A Cold White Fear (7 page)

I
went numb. Escaped prisoners had crossed my mind, but I'd rejected the idea, believing it too preposterous. Three Deer Point was too far away from the penitentiaries in Quebec and Ontario. Joyceville was located near Kingston, easily a five-hour drive away. So why in the world did they end up here?

With the reassuring sound of Jid tramping behind me, I plodded up my drive to the house in silence, all exhaustion gone. I was too worried to talk. I was afraid of what this could mean for Jid and me. Other than saying a few words when he passed Shoni to me, he was quiet too.

All hope of rescue had vanished. I knew deep down that my plea to Will had failed to get through. That left Eric. If everything were normal between us, I knew he wouldn't hesitate to get Will to drive over to check up on me. But things weren't normal.

Why was I so damn stupid? Why couldn't I have just pretended that it was fine by me having another woman call him? Instead I had to make a big deal of it, which had only made matters worse. Was my outburst enough to drive him into the arms of this other woman? I shuddered at the thought.

Not wanting to consider for even a nanosecond life without Eric, I continued trudging forward. Apart from the incessant droning of the storm, the only sound was our captor's laboured breathing. It would appear that exercise wasn't part of his routine in prison. I hadn't yet given up hope for a heart attack.

But he was still moving, albeit slowly, when the timber structure of my home finally loomed into view. At one point, when we were closing in on the house, he ordered us to stop while he rested, though he pretended it was to fix one of the snowshoes. When we resumed, he demanded that we slow our pace to his and threatened to shoot if we didn't.

I had mixed feelings when I saw the faint glow filtering through the windows of my house. It would be a relief to get out of the storm and into its warmth. But Professor was going to be one very angry man.

As if reading my mind, he flung open the door at the sound of us clambering up the back stairs. His bullet head backlit by the kitchen light made him appear even more menacing. Without a single word, he slugged me across the jaw. I fell into Jid and tumbled the two of us down the stairs and back into the snow.

“Why fuck you do that, Viper?” shouted the man behind us.

“Slobo, is that you? It's about time you showed up,” Professor said. “Did you get rid of the car?”

“Fuckin' snow make plenty problems. Fuck, I hate this country. But the snow bury it good. No one find car until snow gone in summer.” He guffawed.

I tested my jaw. I didn't think it was broken, but it sure hurt. I helped Jid out of the snow, and then myself.

“You okay, Auntie?” he whispered. “Where's Shoni?”

I'd forgotten about her. The two of us dug around in the snow, frantic to find her.

“What you doing?” our captor shouted.

“Looking for the puppy.”

“She's where she belongs.” Professor smiled smugly, holding Shoni in his arms while she licked his face. “A cute little thing. I might take her with me. It would serve you right for trying to escape.”

Pretending to ignore his threat, I bent over to release the straps on my snowshoes. My aching jaw was telling me I would have little say in my puppy's future.

“You gonna let us in? I fucking cold,” Slobo said, attempting to kick the snowshoes off his feet.

“It would help if you undid them,” I said.

“Stupid shoes. Only crazy people wear them.” He glared at me before bending down to release the straps.

“They got you through the snow, didn't they?”

He ignored me as he continued to struggle with them.

Professor stared down at us from the top of the stairs. I sensed a standoff developing. But after a few minutes, he turned around and walked back inside the house with the puppy perfectly happy in his arms.

With Slobo prodding us from behind, Jid and I stumbled up the steps. Snarling “Move!” he pushed us through the door, past the Christmas tree, and into the kitchen.

Waves of heat from the woodstove washed over me. Though this wasn't where I had expected to be, the warmth still felt wonderful. I hadn't realized how cold I had become. At least Professor had kept the fire going.

There were no signs of impending departure. He must've thought I would get lost and end up freezing to death. Otherwise, if he thought there had been a chance that I would make it to the police, the two of them would have left. But perhaps Larry was the deciding factor. I doubted the injured man would have made it very far.

“Who's the kid?” the tattooed man asked.

“Don't know. Find him on road.”

