And We Shall Have Snow Read online

  Mo elbowed him. Too late.

  “Leo Isbister?” The guy in the picture had long hair and was a lot leaner, but the smile was unmistakably Leo’s. “You know him?”

  Mo stared back at Roxanne. The blue eyes had gone a shade darker.

  “I’m taking you back to the office, Maureen. We need to talk some more.”

  Margo opened her door. Sasha stood on the doorstep, a flat plastic container held in both hands. She was wearing a long raccoon coat that she’d picked up at a thrift store and a brown, fur-lined hat with ear flaps that made her look remarkably like her hound, Lenny. Large round sunglasses covered her eyes.

  “Oatmeal cookies. Peace offering.”

  Margo regarded her from the doorway, then opened the door wider. “Oh, come on in. I’ll make a pot of tea.”

  “Coffee would be better.”

  “Hung-over? Serves you right.”

  Sasha stepped out of her boots, reached into her pocket, pulled out well-worn sheepskin slippers and hung her coat up in a closet. She patted Bob the dog. “At least Bob’s glad to see me.”

  “He knows you’ve brought cookies. Are you keeping those sunglasses on?” Margo poured coffee beans into a grinder.

  “If we’re sitting at the window, like usual, yes.”

  “You don’t sound very apologetic.”

  “And listen to you, all judgmental, as usual.” Margo had been raised Presbyterian, Sasha had gone to synagogue. Neither now attended, but it was something they enjoyed sparring about. “Wasn’t so hung-over I couldn’t bake. I took a batch of these over to Phyllis.”

  “And how’s she doing?” Margo brewed the coffee.

  “She’s worse than me. Didn’t drink much when she was married to the health nut so she’s out of practice.” Margo smiled in spite of herself. She put mugs on the table.

  “The coffee’s going to be strong.”

  “Oh, good.” Sasha seated herself at the table, her back to the window and the light. She opened the cookie container, took out a cookie and gave the dog a piece. “I talked to Roberta as well, on the phone, for ages. She’s put Erik in the spare room for now. He won’t be there for long. She’s figuring out how to forgive him, I can hear it, the way she’s talking. But for now she says he’s home because she wants to stay on the farm.”

  “Well, that’s true, isn’t it?” Margo brought over mugs and a jug of milk.

  “Yeah, but it’s only half of it. She’s nuts about him, I tell you. He’ll be back in her bed in no time.”

  Sasha affected to be finished with men. She had been married twice and had had several other relationships. Now she proclaimed that she was an independent woman and being single suited her just fine. Margo didn’t believe a word of it. She brought the coffee to the table and helped herself to a cookie.

  “These are okay.”

  “Okay? They’re fantastic, aren’t they, Bob? You haven’t asked me if Phyllis is still mad at you.”

  “Is she?”

  “Yep. All of us, not just you. Says we’re always sticking our noses into everyone else’s business, that’s what she hates about small towns. No privacy. Well, I said, that’s the price you pay for us taking an interest, Phyllis. We look out for each other. We’ve got each other’s backs. That shut her up.”

  “No word about George yet?”

  “Nothing. She’s not getting to go to Boston. The RCMP called her and told her she can’t leave the country, needs to let them know if she’s going anywhere. Wonder who told them that she was thinking about going? Bet it was Panda.”

  “Has Phyllis figured that out for herself yet?”

  “Probably. She’s talking about selling the house and getting a condo in the city but she’s not allowed to do that either. Or get rid of George’s clothes. She’s got them all boxed up ready to go to the Goodwill.”

  “So she’s going to have to stay out here for now?”

  “Sounds like it. She’s got plans for George’s home drug lab. ‘One good thing, the RCMP cleared that all out for me,’ she said. ‘I might make it into a photography studio for myself.’ We talked colours. She’s going to pick up some paint chips tomorrow and I’m going to help her decide.” Margo looked out the window, over the white expanse of the lake, streaked with blue shadows.

  “It cracked last night,” she said. “Sounded like a pistol shot.”

