And We Shall Have Snow Page 14

  They pulled into the hotel parking lot. Brian found a spot close to the door. Wind gusts blew the snow across the beam from his headlights. A deep drift lay along the side of the building. He stopped the car but kept it running. The inside of the car was warm.

  “You’re Jake Calloway’s widow,” he said. The question caught her off guard.

  “How did you know about Jake?” Her voice came out flat and unemotional.

  “I was there, at the funeral,” he said. “I walked behind his coffin.”

  The RCMP had arrived from all over Canada that day. They always did when one of their own died on the job. Jake had stopped a speeding truck on the Trans-Canada Highway, a routine call. But the driver had had drugs, and a gun. Jake had been shot point-blank. Died instantly, they said. It could happen to any one of them, just as it had happened to Jake. So the Force had marched, rank on rank of red serge, their polished boots drumming out a requiem on the tarmac. It had been more than two years ago.

  “I remember seeing you,” he said. “You held up well that day.”

  “Thanks.” Her mouth was dry.

  “Look,” he turned off the engine. “We’re stuck here for the night. We might as well keep each other company over dinner, right?”

  “Sure,” she said. Of course they could. They stumbled through the snow into the bright warm lights of the hotel.

  15

  The snow stopped overnight. In the morning the sun shone. Roxanne walked between piles of snow two feet high to the RCMP building. Work crews were out clearing roads and parking lots. Blowers spouted snow off driveways. She spotted Brian Donohue’s SUV outside the doughnut shop. He had offered to drive her to work in the morning but she had said she’d get there herself. She couldn’t run in this snowy mess but she could walk. And it gave her some time to think about the night before. Brian had turned out to be good company. Over dinner, she’d told him about Finn, about how having her sister to care for him had brought her to Manitoba. He had two kids of his own. He shared custody with his ex. He was hoping to get promoted to inspector. In the RCMP that meant an administrative job. If he stayed with the Major Crimes Unit, it would keep him closer to home. He had a live-in girlfriend. Her name was Sally. Of course he had. That caused her a rueful smile. So when she finally admitted to herself that she really liked a guy it turned out he was taken? She saw Matt and a couple of other constables in the RCMP parking lot, shovelling. Her own car was sheathed in snow, looking like an igloo. When she went upstairs she found Izzy McBain already at her laptop, StarFest brochures scattered around her, making lists.

  “Sponsors. Just wondered what they’d say if we asked them how much money they gave Stella for StarFest.”

  “Leo Isbister said he donated $3,000 a year.” Roxanne hung up her parka. “Why don’t you make a list of the artists who played there, too? And phone some of them. Find out what she was really paying them.”

  “They live all over the place,” said Izzy. “B.C. The Maritimes. The States.”

  “That’s okay. Do what you have to do. Within reason.”

  The door opened. Brian arrived, a tray of coffees in his hand. His smile was friendly as he handed one to her.

  “Black for you, Roxanne. Cream and sugar for Izzy.”

  Matt came in, rubbing his hands from the cold. He wrapped them around a warm cup and took a seat.

  Izzy glanced up from her screen. “StarFest didn’t have a board for the first couple of years. Sasha Rosenberg’s been a member from back then. And Roberta Axelsson, Erik’s wife, was on it for a while.”

  “We should talk to her.” Roxanne was glad of the coffee. It was strong and hot. She and Brian had finished a bottle of wine last night. She had drunk most of it.

  “I met her in Winnipeg, at the hospital,” said Brian. “Isn’t she staying there with family?”

  “Do you think she could have done it? Killed off Stella because she found out about her and Erik?” Matt said. Roxanne found the idea surprising. She hadn’t considered that. Yet.

  “No!” For Izzy it was unthinkable. “She didn’t know about him and Stella. That’s why she left him.” She frowned at Matt and went back to studying her laptop.

  “Still.” Brian hadn’t taken off his jacket. He was heading back to the city. “Matt has a point. If she’s still in Winnipeg, I can talk to her.”

