonas. I’m so sorry.”

Jonas lifted one shoulder in a shrug. He didn’t raise his head. I put my hand around his wrist that rested on the table. “Did they tell you what happened?”

“Somebody thwacked him in the back of the head with the shovel.”

“The shovel that you got from the shed.”

Jonas nodded. His eyes met mine. “The shovel with my fingerprints on it.”

“But surely to God they can’t seriously suspect you.”

“Maybe. Maybe not.”

I let out a sharp laugh. “Why, you were the one who stuck by him. That has to count for something.”

“I had as much reason to want him dead as anyone.” Jonas moaned, then rolled his body sideways and stood. “I can’t talk about this any more now. Claire and Gunnar are home.” Jonas rubbed a hand through his hair as he walked towards the backdoor to meet them.

I realized then that I’d heard tires crunching on the snow in the driveway even while my brain was taking in what Jonas had said. I kept my eyes on Jonas, but my mind was scrambling to make sense of what he’d revealed. What had happened between Dad and Jonas that could have Jonas wanting him dead? We’d all have understood if I’d done the murderous deed, but that anger was a long time past. I stared at Jonas’s back, at the way his shoulders hunched forward and his hand rubbed the nape of his neck. He was more than just worried. Something was on his conscience. My stomach clenched in a spasm of dread. I’d always wondered what would happen if Jonas was pushed too far. I wished for that moment that I had never left the safety of Sam and Ottawa.

I’d lived a coward’s life, avoiding anything that resembled strong emotion. I’d done it deliberately, accepting the sacrifices it had caused. My whole adult life had been spent avoiding just what lay before me now...and I would give anything to go back into the safety of my cocoon, back to the time before Claire’s phone message had burst the illusion.

Claire and Gunnar brought in a blast of cold air and a lot of activity that eased the tension that had built up in the kitchen between me and Jonas. Gunnar was a slender blond boy, as Jonas had been at the same age, a jumble of gangly legs and arms that marked the beginning of his transformation into a man. He had Claire’s eyes, soft, dreamy orbs that seemed to look right through you into another world. He accepted my hug without hugging me back before stepping back beside his father.

Claire wrapped her arms around my back and squeezed. She smelled of vanilla and Ivory soap. “So glad you’re here,” she whispered into my ear. “Come with me into the living room. Jonas will put the groceries away and start supper. He loves to cook.”

“I’ll bring you some wine in a minute,” Jonas said, already pulling food out of a bag on the counter. “Sure, you can have a cookie before dinner, but just one,” I heard him say to Gunnar as we started down the hallway. “Aunt Maja has brought pie for dessert.”

The living room was lined with pine and as cozy a room as I’d ever been in. Logs burned in the stone fireplace, radiating a circle of heat into which we lowered ourselves after a quick tour of the room. We sat facing each other at each end of a deep, velvet-covered couch. A hooked rug of brown, red and plum rested cheerfully under my feet. Claire tucked a long leg under herself and leaned back into the pillows. “This is my one indulgence,” she said, rubbing her hand along the couch’s plush surface.

“It’s beautiful,” I said. “The bottle green colour is exquisite.”

“I know it’s impractical, but sometimes you just have to go with something you like and to hell with the consequences.” She laughed, and her grey eyes narrowed as she looked past me. I turned and saw Jonas standing by the bookcase holding two glasses of white wine. His eyes lowered quickly, but the set line of his mouth let me know that he was not happy. He’d have been running a hand through his blonde curls if not for the wine.

“Thanks, darling,” Claire said, reaching toward Jonas. Her long elegant fingers closed around both glasses, and she passed one over to me. Gold bracelets clinked and slid down her arm. She was wearing a tight black turtleneck that showed off her muscular arms and boyish chest. Claire had been a champion cross country skier in her early twenties and obviously still worked at staying in shape. She’d cut her black hair short and spiky, and I thought it suited the strong lines of her face.

“Supper in an hour,” Jonas said before disappearing back into the kitchen.

“Thanks, hon.” Claire took a mouthful of wine and looked at me over the rim of the glass. “Has he told you about finding your father?”

I nodded. It looked like I wasn’t the only one who could cut to the chase. “It’s absolutely ridiculous that anyone would think Jonas capable of murder. I don’t care how many times he grabbed the shovel.”

“I know. It’s craziness.” Claire’s fingers slid up and down the stem of the wine glass. I noticed how pale her skin was now that the rosy glow on her cheeks from the frosty outdoors had disappeared. Her eyes were tired and haunted. “He won’t talk to me about what happened.” She bit her lip. “We’ve had a hard day. We’re both tired, and we had words this morning. Please know it’s nothing, Maja. I stand behind Jonas a hundred per cent.”

“I know that, Claire,” I said. “We’ll get through this. Truth has a way of coming out.”

I took a long drink of wine, looking away and pretending not to notice the tear that was sliding down Claire’s cheek.

“We’ve...we’ve drifted apart,” she said, and at first I thought she meant me and her. I opened my mouth to reassure her that time had not changed us, but she spoke again before I did. “He needs constant reassurance, and the down times...it’s been hard. Jonas has so many secrets, and I’m not a saint. How could I be?” Her voice lowered and tailed away. She seemed to want me to understand something that I was beyond comprehending. It was a shock to know that she and Jonas were in difficulty—a shock, but perhaps, not unexpected. I stared into her grey eyes, wide with torment and another emotion that looked a lot like fear.

“Jonas loves you,” I said by way of benediction. “Love will get you through the worst.”

“Will it, Maja? Will it really?”

“Yes,” I said, but I turned my eyes away from hers to settle on the flames dancing up from the crackling pine logs in the cast iron grate.