Frozen Identity Read online

  The majority of the fish shacks were wooden, which were now weather-beaten and shabby. It looked as if a few were old tin tool sheds and I noticed one battered camper trailer that had seen better times. The fishermen of Parson’s Cove will resort to almost anything so that they can fish all year round.

  Some men (no women), however, had decided to use their imagination or perhaps get rid of old paint, so there was a variety of brightly colored shacks with humorous sayings painted on the sides. The one closest to us read, Old anglers don’t die; we just smell that way.

  It didn’t seem all that funny anymore.

  Reg turned to me and said, “Well, let’s go to have a look.” He took the keys out of the ignition and put them in his jacket pocket. With a look closely resembling defeat, he sighed. “Wish I could believe we would find something out here but…” He shook his head. “I’m trying to convince myself that this is not a waste of your time.”

  “Am I like your last resort, Reg?”

  “Mabel, if anyone can find anything, it will be you. Your imagination is much better than mine.” He grinned and gently slapped me on the shoulder. “Okay, Detective Wickles, let’s go find a clue.”

  I followed Sheriff Smee over the frozen water for what seemed an eternity but was probably about five minutes. The wind was bitterly cold and sharp as it whipped across the ice. Woolen tights and jeans do not keep you warm under those conditions. Within three minutes, there was no feeling from the bottom of my coat to the tops of my boots. The thought of my whole body freezing made me feel even colder.

  I could see the yellow police tape in the distance, dancing in the wind. Some of it had already blown away. There was one patrol car sitting several feet away from the shack.

  “Is that Scully in the car?” I yelled at Reg.

  He turned and, holding his fur hat on with one hand, yelled back, “Yeah. He came out as soon as the snowplow went through. We don't want anyone snooping around here.”

  “I wonder how come no one is fishing. I thought there would be a line-up behind the plow. Some of those old diehards have missed a whole week of sitting in their shacks and freezing.”

  He shrugged. “Maybe they’re afraid someone will lock them in their shack.”

  I would have laughed except I was too cold. I did chuckle inside though. Well, on second thought, perhaps it wasn’t a very good joke.

  We were almost at the shack now and it was a good thing because my face was now as cold as my knees. There are certain parts of the body that even an old muskrat coat can’t cover.

  “Why couldn’t we drive to the shack like Scully did, instead of walking?” I yelled.

  “There’s no way I’m driving on this ice, Mabel.”

  Well, I guess that answered that. If I’d known, I would’ve driven out with Scully.

  As we got closer, we could see Scully with his head back, mouth agape, sleeping peacefully. Reg left my side and with his head bent against the wind, hurried over to the patrol car. I couldn't hear because of the wind but I could see his fist going up and down on the hood of the patrol car.

  It was hard not to burst out laughing as the young deputy struggled to sit up. He quickly pulled on his hat and rolled the window down. Fortunately, I couldn’t hear what Reg said. By the look on Scully’s face, he was probably glad that I didn’t hear either. When Reg was sheriff, he was fairly lenient with his two deputies but I know he never tolerated screw-ups of a critical nature.

  While Reg was delivering his tongue-lashing, I decided to check out the shack. It was getting seriously cold standing in the wind without any shelter and although I was sure the shack would be almost the same temperature, it would stop the cutting wind in my face.

  This was one of the nondescript shacks. Perhaps someone had painted it at one time but the wood was now gray and there were small rust spots around every nail hole. Several shingles on the roof lifted with each wind gust and made a popping sound. From where I looked, the whole structure seemed to be leaning to one side. The door creaked and scraped against the floor as I opened it. The yellow tape across the door entrance flapped in my face. I ducked under it and went inside.

  Immediately, I felt warmer even though I could still see my breath in the air. It felt almost cozy except that an old John Deere thermometer hanging from a nail on the wall said it was still ten below zero.

