On Thin Ice. Linda Hall

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СКАЧАТЬ just shook his head and said that I would know her when I saw her and how many people come into Whisper Lake Crossing in the middle of winter anyway.”

      “That’s what he said?”

      “Right.”

      “Why didn’t you call me?” Alec asked.

      “Call you about what?”

      “And you didn’t think this whole thing was strange?”

      “I thought it was plenty strange, but a lot of plenty strange things happen around here and I don’t go to the sheriff’s office with every little strange thing, Alec. This just seemed an innocent thing. Someone dropping off a letter for someone who would be coming by later.”

      “When did this happen?”

      “Let me think.” She put her hand to her forehead. “The day before last. Yes. That’s what it was. In the morning.”

      Alec scribbled something in his book. He looked up. “Marlene, if that guy comes back, please contact me immediately.”

      “Okay.” Marlene saluted him. If the situation hadn’t been so grave, Megan would have laughed out loud.

      Later at the sheriff’s office, Megan was formally introduced to his office assistant, Denise, who was the woman Megan had spoken to earlier. She was a middle-aged, comfortable-looking woman.

      “Stu got your call, Alec. What’s going on?” Denise asked.

      “Some maniac was out there on the lake shooting.”

      Denise looked from one to the other. Without explaining who Megan was, Alec ushered her past two yellow chairs in the waiting room and into his office.

      Denise called after him. “Your mail’s on your desk, Alec.”

      “Thanks,” he said as he closed the door behind them.

      His was a modest square office, very efficient, very plain. It had one desk and two chairs. There were few touches of home. No family photos that she could see. On the wall was a picture of a sailboat. He pushed the small stack of mail aside and offered Megan a chair.

      At the bottom of his stack of mail there was a shoe box, which was wrapped in brown paper. Something about it seemed to pique his interest. He pulled it out from the stack and looked at it. It seemed to be secured all around with thick layers of packing tape.

      He turned it over, examined it, dropped it on the desk, and for the second time that day he lunged for Megan and said, “Out! Now!”

      He opened his door, ushered her through it quickly, calling to Denise as he did so.

      “Anyone else in the building?”

      “Alec, what’s up?”

      “We have to get everyone out now. I think somebody just sent us a bomb!”

      Ten minutes later, Megan found herself two blocks from the sheriff’s office, sitting on a damask-covered, spindly chair in Denise’s kitchen, surrounded by bobbleheads and dolls.

      “Here,” Denise said. “Let me move these dolls at least. I collect them, make and sew clothes for them. I’m getting ready for a show. But they get a bit overwhelming at times.”

      Megan barely heard. She had no choice but to sit here and drink Denise’s burnt instant coffee and think about the fact that somebody wanted her dead.

      When Alec finally arrived, his expression was grim. Both women looked at him expectantly.

      “It wasn’t a bomb,” he said.

      “Well, thank the good Lord for that!” Denise placed a hand on her chest.

      “Yes. 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.

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