Frozen Identity Read online

  There was, of course, my coffee. For the past thirty or so years, I have used the same two glass Pyrex coffee percolators. They sit on little wire thingies on two burners on a hotplate. They are the same coffee pots that I brought to the store after my father retired.

  Even after fire ripped through the inside of my store several months ago, which would be another story but for the fact that no one was trying to kill me - the coffee percolators came out, unscathed. That has to be some sort of sign.

  My father never intended to retire at all; however, after a debilitating disease overtook his body, he had no choice. I think his last few years were happy ones though. My mother died several years before but I’m not sure that my dad really missed her. I know many married couples bicker and clash over everything all through their marriage but when one mate dies, the other is devastated. I honestly feel my dad kept living so he could have a few years of peace and quiet to himself.

  My mother did have some redeeming qualities. Unfortunately, I don’t remember too many of them. They were the sort where someone would remark as to what an honest woman she was. Or, perhaps, that she was never late for anything. Her blouses were always ironed. You know what I mean. Her shoes were always polished. That sort of thing.

  Mostly, I remember her strict rules. It was better after my father moved downstairs to sleep in what is now my pantry. Every night I would sit on his bed while he read stories to me. Those are my best memories from home. When my mother stood in the doorway and complained that I was up too late, he would quietly walk over to the door and shut it. When we were finished reading, my father would walk me up the steps to my upstairs bedroom. It wasn’t the best family life but we survived. It was before they invented the term dysfunctional.

  In many ways, I thought I was better off than Flori. Her house seemed more like a zoo than a home. She invited me over several times for meals but everyone was grabbing food and yelling so much that I stopped going. She never enjoyed coming to my place either because my mother could not abide ill-mannered children. I have to say that Flori fit that category - at least, in my mother’s mind.

  After finishing high school, I spent ten months in the city taking a secretarial course, which I never used because my mother could not stand to be in the house alone with Father.

  Not that she said that. She said she and my father couldn’t rattle around in that big house without me.

  Our house was not big. My father built it for my mother when they first married. It has been my home all my life. There are two bedrooms and a bathroom upstairs. All are small by today’s standards. On the main floor, there is a kitchen, a dining room and living room combined, and the third very small bedroom or very large pantry, whatever you want to make it. I also have an attic and a basement - both uninhabitable.

  Several years ago, I started doing my laundry at Lois’ Laundromat every couple of weeks; however, in case of an emergency, I suppose I could venture into the basement to see if my washer and dryer still work. Or, to see if they still exist. The last time I looked, they were beginning to rust from the bottom up.

  I finished my first cup and was about to go back for my second when Reg drove up in the patrol car and parked as close to the store as he could get without sitting on top of the snow bank or driving right inside. He was alone so I imagined his deputy was back at the station, making sure Jake Flanders Junior didn’t escape.

  Something about the murder case did not sit well with me. It seemed almost too logical to make sense. Was it even murder? What if someone locked the shack without knowing anyone was inside? Who owned that shack anyway?

  When Reg reached for the door, I opened it and then shut it as soon as he was inside. Even within those few seconds, the room cooled down.

  The only words he managed to mutter as he removed his fur hat and coat were, “Coffee, Mabel.”

  I carried his coat and hat to the back room and hung them on a hook next to mine. Before the fire, I had a coat rack. That was one item that did burn to a crisp. I can’t say that I missed it. Someone told me they thought it was an antique so I felt obligated to hang on to it. It usually ended up toppling over most of the time anyway. Reg used to balance his coat on one side and an old wooden Coke box on the other. The Coke box was gone now too.

  “Help yourself to the coffee,” I yelled, but by the time I returned, he was already sitting in one of my new chairs, holding the cup of steaming coffee with both hands.

  I poured another cup, pulled up my second chair, and sat down, facing him.

  There were quite a few changes in my store since the fire. My old wicker chairs were both gone, replaced by two of Flori’s comfortable dining room chairs. I’m especially thankful that she gave me the ones with armrests.