  First, I stood and looked around. There was a wooden floor with an opening about a foot and a half square in the middle which I assumed was the opening for the fishing hole. The lid was a wooden trapdoor with a leather strip for the handle. Someone had closed it and there was a brick sitting on top of it. I guess that was there so the fish wouldn’t jump out and escape. There were two small grubby windows on the north and south side of the shack. Since the sun was shining, I could see quite well inside. There were several short narrow benches up against the walls. They were wooden and looked extremely uncomfortable to me - no cushions, arm, or back rests. I could only imagine that the men would move the bench close to the opening in the ice or lean precariously over the hole and gaze in wonderment as they pulled up one fish after another from under the ice.

  There was an axe with a broken handle thrown into one corner. Perhaps, that was to chip at the ice when it started to freeze over. Whoever had drilled the hole through the ice hadn’t left the chainsaw or drill or whatever they used, in the shack. I imagine that a person would take those items home in case someone stole them.

  A four-inch nail stuck out of one of the two by fours with a calendar from 1997 on it and there was a black shoelace draped over the calendar. I had no idea why that would be there. Someone was obviously walking around with only one shoe tied up properly.

  In one corner, there was a wooden Coke box turned upside down. This seemed to serve as the table. An empty tuna can served as an ashtray and it looked as if no one had ever dumped the butts out. Across from the table, in the corner, were about ten empty beer cases, stacked one on top of the other with no room left for another one.

  Flori told me that Jake took a portable propane heater with him so he wouldn’t freeze to death. She always worried that it would blow up. I had no idea which shack was his but Flori said it was the only pink one on the ice. Jake painted it pink so no one would want to come to fish with him and drink his whiskey.

  One time I asked her where the men went when they had to go to the toilet. I mean, if you’re sitting all day on a cold wooden bench and guzzling down booze, you're going to have to go somewhere. She told me that I did not want to know so I've never pursued the answer to that one.

  Someone, perhaps Sheriff Smee, had drawn chalk lines in front of and over one bench. That was obviously where Victor Fleming had sat for the last time. Was he dead when someone placed him there? Had Jake Junior been in a fight with him, knocked him unconscious, and pushed him into the shack, not thinking of the consequences?

  Since he was sitting up on the bench with his back against the wall, either he was awake when he went in and sat down himself or someone neatly arranged him there.

  I moved quickly out of the way when Reg pushed the door open. It seemed that some of his anger had melted away. At least, I was hoping his red cheeks were from the cold and not the temper.

  “So, you gave Scully a tongue-lashing?”

  He grunted. “What does he think? Somebody who sneaks out here to do mischief is going to wake him up to let him know what they're up to?” He took off his gloves and stuffed them into his pocket. “Well, can you see anything? Anything at all that might prove something?”

  I stood beside him and scanned the room again. Really, what was there to see?

  “Reg, the only thing that seems out of place is that bit of dirt down there by the bench.”

  Reg walked the three steps over and bent down. “You see some dirt here?”

  “Move out of the way and I’ll show you.”

  He backtracked to the door and I moved over to the bench that had the chalk marks.

  “See.” I pic
ked up a small piece of dirt that was wedged into a crack beside the chair and passed it to him. “Here. Check it out.”

  “That’s all you’ve got, Mabel? This frozen dirt could’ve been here for months. Besides, it’s winter now so no one would’ve brought this in on their shoes.”

  I shrugged. “Well, Reg, that’s all I’ve got. Look around. Can you see anything more?”

  “Nope. I have looked and looked. I’ve scoured this place. At least, you found some dirt. I didn’t even see that.” He turned the small chunk of dirt over in his hand. “You think it could be a clue?”

  I sighed. “I have no idea, Reg. As you said, it could have been here for weeks but at the same time, the killer could’ve had it on his boots. Who knows?”

  He nodded, pulled out a plastic Ziploc bag, and gently placed the small piece of dirt inside.

  Although I didn’t put much faith in the dirt being a clue, it was somewhat unique. It was perhaps an inch in diameter and about half that thick. It was unique because there was a bit of gravel mixed in with it. To me, it wasn’t just a chunk of dirt. It was dirt mixed with gravel. If it came off the murderer’s boots, it might tell us where he had walked. Or, she. I always tend to think of a murderer as ‘he’ but they can be ‘she’s’ just as likely.