Road? He should've been miles away on the reserve.

“Fuck, he got sharp teeth.” Slobo held up his hand to reveal red teeth marks on the back of it.

In the glow of the oil lamp, Jid's smile covered almost as much of his face as the splotch of redness spreading across his cheek.

“You okay?” I mouthed.

He nodded and beamed more broadly.

The man yelled, “Boy, no smile or I hit you again.”

The smile vanished, but not the glint in his eyes.

“Don't you dare!” The words shot out before I could stop them.

“Or you'll what?” Slobo patted the gun tucked into the waistband of his jeans.

I shoved Jid behind me.

“Calm down, everybody,” Professor interjected. “Slobo, why did you bring the kid here? We don't need more people knowing our whereabouts.”

“You know I no like name Slobo. Call me Slobodan or Tiger.”

The new arrival wasn't as tall as the tattooed man and was considerably broader, with a hint of a beer belly pulling at his wet ski jacket. Given the way he smoothed back his thick mane of dirty blond hair after removing his hood, I'd say he prided himself on his chiselled looks. Doubtless a lot of women would find his notched chin and commanding jawline attractive. Not this one.

“Ah yes. A Serbian mother's diminutive for her little boy,” Professor replied.

If I'd expected an angry retort, it didn't come, other than a firming of his lips. Instead the new arrival said, “The boy saw me hiding car. I worry he tell his mother. He make good hostage,
ne?
”

“That makes two,” Professor said, pointing to me. “If it comes to that. Any sign of the police?”

I supposed about the only good thing you could say about being a bargaining chip was they would want to keep us alive.

“
Ne.
Nobody on road in this shit. But good for us,
ne?
”

He ran his pale blue eyes over the kitchen, letting them linger on the line of copper pots hanging over the cookstove. They might not be as gleaming as they were in Aunt Aggie's day, but they couldn't hide their value in the soft glow of the oil lamp. “Nice house.”

“Remember what we agreed,” Professor said. “We leave it the way we found it. So don't even think of taking anything.”

Slobodan shrugged by way of an answer, not bothering to hide his smirk. “Where the Injun? He okay?”

“You are being disrespectful. If we are to work together, we need to respect each other. Larry is doing as well as expected.” Professor nodded in my direction. “She fixed him up.”

The Serbian grunted, removed his wet jacket, and tossed it over the back of one of the fuchsia kitchen chairs before dropping down onto it. He pulled out a cellphone and flipped it open. “Fuck, no service.” He shook the phone, as if that would help. “Nothing. You, woman, why not working?”

“We're in a blackout zone. No cell coverage. My landline isn't working either.”

“Fuck. I got to talk to Jo.”

“I thought you set it up for there to be no communication with her in case the cops are monitoring the phones,” Professor said.

“She has burn phone like this. Pigs know nothing about them.”

“I thought everything was all set up with Jo. We do nothing but wait here until she arrives. What did you want to talk to her about?”

“Tell her we are at house.”

“She'll find out when she gets here tomorrow morning.”

Did this mean come morning they would be gone?

“Jo did good job,
ne?
” Slobo grinned. “The crash work perfect.” He breathed in deeply and flung out his arms, narrowly missing a shelf on the wall behind him. “Feel good to be free.”

“I couldn't agree more. And let's keep it this way by not doing anything stupid, okay?”

“
Da
, sure.” Slobo turned his eyes on me.

I found myself staring at a single teardrop tattoo under the corner of his right eye, similar to the one Larry had.

Slobo touched the teardrop. “Prison tat. Mean we kill somebody.”

He'd just confirmed my worst fears.

“But I not like Viper. I have only two tattoos. Jo no like them.”

I noticed that the letters
D.F.F.D.
were tattooed across the knuckles of his left hand, one letter per finger. “What does that mean?”

He held up his hand as if admiring it. “Devil forever. Forever devil.”

I guessed once you were committed to the dark side, there was no point in pretending otherwise.

“Red, it means he's a full patch Black Devil.” A smile stretched Professor's snakes into a coiled mass.