  “The lake?”

  “Way out there.” The lake water shifted and moved under the surface of the ice. Sometimes it caused a crack, a fissure that formed a ledge when it refroze. “It was a really loud bang. Look at it, all white and blue and perfect, but it’s not, is it? It’s full of cracks, where the ice has split and it’s frozen together again. It’s not perfect at all.”

  “Hey, it’s February. Another month and it’ll start to melt. Don’t you like when it breaks up and you can hear all the little bits of ice banging up against each other around the edges? When it makes that tinkly sound, like little bells? I love that. And then it’ll be summer and we can swim and eat ice cream.”

  Margo wasn’t convinced. “I have a feeling this is all going to get worse before it gets better.” Sasha passed her the cookies again.

  “But it will. Right? It has to get better.”

  Mo Penner leaned back in her chair in the interview room looking bored. She seemed quite familiar with police protocol. Her sparky chat was gone. Now she was sullen.

  “You don’t need to keep Keenan.”

  “We’ll talk to him after we talk to you, if we have to. How long have you known Leo Isbister?”

  “Dunno.”

  “Yes, you do. Where did you meet him?”

  Silence.

  “Did you get in touch with him or was it the other way round?”

  Mo slammed her booted feet onto the ground and glared at Roxanne. “None of your fuckin’ business.”

  “Oh, yes it is. Think about it, Mo. You’re probably Stella Magnusson’s heir. No one stands to benefit from her death more than you. So did you and your boyfriend come out here and kill her so you would get her house and her money?”

  “There’s money?” Her look challenged Roxanne across the table.

  “Might be. Do we need to go and ask Leo Isbister what he was talking to you about?”

  “I didn’t have anything to do with her murder. Didn’t even know she was dead until yesterday.”

  “How come? It’s been all over the news, TV.”

  “Don’t pay much attention to that stuff.”

  “So Leo told you?”

  Mo’s eyelids flickered. She sat up and hauled a booted foot up onto her chair. She was wearing a sleeveless tunic over a long-sleeved sweater and leggings under her coat.

  “Can I take off my boots?”

  “Not here.” Roxanne tried to ignore the distraction. Mo was acting more like a teenager than a woman of twenty-nine. Was this arrested development? A reaction to stress? “Tell me about Leo. Sooner we’re done, sooner you can go.”

  Mo put the foot down and stretched both legs out in front of her.

  “I thought he might be my dad,” she said.

  “Leo?”

  “Yeah, sure. Why not? Once I knew that Stella was my mom I tried to find out everything about her. Do you know she was once married to Freddie Santana? The filmmaker? Long time after she had me. He’s not my dad. Anyway, I found out she was in this band, there’s some old tapes of them on YouTube, and I figured out she must have known them round about the time she had me, and her and Leo, they looked like they had something going on, so I found out who he was and I showed up on his doorstep one night. Have you seen where he lives? On the riverbank? In Winnipeg? It’s huge!”

  “You went to his house?”

  “Sure. Keenan drove me there and waited in the car. His wife didn’t look very pleased to see me, but Leo was cool about
it. Told me to come to his office the next morning. I really hoped he would be my dad but he isn’t. How come you know he told me that she was dead?”

  “Because he didn’t know about it either until a couple of days ago. He was away in Costa Rica.”

  “He’s got another house there. I’ve seen photos. I’d like to go there someday. And a cottage out here. Anyway, he phoned me yesterday, to tell me he was sorry about my mom. And Keenan and me, we talked about it and we figured we should come out here and tell you who I am, because you should know. So see, we did the right thing and what do we get for it? Shut up here in jail, being grilled by you, accused of murder.”

  Roxanne sat back. She might as well let Mo go for now. She had no grounds to hold her.

  “Where are you going to be staying tonight, Mo? Do you have an address?”

  “No. Ask Keenan. He’s got friends out here. Want my phone number?”

  “And your email. And your address in the city. Do you have a job?”