  Unfortunately, I had to invest in a new-fangled cash register, which I think clashes immensely with the ambience of my shop. I wasn’t thrilled about dishing out so much money either; however, the collection the town took up for me more than covered that and everything else. It also took care of my new insurance policy, which everyone insisted that I take out.

  Mutt Mitchel from the hardware store next door gave me a supply of mousetraps. No one wanted another mouse chewing wires and starting a fire in my store.

  Reg took a long drink of coffee and smacked his lips. “Good coffee, Mabel.” He didn’t look happy. “Wish everything could be as good and as simple as this.” He took another swallow and let out a loud sigh.

  “Not going so well? No other leads in the murder case?”

  He shook his head. “I’m stumped. Everything points to Junior.” He gave me a worried look. “It doesn’t help that all of a sudden he’s decided that he won’t tell me what he was doing out at the lake. I have no idea what’s gotten into him. He was so quick to tell his mother he wasn’t guilty and now, he’s acting like he is.”

  “That’s ridiculous. Why won’t he tell you? Didn’t you tell him he wasn’t helping his own case?”

  “Believe me, Mabel, I told him everything. I’ve talked until I’m blue in the face. Even threatened but nothing works.”

  “There must be some reason why he suddenly won’t talk. What do you think? Maybe he was seeing another woman?”

  For some reason, the sheriff thought that was funny so I had to wait until he stopped laughing.

  “Well?” I said. “What’s so funny about that? What other reason can you think of? Why wouldn’t he want anyone to know what he was doing out at the lake?”

  He shook his head. “I didn’t mean to make fun, Mabel, but you know it was a fish shack and a very cold evening. Even Jake Junior might think twice about taking his mistress out to a fish shack on a frozen lake for a rendezvous.”

  Yes, well, I might be an old spinster but even I could see the humor in that.

  “Besides, I think he’s pretty happy with the little wife and that new baby he has, don’t you?”

  I nodded. “I know you’re right. Flori says Emma is the best thing that ever happened to him." I walked over and topped up my coffee. This was a rough case for Reg so I couldn't imagine how hard it would have been for Jim. Only having one deputy would not make it easier for Reg either.

  "By the way, did you give Captain Maxymowich a call, Reg?”

  Captain Marlow Maxymowich sometimes comes from the city to give us some help. He has his band of officers and they tend to take over the town. Reg, Scully, and Jim usually end up doing traffic control and all I can do is watch out the shop window.

  Reg sighed. “I did. He’s up to his neck in a double homicide though so won’t be able to help right now. If we don’t have this tied up in a week, he said he’ll send somebody down.”

  "He knows you retired from being sheriff and are now the mayor of Parson's Cove, right?"

  Reg's face reddened and he shrugged. "I didn't mention it but I'm sure he knows. It isn't like I've been Parson's Cove mayor for years. I'm more a sheriff than a mayor. At least, that's how I feel."

  Reg was not enjoying his new mayoral posi
tion at all. I can't even count the times he's complained in the past few months.

  “So we have a week?”

  “That’s all.” He drained his cup, walked over to my new table where my old percolators sat on a new hotplate, and poured another cup of coffee. “Well, maybe that would be for the better. You know, having someone else get involved in this. I’m getting too old to solve murders all by myself.”

  “Don’t talk such nonsense. We’ll do our best to solve it. If not, then at least we tried. I was wondering, Reg, who owns that fish shack anyway? Shouldn’t that person be a suspect too?”

  “They would be except that old shack was abandoned a couple of years ago. It’s still sturdy and in good shape so Fred Pollock always moves it onto the ice every winter. It comes in handy if someone is fishing on the ice and the wind picks up. It gives him a little protection from the elements.”

  Personally, I thought all those fellows who sat in those shacks for hours staring at a hole in the ice, were out of their minds. Flori told me that Jake went because he enjoyed the companionship. I’m sure his best friend, Jack Daniels, was always at his side too. I don’t recall her mentioning if Jake ever caught a fish. About all he caught was pneumonia three years ago. Plus, a few good hangovers.