  Roxanne needed to get going too. “Matt,” she said. “Why don’t you come along with me to Cullen Village. See if we can catch those StarFest board members. We can take my car. I’ll meet you outside.”

  She went to the window and clicked the remote starter. The car lights flickered, barely visible under the snow. She went downstairs and stopped in at the women’s washroom. Kathy Isfeld was rinsing her hands at the sink. Her pale image looked at Roxanne from the mirror.

  “Kathy,” said Roxanne. “Do you know anything about why Stella Magnusson quarrelled with her family? Way back, when she first lived here?’

  Kathy turned to the paper towel dispenser and pulled out a couple of sheets. She wiped her hands dry. “Don’t really know,” the reflection in the mirror said. “Stella was a few years behind me. But everyone knew she was a wild one. Story was she got herself into trouble. They sent her away and she never came back.” She dropped the towels into the wastebasket.

  “Stella got pregnant?”

  “That’s what people said.” Kathy shrugged and walked towards the door.

  “So she had a baby?”

  Kathy turned and looked directly at Roxanne. “Or she got rid of it. Who knows?” And she disappeared out the door.

  When Roxanne got to her car, it had been swept clean of snow. “Thanks, Matt.” They drove through high snowbanks that narrowed streets and blocked sightlines at intersections. She told Matt what Kathy had said. Maybe the family had felt disgraced by Stella’s behaviour. It happened in small towns back then. If Stella had been sent off to have a baby, by herself, still in her teens, it could explain the rift in the family. Had she aborted the baby? Or did she have the child and put it up for adoption? Matt got on his phone to Izzy. Maybe she’d have time to check that out.

  “Izzy says Roberta Axelsson’s back home at her farm,” he said.

  “Right,” said Roxanne. “We’ll go there after.” She pulled into the Smedleys’ driveway.

  The phones were buzzing in the village. Sasha called Margo.

  “Roberta’s home! She made it through all that snow yesterday. Panda phoned me. She called her and offered to go help her dig out but Roberta says she’s okay. She got the snowblower going and blew a path to the barn, then she called a guy that lives past her place and he’s going over with a tractor to clear her driveway.”

  “She’s okay out there by herself?”

  “Panda says she sounds fine. Alice has left lots of goat milk in the fridge so she’s going to make soap. I’m going to call her after this.”

  “You do that. Maybe we should go by and visit? Just to make sure she’s okay?”

  “I’ll ask.” Margo had barely hung up when the phone rang again. Panda.

  “Oh good,” Panda said. “You’re home. Sasha’s phone is busy. I just drove past George and Phyllis’s. My nephew Matt and that woman RCMP officer were ringing their doorbell.”

  “Really? I wonder if the police are getting suspicious about George?”

  “We could call Phyllis in a while and find out.”

  “You do that.” Margo didn’t want to appear too snoopy after their visit to Smedleys. She’d leave that call to Panda. “I think we should go and check up on Roberta.”

  “Good idea. We could take lunch. I’ve got a chunk of pork in the slow cooker at home.”

  Shortly after, Sasha called back. “The police are at the Smedleys!”

  “I heard. Wonder what that’s about?”

  “I’ll see if Phyllis wants to come with us to Roberta’s
for lunch, then we’ll find out.”

  “That’s happening? You talked to her?”

  “Well, yeah. She wasn’t keen at first. Did the whole ‘I want to be by myself’ thing. She’s trying to figure out what she’s going to do. Says she likes being out there on her own. Likes having the place to herself.”

  “So she’s not scared?” Margo knew that you could enjoy being alone, up to a point. Her children worried about her being lonely, but she liked being able to do what she wanted when she chose. After years of taking care of a family, it was a luxury. Sometimes she would get up on a sleepless night, make a cup of tea and go back to bed and read until she was tired again, Bob sprawled at her side. A single life had its advantages. “Too bad she doesn’t have a dog for company. Or a cat.”

  “Erik doesn’t like them. Won’t have animals in the house. She’s not going to be able to live there by herself, you know. She’ll never be able to cope with all that work on her own. And the farm’s probably not hers to have.”