I gulped. “You don't have a teardrop, so what were you in for?”

“Tax evasion.” Another broad grin was accompanied by more raucous laugher from the Serbian. “But enough questions. I'm starving. Start making dinner. You had better have some decent food in this establishment.”

T
he
nightmare had gone from bad to worse. Three escaped convicts, two of them murderers and one a member of the notorious Black Devils, or Les Diables Noirs, as they were known in Quebec. I'd already had one bad run-in with members of this powerful biker gang. I dreaded another. But for the moment I couldn't do anything other than ensure neither Jid nor I did anything to provoke their anger. I would worry about the morning when we got there.

But if these cons were expecting a gourmet dinner, they weren't going to get it. My culinary skills were limited to boiling water and opening cans. I couldn't even make proper coffee. My tea, though, wasn't bad, since it basically involved boiling water.

When Eric moved in, he realized he had to take over the cooking or starve. I agreed to do the wash-up. Since he was an excellent chef, I felt I received the better end of the deal. Often, when he took off on a trip, he would leave me a few tasty dishes that only required microwaving to fill the kitchen with their enticing smells. But this time he had left me nothing, not even a pot of soup.

In an attempt to placate him, I had ironed his shirts, something I hated doing. But he merely grunted as he threw the shirts I'd carefully folded into his bag and zipped it up without so much as a smile, let alone a thank-you.

More signs of the extent of his unhappiness.

Despite changing into a dry pair of jeans, Jid continued to shiver. So I sat him in Aunt Aggie's rocker, next to the hot woodstove, where I could also keep him within sight while I made dinner. The tattooed man glowered at me from his perch at the kitchen table, the sheath of Eric's knife in plain view. After vacuuming up her kibble, the puppy, no worse for her excursion in the storm, pattered between the man and the boy in an attempt to get as many pats as possible. The biker had gone to the den to check on the injured man, and I suspected the rest of the house.

I figured I couldn't do too much damage to Kraft Dinner, since it basically involved boiling up noodles and adding the package of ready-made cheese sauce. Moreover, I hadn't met a person yet who didn't like KD.

But when I pulled a couple of packages out of the cupboard, Professor groaned, “Not that shit. Make something else.”

I showed him a can of beef stew.

“No, I'm a vegetarian.”

That stopped me for a moment. He probably practiced yoga too. “How about baked beans?”

“Does it have pork in it?”

I thought of lying, but wasn't sure what he'd do if he encountered one of the few chunks of pork they put into these cans.

“I've got a jar of tomato basil sauce. What about that with spaghetti?”

“Sounds good. Do you have any vegetables?”

“A couple of cans of peas.”

“We're served that junk all the time. I want some fresh stuff.”

“If you know how to cook it, go right ahead. There's some green beans in the fridge.”

He sat bolt upright with his hand resting on the hilt of Eric's knife. “I told you to make dinner, so do it.”

“She'll burn them,” Jid piped up.

Thanks, Jid.

“Red, if you burn them, I think you know what you can expect from me.”

Maybe he was only joking, but I didn't want to test it. I pulled the remaining beans out of the fridge. Though they dated from my last dinner with Eric, I didn't think they looked too old.

“I know how to cook them,” Jid volunteered, dumping the bag onto a cutting board. “Shome showed me.”

He used the short form for
mishomis
, meaning grandfather. It was an endearment he used for Eric. I'd kidded my husband the first time I heard it. He was hardly the grandfather type. But Eric had replied that he felt very honoured to be given the name.

“Good for you, kid, just don't burn them.”

Other than reaching down to pat Shoni or lifting her onto his lap, the man didn't budge from his station on the chair the entire time we struggled to make dinner. It was a challenge working in the meagre light from the one oil lamp and the narrow beam of our headlamps. Without a working electric stove, we were forced to cook on the six-burner wood cookstove, which dated from the time of Great-Grandpa Joe. According to Aunt Aggie, he'd gone to great lengths to transport the latest in stoves from Detroit via lake transport and canal barge to Ottawa before having it hauled many dusty miles via horse-drawn wagon to his newly built cottage.

