On Thin Ice. Linda Hall

We can be thankful for that,” he said.

      “What was it, then?” Megan asked.

      Instead of answering, he said, “Denise, may I speak with Megan alone? Can we use your parlor?”

      “Certainly, Alec. Would you like coffee? We were just enjoying a cup.”

      “Thanks Denise. That would be great.”

      Sill unsmiling, Alec led Megan into a small, windowed room which, like the kitchen, was entirely populated with dolls. A bald-headed doll sneered and bobbed toward her as they entered.

      Alec plucked two cloth dolls with pinched faces from a chair and sat down. She sat in the chair opposite him. She turned the grinning bobblehead away. Something about it made her uncomfortable. As she did this, Alec piped up, “I see you’ve met Denise’s dolls.”

      “There are sure a lot of them.”

      They both smiled a bit. Obviously, Alec had said this to lighten the mood. It didn’t last long.

      “If it wasn’t a bomb, then what was it?” Megan asked.

      From inside his jacket he took out a clear plastic bag and laid it on the coffee table next to a china doll with pink round circles for cheeks. It was the wedding invitation. She picked up the plastic bag, turned it over and read again. HAPPY ANNIVERSARY NUMBER TWENTY. Why was he showing her the card she had received at the café? She already knew this card all too well.

      “This card was in the box that came to me.”

      “Two cards?” she asked.

      “Yes, two cards. The writing on the back of both of them appears to have been photocopied. They’re identical. We’re sending them both to the forensics lab.”

      “And you think there’s a connection between these cards and the person who was shooting at us on the lake, plus the deaths of Sophia and Jennifer?”

      He nodded. “There is no doubt in my mind.”

      She shuddered and pulled her sweater tightly around her.

      Alec took a notebook and pen out of his breast pocket and began to write. He was quiet for a few minutes. The only sound was the rhythmic clanging of a clock on the mantel. Megan’s mouth felt dry.

      He looked at her for a few more moments and then asked, “Where is it that you live now?”

      “Baltimore.”

      “What do you do there?”

      “I’m a Web designer.” He wrote the answers carefully in his coil-bound notebook. She knew his handwriting; his tall, compact letters. She had received love letters in that careful script. She had gotten rid of all of them. Back when she had burned her wedding dress and ribbons and decorations and candles, those love letters were in the same pile.

      “Do you work for a company?”

      “Alec, are you questioning me? Interrogating me?”

      A look of surprise crossed his face. “Yes, Megan. I want to get to the bottom of this.” He smiled at her.

      This bothered her and she didn’t know why. She looked away and felt slightly insulted. She was not some suspect. She was personally involved in the case. She found herself retreating from his gentle smile.

      He was a cop, trained to get information and confessions from suspects by any means possible. If that meant cops had to pretend to have feelings they didn’t possess, they would. And for the briefest of moments she’d actually thought he was showing her kindness. She needed to be on her guard.

      “I’m not at fault,” she said, sitting stiffly in her chair. “Something is happening to me and I’m not the cause of it.”

      His voice was soft. “I never said you were. I’m just trying to get a handle on things. This is the only way I know how to work, by asking questions.” He put his pen down. “I’m sure you’ve thought about this. Do you know of anyone who might want to do this to you? Maybe from your work?”

      “I have dozens of clients, most of whom I’ve never even met.”

      He raised his eyebrows.

      “That’s the way I work, Alec. I am alone.”

      “I can’t imagine you working in a job that doesn’t include people….”

      “I told you. I’ve changed. I could ask you the same question. Is there anyone you know who would want to do this to us? Besides, why would one of my clients target you? I’ve never told anyone about you. No one knows my history.”

      He took a breath and looked down at his notebook. If her words stung, that’s what she wanted.

      She sighed. This was getting them nowhere. “In answer to your question.” She paused. “After the trial I went to Baltimore to live with my godmother, a close friend and college roommate of my mother’s. Her name is Eunice Schneider. She came into my life after my grandmother died. She offered a place for me to stay in Baltimore. I went. I had no place else to go. She was good to me. I went to school there, took a graphic design course. For the past ten years I’ve been designing Web sites. I do okay for myself. I lead a quiet life.”

      He said, “So, we’re looking at someone from before…”

      “From before what?” she asked.

      “From before our lives now. It may be painful, but I think we’re going to have to go back to the early days, when we were…together. Whoever is doing this is obviously from…then.”

      She could tell it was hard for him to say the words, but she too realized it had to be someone from those days. Isn’t that why she had come here? After she had gone over and over Sophia’s and Jennifer’s deaths in her mind, had spent many sleepless nights in Baltimore wondering if she might be the next target, she had decided to come and talk to Alec.

      “Someone from before,” she said. “I don’t know where to begin.”

      “We begin at the beginning.”

      “Right.”

      He was looking at her, his expression so tender, so questioning. She knew. She knew that he wanted to ask about their child.

      And she wasn’t ready to tell him about that. Not yet.

      FOUR

      It was late afternoon by the time Alec arrived home. He had told Megan that he would keep in touch and let her know what forensics found out about the invitations and if they found anything out on the lake.

      Every time he had looked at her, something inside of him went to pieces and he completely forgot all police procedure, everything he had ever learned.

      He tried to concentrate on the case. He remembered Sophia Wilcox as a short, pudgy, flighty, dark-haired girl. Megan and Sophia had been friends since kindergarten. His brother Bryan had dated Sophia briefly. Then again, his brother Bryan seemed to have gone out with everyone briefly.

      He went on to the police database and looked through the report on Sophia’s accident. Her car had gone over an embankment on a highway in California and had tumbled down a cliff into the sea. There wasn’t much left of the car and driver, but bits and pieces seemed to indicate that the brakes had been seriously worn down. She left behind a husband and two children.

      He turned to the report about Jennifer. Once upon a time, before he met Megan he’d had a crush on Jennifer. However once he met Megan, he judged all other women by her. Jennifer had wanted to be a missionary he remembered. She planned to go to Africa or China. She always said that as soon as she graduated from high school she would leave Augusta, leave Maine for good.

      But out of all their friends, she was the one who stayed in Augusta. Jennifer had died in precisely the same manner as Sophia had. She had drowned when her car went over a hill into a reservoir near her home in Augusta. She