  “Isn’t she entitled to half of it?”

  “What use is half a farm? That place is all or nothing. Anyway, I told her that the police had been banging on the Smedleys’ door and that got her interested. She wants some time to finish making soap so I said we’d be there by one. Can you bring something?” The conversation was interrupted by the sound of Lenny baying loudly. “Hang on. Someone’s at the door. Probably just the Jehovahs.”

  Margo waited and listened. Sasha’s doorbell was ringing.

  “It’s the RCMP!” Sasha came back on the line. “What do they want with me? I’ll call you back.” She hung up. Margo thought for a moment, then opened her laptop and found a photo of aconite. She was sure she’d seen something like it in the Smedleys’ garden. She’d print it and take it along. Show it to Panda and Annie if she had a chance and see what they thought.

  It was almost noon when Roxanne and Matt reached the Axelsson farm. Roberta did not appear pleased to see them. She wore old, shabby, comfortable clothes. Her hair was tied back in a bandana but some stray yellow ringlets had escaped.

  “It’s really not convenient. I’m making soap. You’d better come through while I finish this batch,” she said. “Keep your boots on.” She turned on her heel and led them through the house to a warm, sweet-smelling room. A hot plate, strainers, moulds, various jars and bottles lay on shelves. There was a makeshift countertop. Some shelves held empty, clean containers and others were filled with white and pink lotions, neatly labelled. One was devoted to rows of soap squares, in different pale hues flecked with herbs, tied with straw ribbon or coloured strands of wool.

  Roberta stirred a pot on a hot plate. She added some aromatic oil to it and mixed in a handful of dried herbs, like an ancient alchemist. Or a witch. A Leonard Cohen song was playing in the background. She turned it off. She pulled a flat metal tray onto the counter beside the hot plate, then went back to stirring.

  “Is there any more word on how Mr. Axelsson’s doing?” Roxanne asked.

  “No. We’re just going to have to wait and see about that. You’ll probably know before me.”

  “We need to ask you some questions about Stella Magnusson’s music festival.”

  “Me? What on earth for?” She stopped stirring and regarded them with surprise. “I haven’t been a part of that for years.”

  “But you used to be. You were on the board of directors, weren’t you?”

  “Sure. Back in the beginning. But I gave it up. I left StarFest ages ago. I don’t know what goes on with it now.” She turned her attention back to her soap making.

  “What made you leave?” Matt Stavros asked. “Wasn’t it a good place to sell stuff like this?”

  “The Constellation Crafts Corner?” Her voice had a bitter edge. “Sure, it was okay. But it only happened for one weekend in the year. I do the farmers market in Fiskar Bay now, every Saturday, all summer long. That works better for me.”

  “So that was why you left StarFest?”

  She lifted the pan off the hot plate, was about to pour the contents onto the metal tray, then stopped. She sighed and pushed back a stray strand of hair. Her face was pink from the heat.

  “Hey, why don’t you go through to the kitchen and take your jackets off? The kettle’s on the stove. Get it going and we’ll have some tea. I’ll finish this off and be right with you. You can hang your jackets behind the door.”

  Before long she had joined them, made peppermint tea for herself and coffee for them, put a plate of sliced ginger cake on the table and sat down.

  “This is great coffee,” Roxanne said. That got a grudging smile.

  “Glad you like it. Have some cake.”

  Roxanne took a slice to humour her. “You were around when StarFest started?”

  “Sure I was,” Roberta said. “We’d been living here about three years when Stella showed up.” She took a breath, remembering. “We were all happy to see her. Well, Erik and Mike Little were. They both knew her from before, right? And Stella was something new. She was full of ideas. She had the money to make it happen, too. She fixed up that old house. Hired carpenters. Got it done right.”

  “You saw her often?” Matt asked.

  “Once a week at least. We’d eat dinner. Talk. Play some music—well, the guys did. Sometimes we all sang. She had great stories to tell about people she’d met. She’d lived in L.A., you know. And she’d been to Nashville. That impressed the guys no end. I hadn’t a clue Erik was still carrying a torch for her.” She gazed out the window, blinking, as if she were going to tear up.