  No one had told me if Victor Fleming was a big tough guy; however, if Jake Junior threatened him, I doubted he would be. Jake was always selective when it came to his fights. Let's say, he never took on more than he could chew.

  Reg looked so disappointed I had to say something to encourage him. “You could check Jake Junior’s boots to see if it came off of them.”

  “Yeah, I guess we could do that.”

  “By the way, Reg, did Mayor Pollock say why he came to check this shack? I don’t know which one is his but there isn’t any right close by. I was wondering why he would walk over here if the padlock was on the door.”

  “He came over to get the axe. This shack sort of belongs to him too. Someone abandoned it a couple of years back so he always sets it up for anyone who wants to use it. That’s why he noticed the lock. He figured something wasn’t right when he saw that.”

  “I don't understand why they even have padlocks.” I looked around the small room. “There’s nothing here to steal, right?”

  He shook his head. “Who knows? I guess some of them must leave their fishing gear here instead of lugging it home every time.”

  “The mayor has the key for the lock then?”

  “No, he’s not sure where that padlock even came from but it was easy for him to break it and get in.”

  “In other words, whoever owns that padlock is the killer.”

  “Maybe. Maybe not. We don’t know the circumstances, Mabel. As for the padlock, there’s no way to trace it. After Pollock broke it, there would only be his fingerprints on it anyway. Mutt Mitchel says he has dozens of them in his store.”

  “The exact same brand?”

  “Yep.”

  “So, Mayor Pollack broke open the lock and came in. He must’ve had a flashlight because it gets dark early now.”

  The Sheriff nodded. “He showed me the flashlight.”

  “So Victor was dead when he found him?”

  “Dead as a doornail.”

  Sheriff Smee’s face was about as expressive as a doornail too.

  I tapped my mitt on his arm. “Don’t worry, Sheriff. We’ll find out who did this.”

  I didn’t add that Jake Junior could still very well be our killer.

  Chapter Five

  My feet were beginning to lose their feeling by the time we got back to the patrol car. Scully, I noticed, was sitting upright now. He gave us a salute as we walked past. The Sheriff didn’t seem to notice but I gave him a grin and a wave.

  “Reg,” I said. “Does Scully have something to eat? Or, drink? That’s a long cold wait out here.”

  “Scully,” he said, “has a large flask of cocoa and Beth made up enough food for him to last a month. She doesn’t even feed me that good. Don’t waste your time feeling sorry for Scully. The gas tank is full so whenever he gets cold, he can start the car up. Besides, as soon as I take you back, I'll go out to replace him.”

  We met three cars on the way to the lake. Reg stopped all of them and made them turn back to town.

  “I think those guys who want to go fishing on such an insanely cold day are nuts,” I said with all innocence.

  Reg let out a half laugh, half grunt and said, “They don’t want to fish; they want to see where somebody froze to death. People are like that, Mabel. You should know that by now. Murder is intriguing to them.”

  “Well, all I can say is that it’s a pretty sick world.”

  Everyone else in Parson’s Cove must have decided to stay inside. Either because of the cold or they feared a murderer was on the loose. At least, those who had doubts about Jakie being the killer. The streets were still bare of traffic. The wind had died down but clouds were coming in from the west and although the temperature was probably a few degrees higher, it felt colder. Quite a few retired people from Parson’s Cove were now traveling south for a break in the winter. Winters were not getting any easier.

  Reg pulled right up in front of my door again. There were high snow banks all along the street but Bob Crackers had kindly made an opening in front of every business place so people didn’t have to climb up and slide down. Also, the storeowners didn’t have to get out and shovel the heavy snow away so their customers could enter. I guess Bob wanted to get this finished just in case someone decided to bury Victor in the Parson’s Cove cemetery. I’m quite sure Jake wouldn’t go for that but knowing Flori, even though she thought he was a bad person, might agree to it out of guilt.