  “It didn’t belong to anyone from Parson’s Cove?”

  He shook his head.

  “Did you learn anything else from the body? Is the autopsy completed now?”

  “There is something I didn’t mention, Mabel. I thought it best to keep a few things quiet for now. You know how gossip travels around Parson’s Cove. Tell one person and by the end of the day, everyone in town tells a different story.”

  “And?”

  “And what?”

  “What’s the story?”

  “Oh, that.” He shook his head and sighed. “It’s the real proof that Victor Fleming was murdered.”

  “Reg, you have a very irritating way of beating around the bush. I thought you already knew that Victor was murdered. Why do you need more proof? What am I missing here?”

  He lifted his cup and took a swallow before answering. “Well, we thought he died because someone deliberately locked him in the fish shack and he couldn’t get out. Now that the body is beginning to thaw out, there’s the chance that he might have died from injuries he incurred in a fight.”

  “Really? You couldn’t see those injuries before?”

  He shook his head. “Not too well. Don’t forget, Mabel, he was propped up against the wall of the shack, almost frozen solid. We couldn’t even peel his clothes off. It was also hard to tell if the marks on his face were bruises or frostbite. The coroner couldn’t get here until this morning so now we have to wait to see what the real cause of death was.”

  “So, in other words, someone could have beaten him and put him in the fish shack, knowing that he was dead. Or, dying.”

  “That’s right.”

  “How long do you think he was in that shack?”

  “Since Junior isn’t sharing any information with us, I guess we’ll have to wait to find that out. It might be hard to tell even. It was so cold at night that it wouldn’t take that long for skin to freeze.”

  “What if Jake Junior beat him up but didn’t know that he killed him? I mean, why wouldn’t he tell you what he was doing out at the lake? I thought it was obvious he was shocked to hear that Victor was dead. Of course, if he told you that he’d beaten Victor up, you would’ve charged him with murder for sure, which you did anyway. I mean, that would’ve been the final nail on the coffin, so to speak.”

  “Yep. Like I say, Mabel, this doesn’t look good for Junior. Unless we can prove someone else was out there at the same time.” He looked up at me and for the first time, I noticed his bloodshot eyes.

  “You losing sleep over this, Reg?”

  “You better believe it. Jake and Flori have been through enough with those kids. Especially Jake Junior. The trouble is he isn’t a kid anymore. Junior must be over forty by now. It's time he grew up.” He shook his head. “The thing is, Mabel, even with all the trouble that he’s been in and has caused over the years, I still see a good heart in him. There’s no way this was premeditated murder. I’m sure of that. Junior is not a killer.” He paused, in thought. “On the other hand, he would go to any lengths to protect his mother.”

  “Even murder do you think?”

  “If he thought his mother was in any danger at all? Yes, I believe he would even murder.”

  It was scary but I agreed with him. All her sons grieved her to no end but they would protect her to no end also. I must admit that sometimes, in a moment of weakness, I wished someone might want to protect me like that. Other than Flori, that is.

  “Do you think the charge could be dropped from murder to manslaughter?”

  “I imagine it would be. It could still be a long jail term though.”

  “Poor Flori. You know what’s really bothering me? Flori isn’t herself anymore.”

  He nodded. “I hear you. Jake says she hasn’t cried since the night Junior was arrested. He’s concerned. Everyone in the family is almost as worried about her as they are about Jake Junior.”

  “A lot of it is their own stupid fault. Maybe if they hadn’t tried this intervention to make her stop crying so much, she would be herself now. I think she’s trying to please them all. That’s what she does, you know. She’s spent her whole life trying to please her ungrateful family.”

  “I know, Mabel, but you also know that Flori loves pleasing everyone. That’s her nature. By the way, do you think you’re going to get any customers in here today?”