  “Anyway, Stella started talking about StarFest quite early on. And it did sound like a great idea. Showcase some of our own guys, like Erik and Mike. Get them an audience. She’d managed to find some gigs for them already. That’s why they’re still out there, working most weekends. They’re working her old contacts. They’d never have done it without Stella.” She went quiet again and sipped her tea.

  “So you helped get StarFest going?” Roxanne prompted again. The cake was really good. She resisted taking another slice.

  “Yup. It was fun. It really was, for a couple of years. Hard work, though. The land had to be got into shape. The guys worked their butts off. For free. For Stella, I suppose, but I didn’t know that then. She sold us on the idea that it was for us, for local artists, that it would be a cultural hub, that’s what she called it. And we all bought it. Should have known when she named it. We all thought it would be the Cullen Village Music Festival. Or Interlake, maybe. But no. Stargazer. ‘People can camp out under the stars and listen to the music,’ she said. ‘It’s romantic.’ It was that, all right.” Roberta looked weepy again.

  “But it was Stella’s own business?” Roxanne brought the conversation back to practicalities. Roberta fished a tissue out from a pocket and blew her nose.

  “Sure. Stella was always in charge. We were her unpaid labour. But we didn’t think of it like that, because the guys got to do their thing. They were writing their own songs. And the craft corner was like a little village of its own, we all hung out together, all weekend. We’d put up display tents. Musicians who weren’t onstage would come by and busk. And Stella got the word out. She was good at that. People came. It didn’t take long for the concerts to sell out.”

  “So why did she create a board of directors??”

  “She wanted to go after government grants. So she had to have a board. It didn’t change anything. It was just the same old gang, really. We got together three or four times a year. Stella told us what she had planned, we said, ‘Fine, let’s party,’ and we did.”

  “But you got a look at how the money was managed?” Roberta had become quite animated. She appeared to be enjoying telling them all about it. She spoke freely, without any guile. Roxanne couldn’t imagine that she was masking a murder. That she’d carried out the deed herself.

  “I never paid much attention
to that. Didn’t care as long as it all happened. I was selling enough stuff to make it worth my while. Stella had started paying the guys for performing. It was all great.”

  “So why did you quit?” Roxanne probed further. Roberta’s brows knitted. She gulped down some tea.

  “It was a couple of years later. StarFest was beginning to get a name for itself. Then one night there was a meeting at Stella’s. She told us what she wanted to do for the next year and it had all changed. Our guys were gone. All the locals were, except the crafters. She was bringing in people from Toronto, Newfoundland. A lot of Winnipeggers. She said it was time for StarFest to move on, to grow up. Grow up? Like we were all children? I got so mad at her. ‘No,’ I said. ‘It’s all about you, Stella. That’s what this is all about. You don’t give a damn about us. You only care about yourself. You’ve used us,’ I said, ‘and I’m out of here.’ And I left. Never went back.

  “She did use us. The guys just sucked it up. I thought Mike was going to cry when he heard. But Erik, he just shrugged. ‘Guess that’s it,’ he said. What a joke.

  “So there. We got suckered by Stella Magnusson. I sure did. I didn’t kill her, though. I just wish she’d been exposed for what she really was. People thought that she was so great. Still do. But she was bad, through and through, out for herself and no one else. And I thought that long before I found out she was fucking my husband. Do you want any more coffee?”

  Matt flicked a glance at Roxanne. Had they heard enough?

  She had one more question. “Sasha Rosenberg stayed on with StarFest?”

  “Sasha likes the craft corner. She’s taken care of it since I left. It works for her. Sasha makes some big ceramics. And sculptures. It’s a lot of work to cart all that heavy stuff to a site and set it up for a sale. She only has to do it once a year. And StarFest is big now. She does well off of it, all in one go. But it sounds like that was going to stop too.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “No one’s told you Stella was going to close that down too next year? She wanted the craft space for a second stage. Someone told me at the farmers market. I’ll bet Sasha knows.”