  Bob happens to be our plumber, electrician, and gravedigger. He’s a volunteer firefighter too so he pretty much does it all. I remember when he had to dig Miss Henry’s grave in the winter and it was no easy task.

  Before I opened the door, I said, “Sorry, Reg. Wish I could’ve found something out there that would clear Junior and lead us to the killer.”

  “Me too, Mabel. I hope we don’t arrest the wrong person with murder, that’s all.”

  It suddenly struck me what an onerous job Reg really had. One man’s life was gone but another one’s could be also if he didn’t find the real killer. No, if we didn’t find the real killer.

  “Did you want to come in for a coffee and a muffin before you go back out? I brought some strawberry muffins from my freezer.” I grinned at him. “Your favorite.”

  “No thanks, Mabel. There was a water main break a few days ago. Bob did the best he could to repair it but I’d better go have a look. Might be good to get my mind off this case for a while. You know, help clear up my brain.”

  “Okay. Let me know if you come up with anything, Reg.”

  He nodded. “Sure thing, Mabel. Thanks for taking the time to go out with me.”

  Sheriff Smee drove away and I entered my warm store. It still held the aroma of coffee and a tinge of vanilla. The vanilla came from a plug-in that I was trying out. I was hoping if people came inside and smelled something wonderful and inviting, they might linger for a while and that would mean sales for me.

  Winter is not the best time of year for me. Summer, with all its tourists and vacationers, brings in the most cash. People who rent cabins tend to buy the second hand books, the candles, and the souvenirs.

  It is funny, I thought, as I poured out the cold coffee and the coffee grounds to make fresh, that the local sheriff had to solve a murder and at the same time, he had to check a frozen water main break.

  Oh shoot, I forgot to ask Reg who the witness was who saw Jake Junior snooping around the fish shack.

  Chapter Six

  I went home a few minutes early again. Flori phoned and we talked for almost an hour. I continued to worry about her. She was too much in control. Whenever I tried to reassure her that Reg and I were busy hunting for Victor’s killer, she didn’t want to hear anything about it.


  “Are you trying to prepare for the worst, Flori? You know, sort of blocking it out of your mind in case Jake Junior is found guilty?”

  She let out a loud sigh. “No, Mabel, it’s more that I’m tired of talking about it and tired of thinking about it. We raised Jakie the best way we knew how and now he makes his own life. What do you want me to do, sit and mope all day, crying and worrying?”

  “Well, no I don’t but let’s face it, my friend, if this happened before the intervention, that’s exactly what you would be doing.”

  “Oh, I would not, Mabel Wickles. You exaggerate.”

  “Okay, have it your own way. Anyway, let’s change the subject. Why don’t you come down for coffee tomorrow morning? You’ve been stuck in that house with Jake for way too long. What do you say?”

  There were a few seconds of silence. It was much too long for my liking. Normally, Flori doesn’t hesitate at all when I invite her; in fact, she is usually the one who suggests it.

  “Please, Flori, come down for coffee. If you have any cinnamon buns, you could bring those. I’m craving one like you wouldn’t believe.”

  I was sure I heard a soft giggle. “Mabel,” she said. “You’ve never craved anything so fattening in your whole life but, if you are that desperate to have me come, I’ll come. And you are right about one thing, I need a break from Jake. He’s worried sick about Junior and that’s why I don’t like leaving him alone for too long. He’s over at the Station two or three times a day, trying to get him to talk.”

  “Jake can’t get him to say anything either?”

  “No, but Jake won’t give up. He’s sure that Junior is innocent but he can’t figure out why he won’t try to defend himself.”

  “There has to be a very strong reason, Flori. Maybe I should go over and talk to Jake Junior.”

  Flori’s soft chuckle turned into a full-blown laugh. It was good to hear.

  “You, Mabel? If Junior won’t talk to his own father, I doubt that he’ll spill the beans to you.”