P. Parrish - Heart of Ice

He had read somewhere that human beings lose eight pounds of skin cells per year. Could they sweep the floors and find him that way?

Aunt Bitty’s voice was suddenly in his head. Stop being stupid. God gave you a brain, use it.

She was right. He was being stupid. No one could find him through his skin cells.

But he couldn’t be sure the postal lady didn’t know that his packages contained skulls. Couldn’t be sure no one had ever seen him crawling into the lodge. Couldn’t be sure someone couldn’t smell the brains.

He went to the window, held back the curtain, and peered out. The wind was calm and the leaves that sometimes danced across the yard were asleep. He saw a black squirrel on a low-hanging limb. But he saw no humans.

But they would come.

He let the curtain fall and went to the kitchen. He opened the cupboard below the sink and pulled out a large shoe box. He took out the hammer and crowbar and carried them to the far corner of the cabin. Dropping to his knees, he carefully pried the nails from two planks and lifted them from the floor.

It hadn’t been easy carving a hole in the concrete foundation, but he had managed. There was just enough room for him to slip in his fingers and lift the box out. He took it to the table and removed the items-a thick wad of money bound with a rubber band, the gold brooch that Aunt Bitty had always worn to church, her miniature Bible, and a silver ring with two keys on it.

He picked up the skull and started to put it in the empty box but hesitated. His eyes scanned the room, finally finding what he needed. He went to the corner, stood on his bed, and carefully took the fox pelt off the wall, bringing it back to the table.

He wrapped the pelt around the skull. After putting the wad of money, brooch, keys, and Bible back in the box, he gently set the wrapped skull inside. When the box was back in the hole, he replaced the boards, making sure every nail went back into its original hole so the police wouldn’t notice they had ever been removed.

But hiding her was not enough.

He took the hammer and some nails outside to the shed. Inside he stopped to look around, at the old Tondix lawn mower, the broken rake, coils of discarded rope, and a heap of corroded beaver traps.

Aunt Bitty would be sad to see how he had let the place go, but she hadn’t left him much money to keep it up. Hadn’t left him anything but this three-room cabin that he was born in and her wisdom: Don’t act stupid. Don’t eat rare meat. Don’t kill daddy longlegs because it makes it rain .

With a sigh he whispered a promise to Aunt Bitty to get the place in shape and went back to his work.

He dragged the shutters from the shed and started boarding up the cabin windows. He was sweating hard by the time he went back inside and put the tools under the sink.

It was past three when he put the rabbit into the boiling mixture of water, potatoes, carrots, mushrooms, and Night Train Express wine.

While his dinner was cooking he stripped and washed himself at the sink. Dressed in clean overalls, a flannel shirt, and a double pair of red-heeled socks, he sorted through the mail. There was a new skull order, but he set it aside.

Business had to wait, he decided. The next few days, maybe even the next few years, would be devoted to protecting Julie Anne Chapman.

Danny Dancer got his rifle from the closet and positioned a chair to face the front door. He sat down, covered his legs with one of Aunt Bitty’s afghans, and laid the rifle across his knees. With the smell of stewing rabbit in his nose he closed his eyes and waited for the sound of footsteps in the leaves.

She wasn’t afraid of many things. Bugs hadn’t bothered her when she was a kid and busting crackheads hadn’t bothered her when she was a cop in Miami. But being in a boat on open water-that had always scared the hell out of her.

When Louis called and asked her to come to the island, Joe didn’t tell him she was afraid to get on a ferry.

But she did tell that she wasn’t afraid to see Norm Rafsky.

Not that she hadn’t been shocked when Louis told her Rafsky was on the island. It took half a bottle of wine to sort out her memories of Rafsky and the case they had worked together. She had no romantic feelings for him. But she couldn’t deny she still cared about what had happened to him in the last fifteen years.

Fifteen years. . Did he still hate her?

The grinding engine noise stopped. She stood up, shook out her clenched hands, and picked up her bag. There was no one on the docks. Then she saw Louis at the far end, standing by the gift shop to stay out of the cold wind.

For a moment she couldn’t move. Because she also hadn’t told him the other thing-that after nineteen months of a long-distance relationship capped by an argument last Christmas, she was afraid it might be too late to fix things.

He spotted her and waved.

She started toward him. God, he was holding flowers. Her heart was suddenly hammering, and she had the stupid thought that she should have paid Donnie extra to put a few streaks in her hair. Or bought new underwear or painted her toenails.

Louis put his arms around her. She buried her face in his shoulder and closed her eyes. Finally she pulled back.

“I made it,” she said.

“I was getting worried. You said you were coming in on the three o’clock ferry,” he said.

“I know. I missed it.” Because she had been too chickenshit to get on.

Louis took her face in his hands and kissed her. His hands were like ice. His lips were warm. She realized he was wearing only jeans and a hooded sweatshirt emblazoned with MACKINAC ISLAND.

“You waited out here in the cold for the last hour?” she asked.

“I found something to do.” He held out the flowers. “I wanted to get you roses, but there’s no florist on the island. There are, however, a lot of really nice gardens.”

She laughed and took the flowers. “I’m surprised you didn’t get arrested.”

“I’ve got juice here,” he said, smiling. He picked up her bag. “Just wait until you see the hotel.”

As they started down Main Street, a strange silence took hold.

“Can I ask you something?” she said.

“This sounds serious,” Louis said.

“Rafsky. How is he?”

Louis hesitated. “I don’t know the guy, Joe.”

“You know what I told you about him.”

Louis let a few moments pass before he spoke. “He seems bitter.”

She wanted to ask more but decided to let it go. It didn’t matter; she would see for herself soon enough. There was going to be no way to avoid seeing Rafsky, and if they were ever going to bridge the chasm between them she was going to have to be the one to reach out.

When Louis led her to the porch of the Potawatomi she gave him a wry smile. “The Grand Hotel looks a lot bigger in the photographs,” she said.

“It’s closed,” Louis said. “This is the only place open on the island. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize. I told you, my coming here is better than your coming to Echo Bay. At least here my officers won’t bother me.”

At the front desk she trailed behind holding the flowers as Louis talked to the clerk. The small lobby had fake wood paneling, a brick fireplace, and royal blue carpeting, with well-worn plaid furniture. But it was spanking clean and reminded her a little of her family’s old house on Rumson Road back in Cleveland Heights.

“Here you go,” Louis said, coming over to her.

She hesitated, then took the key he was holding. From the moment she saw him standing on the dock she had felt the stir of longing. She was sure he felt the same, but she was glad he had made no assumptions.

Upstairs Joe unlocked the door to room seven and turned to take her bag from Louis.