I, however, was neither my great-aunt nor my husband. Although Aunt Aggie had eventually installed a rudimentary two-burner electric stove, she continued to cook most of her meals on the cookstove. Eric thought it perfect for simmering stews and soups. I, on the other hand, used it as a source of heat. I also kept a kettle of simmering water on one of the burners to add humidity to the dry winter air. The only time I attempted to cook on it was during power outages like this one.

By the time I finished stoking the firebox with enough wood to provide sufficient heat to boil the pasta water, the three of us were removing our sweaters and jackets. This prompted Professor to push up the sleeves of his sweatshirt, revealing more snakes writhing up his arms.

No doubt psychologists would have countless theories for his snake obsession. I figured with this guy it was a simple matter of wanting people to be afraid of him. Jid, though, seemed more intrigued than put off. After exclaiming “awesome,” his latest favourite word, he asked what kind of snakes they were. And so ensued a conversation about snakes in greater detail than I wanted to hear.

“Jid, watch out, your beans might burn.” The pot's lid was clattering from the force of the rising steam.

Because I'd generated too much heat, I had to wait until the fire cooled enough to put the pot with the tomato sauce onto the burner. Jid had his beans perfectly cooked and ready long before my sauce was hot enough to be poured over the spaghetti, which had cooled too much despite attempts to keep the pot warm with a towel. All of this took time, more time than my unwanted guests were prepared to wait.

“Where the fuck food?” Slobo poked his head through the kitchen door, causing Professor to wake up with a start.

So intent was I on ensuring dinner wasn't burned that I'd failed to notice the man had fallen asleep. Damn. We'd missed a chance to escape. Regardless, it told me that he was very tired, particularly with all that alcohol in his system. After watching the Serbian struggle up my road, I was certain he was close to dropping from exhaustion too. I had no idea how long it had been since their escape, but I doubted they had stopped to rest. Before the night was too far gone, these dangerous men were going to finally fall into a sound sleep, and when they did, Jid, Shoni, and I would be ready to slip out the back door and be gone.

Slobo held up the bottle of rye from the den. It was empty. “Need more.”

I was about to tell him it was the last when I realized more would make them go to sleep sooner. “Yes, I'll get it for you.”

Reluctant to leave the boy alone with these men, I brought him along with me. But if I was looking for some privacy, it was not to be. As Professor had done earlier, the Serbian followed our every step into the dark, frigid dining room.

He whistled when the headlamp lit up the silver tea service.

“Like I've already told you, Slobo, we leave everything as we found it,” Professor said, sauntering into the room.

“Milos give top dollar for stuff like this.”

“Please, don't take the tea service.” Even to me it sounded weak, but it was worth a try. “It belonged to my great-grandmother, a wedding gift from her grandparents. See the crest. It's the Harlech family crest. Family history has it that King George III gave it to an ancestor for his loyalty during a difficult time for the king.”

This tea service had been a source of contention with my mother. She'd wanted it. She thought it was the kind of family heirloom that should be passed down through the male line, namely to my father. Instead, Great-Grandpa Joe had given it to his daughter, Agatha, instead of his son John, my grandfather. And in turn, Agatha, with no children of her own, had bequeathed it to me along with the rest of her estate, including the 1,500 acres of Three Deer Point.

“It's not something that could be easily sold without proper provenance,“ I continued.

“It is a worthy treasure to have in one's possession,” the tattooed man replied. “Don't worry, Red, I'll make certain Slobo doesn't take it, or anything else in your house. It's not the reason for our visit.”

“So why you are here?” I asked.

Ignoring me, he said, “I envy you your rich heritage. I once had a friend with a similar family background. But we are off topic. I believe you came here for more liquor. Get it for us.”

I reached into the cabinet and pulled out the only remaining liquor in the house, a bottle of Eric's precious Lagavulin.

Professor's amber eyes lit up. “Finally something worthy of my palate.”