  I glanced out at the empty street and up at the clock. It was almost ten already.

  “Sheriff Smee, I doubt very much that there’s going to be a rush to buy anything from my store today. Or, in the coming few months even." I pointed to one of my shelves. "Unless, of course, we have a sudden demand for baby elephant salt and pepper shakers.”

  (I said this because there was a mistake in my last shipment and I ended up with several unwanted items.)

  Reg heaved himself up from the chair. I wasn’t sure if it was the chair or his knees that creaked the loudest. He walked over to the table and put down his cup.

  “Are you limping, Reg?”

  His cheeks turned a soft pink. “Aw, it’s this stupid arthritis. At least, that’s what Doc Fritz says.” He grinned. “I like to call it an old war injury.”

  I grinned back. “And that would be what? The Second World War or the First?”

  “All right, enough jokes from Mabel Wickles.” His face suddenly looked serious. “If you aren’t expecting any customers, why don’t you come out to the crime scene with me? Maybe you can see something that Scully and I missed.”

  For so many years, it seemed that Reg and I were always on opposite teams. It wasn’t that we didn’t want the guilty person to be found and prosecuted, it’s just that we could never work together. However, ever since Reg retired, I’ve come to appreciate all those wonderful qualities that Reg does possess.

  He, on the other hand, has come to appreciate how helpful I can be in solving a murder. At least, that is my take on it. Hence, a truce was drawn and now, we work together. Probably, more to my delight than his but I think he was beginning to enjoy, not only my coffee and muffins, but my company too.

  I bundled up as quickly as I could and put a note on the door, which read, ‘Closed for the morning. Stay home until it warms up!’

  Reg chuckled and said, “No wonder you don’t have many customers. No one’s going to come now until spring.”

  We were almost to the door when I thought of something.

  “Oh, Reg,” I said. “Let me call Flori first. She usually calls in the morning and if I'm not here, she’ll worry. Probably send Jake over to check to see if I’m okay.” I pulled off my mittens and went to the phone. It rang several times before Jake picked up.

  “Jake, this is Mabel. Is Flori there?”

  In a tired monotone
voice, he replied, “She’s sleeping. I’m worried about her, Mabel. Think you could come over and talk to her?”

  This would make the second time in all his married life that Jake Flanders had ever asked me to come over. And, in such a polite way too. Of course, we shared something now and that was our concern over Flori.

  “I’ll come later, Jake. Right now, Reg and I are going out to the fishing shack. I wanted to let Flori know. You can tell her when she wakes up. Tell her I’ll be over as soon as I get back.”

  I was about to hang up the phone when I heard Jake say, “Please, help us, Mabel.”

  It’s hard for me to say no to Jake when he says ‘please.’

  Chapter Four

  The road to the lake and the crime scene was one of the first cleared. The snow banks on each side towered six to eight feet. We were driving through a white tunnel. Evergreen trees along with tall naked poplar and oak trees towered in the background. If the temperature hadn’t been so cold, it would have been beautiful. The sun shone but no warmth came from it.

  It was a quiet ride. I guess Reg and I were immersed in our own thoughts. He was probably thinking of the murdered man and finding the real killer while I was mostly worrying about Flori and wondering how she was managing to handle all of this. Her cousin was thawing out on a slab in the morgue and her son was sitting in a jail cell, charged with murdering and then freezing to death, his second cousin.

  It was about a ten-minute drive to the lake under normal road conditions but today it took twice that long. Even though recently plowed, there were hidden patches of ice where the snow was beginning to drift back across the road. (This happens to be one of the reasons I rarely drive my car in the winter.)

  Several times the car started to slide but Reg managed to get it back on course again. Suddenly, the tunnel of snow ended and we were in a clearing. The frozen lake was only a few feet in front of us. We were in a world of white except for the fish shacks dotting the lake, reminding me of a rundown shantytown. Far on the other side, pine and spruce trees and half-hidden cottages covered the hills.