On Thin Ice. Linda Hall
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Sophia’s death, he identified himself and asked if there was any new information on the car accident.
It took a while for the detective to even find the case report on his computer or in his files. Finally he said, “We’ve put that death down to an accident. We are thinking that maybe she simply fell asleep.”
“The report said the brakes failed.”
“The brakes were not good. But the car was so destroyed we couldn’t know for certain,” the officer said.
“Anything about the crash strike you as strange?” Alec asked.
“The family insisted that she had had her car in for a service that very day.”
“You talk to the mechanic?” Alec questioned.
“Yes. He said the car was in good working order when she drove it out of the shop. He checked the brakes and they were fine. Just curious. What’s your interest in all this?”
Alec said, “A second person died the same way here in Maine. Her brakes failed. The two were friends.” He told the officer about the wedding that didn’t happen. He omitted the fact that he was to have been the groom.
“That’s interesting. Maybe this case deserves a second look,” the officer said.
“I guess it does,” Alec said.
They exchanged names, numbers and e-mail addresses. They promised to keep in touch. It was a start.
It was probably too late to call Augusta, but Alec did anyway. He found Detective Brantley Peterson, the officer who had handled Jennifer’s case, still in his office working.
Alec identified himself and told him the same story he had told the officer in California.
“Things have happened here,” Alec said. “Another member from that wedding party came to see me today. She’s worried for her life.”
“Why’d she come to see you?”
“She’s an old friend. She received a copy of the invitation from that twenty-year-old wedding,” Alec answered.
“Did the other women receive the invitation prior to their deaths?”
“I don’t know, but it would be worth checking into.”
“Yes, it would.”
When he hung up, he realized how difficult it was going to be to keep his connection to Sophia, Jennifer and Megan a secret. It was only a matter of time before someone found out. He was handling the whole thing very badly. He needed to be honest. He needed to pray.
He couldn’t pray for himself, but he could pray again for his child, and he could pray for Megan. He prayed for her safety. He prayed for wisdom for himself and Steve, and for everyone working on this case, but he didn’t—couldn’t—pray that he and Meggie would find their way back to each other. That would require too much of him. He would have to repent the one secret sin that had been a part of his life for twenty years.
Before he closed his laptop, he saw that he had a new email. The subject line read: MEGGIE.
He stared at it. She had sent him an e-mail?
He clicked on it. The e-mail wasn’t from Meggie. He stared at it in growing horror.
THE SHOOTING WAS A WARNING. NEXT TIME I WON’T MISS.
He read the e-mail again and again. The sender was an innocuous Web e-mail address that was simply a series of numbers. Maybe Adam, his favorite geek from the church youth group, could tell him exactly where the e-mail came from. Stu had some expertise on the Internet, but sixteen-year-old Adam seemed to know everything there was about e-mail and the Internet.
He forwarded the whole message to Stu and then e-mailed Adam. He also decided to head over to Steve’s to get his take on things. He printed the e-mail.
But getting Steve involved at this level would mean sharing a part of him that no one knew about.
Alec wondered if it was worth the risk.
Nori Baylor, the proprietor of Trail’s End Resort, where Megan had rented a cabin, had invited Megan and the other cabin guests up to the lodge for coffee and dessert that evening. Nori’s daughters and her husband Steve were going to be there.
The lodge was brightly lit when Megan got there. As she walked up the shoveled path, various motion lights lit her way. Now that she knew that Steve, who used to be a police officer and sometimes worked with Alec on cases, was the owner of the place, she felt immediately safer.
Nori was at the front door to the lodge even before Megan had a chance to knock. Nori said, “Come in, come in. You’re the first to arrive.” She opened the door wide. “My daughters are here, but Steve isn’t back yet.” Nori’s smile was happy and bright. Her eyes sparkled. Megan wondered what it would be like to be so content. And so in love.
Inside, Megan hung her jacket on an ornate coat tree by the door. She commented on it and learned it was an antique that had been unearthed from a big room of treasures behind the kitchen.
Megan was led into the main living room, which was huge and high ceilinged. Nori had set out small silver bowls of candy and nuts and the place smelled of apples and cinnamon.
“I’ve got some mulled apple cider on the go,” Nori said. “Have a seat in here and I’ll be right in. Daphne, Rachel, come meet our guest.”
A moment later Nori’s daughters entered. Megan had been told they were twins, yet obviously they weren’t identical. The one who introduced herself as Daphne was taller and seemed a bit more outgoing. They shyly said hello and then scurried off to help their mother in the kitchen. Megan sat on a brown leather couch and gazed at the roaring fire.
Nori entered with a tray, set it down on the coffee table and sat down across from her. “I’m so glad you could come up this evening,” Nori said. “I don’t know where the other guests are, but I’m sure you’ll meet them. Vicky and Brad are their names. Also, Steve should be along soon, too. He had to go out with Alec for a minute—” Nori stopped and put a hand to her mouth. “I’m sorry to bring that up. I forgot.”
Earlier in the afternoon when Nori had come to Megan’s cabin to give her more towels, Megan had told Nori about what happened on the lake, leaving out the part that she and Alec knew each other. The story she had told had her out for a walk on the ice, and just happened to run into the sheriff, and that shots were fired out on the lake.
Nori touched Megan’s arm. “I’m so sorry this had to happen to you.”
“It’s okay.”
“So tell me about yourself,” she said. “You’re from Baltimore?”
Megan nodded.
“What do you do there?”
“I’m in graphic design.”
“Graphic design! I’m an artist, too.”
“Really, well, I can’t call myself an artist. Not anymore so much. I mostly manipulate computer images. I haven’t done any creative stuff for myself in a long time. Not since I studied it in school.”
“My late husband taught fine arts at a university….”
And they were off and running, talking about art. Megan learned that it was Nori who had painted the big mural of a schooner on the side of the Schooner Café.
“Later,” Nori said, “I’ll take you up to my loft and show you some of my works. One of the things I would really love to do here is to have a retreat for artists. That was my goal when I bought this place. We wanted to make it a retreat center for Christian artists, writers and musicians. So far it’s just a guest resort—and that’s fine—but our future plans call for more retreats.”
“That sounds like a wonderful idea.” Megan found herself warming to Nori. Maybe she would