  “I work in a pet store. I’ll give you that address too. I’ve got a shift tomorrow night, it’s late closing. Can I go now?”

  “If we need to know more I’ll be in touch.” Roxanne stood up. Mo was already halfway to the door. She stopped and turned.

  “Hey, you don’t know a guy called Erik Axelsson, do you?”

  “Yes,” said Roxanne. “I do. He lives near here. Why do you ask?”

  “Well,” said Mo, “Leo told me yesterday that that’s my dad’s name. Erik Axelsson.”

  It didn’t take long for Mo and Keenan to escape the office. They sauntered out to their old, once-red car, hand in hand.

  “You gave her directions to Axelsson’s farm?” Roxanne said to Sergeant Gilchrist as they watched them go.

  “Sure, I did. Everybody around here knows where Erik lives. Someone else would have told them.”

  There was a burst of music, loud and metal, from upstairs. Izzy had found Stella and Leo’s band on YouTube. Roxanne turned back from the window.

  “So,” said Gilchrist, “Erik was messing about with Stella Magnusson back when she was still in high school and Leo Isbister knew all about it?”

  “That’s the story. We’d better let Brian know. He’s in the city. He can go talk to Isbister.”

  Kathy Isfeld glanced up from tabulating figures on a calculator. “Don’t need to,” she said, in her quiet, whispery voice. “You can catch him here tomorrow. He’s got a meeting with the town planning committee tomorrow afternoon. Want me to get you an agenda? You could pick him up right after.”

  21

  Roberta Axelsson was furious. “Can you believe it? He and Stella had a baby? When she was still a kid? He must have been ten years older and he just walked away and left her to get on with it? That makes me sick.”

  They were in Roberta’s kitchen. Margo went to fill the kettle. Sasha had called her as soon as she heard from Roberta. They had driven to the farm right away. An eviscerated chicken lay on the counter. Beside it was a bowl of chicken guts.

  “How about I put this in the fridge?”

  “I was going to stuff it and roast it. Sage and onion. His favourite. Can you believe it?” Roberta pulled a big pot out of a cupboard and filled it with water. “There was me thinking we might still get back together. He was getting well again, so quickly. He’d gone out to the barn, to clean it out.” Manitoba sheep had to be wintered inside. “I thought I’d have him back to his old self in no time. That bringing him home had been the right thing to do. Fresh air, good homegrown food, you know? I killed that chicken myself.” She dumped the carcass into the pot and lit the stove. “Now it’s going to be soup.”

  “You’d forgiven him? For the affair with Stella?” Margo made herself busy looking for mugs and milk. Roberta was storming around her kitchen fetching onions, carrots, a knife in her hand. Sasha had parked herself safely behind the table.

  “No,” Roberta barked. She put down the knife, pulled a bandana off her head and rubbed it, blonde curls falling over her forehead. She had thought they might be able to get together again. Erik had paid dearly for his mistake, she said. He could have died. Maybe he’d learned his lesson. He’d never wandered before. Maybe they could work it out. Not now.

  It was only an hour since everything had fallen apart. A small reddish car had chugged up the driveway. Roberta had had no idea who might be coming to call. Probably someone lost, she thought. Looking for directions. She’d been working on the chicken, had blood and grease all over her fingers. They needed scrubbing. The car had stopped by the time she had dried them. The couple that stepped out wore dark clothes, with big boots. They’d walked up the driveway, holding hands. The girl’s hair was all spiky, white, purple and green. He had a scruffy beard and a black cap pulled down over his skull. They didn’t look threatening but they did look strange. Goths, you know the type. Roberta had opened the inside door but kept the outside storm door locked to be on the safe side. Margo was relieved to see Roberta stop pacing. Now, she stood by the stove, the water in the pot gurgling behind her.

  “She reminded me of someone right away but I couldn’t figure out who. I asked if they were looking for someone. And she said, yeah, did someone called Erik Axelsson live here. She has these eyes, you know, just like Stella’s, but there was all this black liner. And studs, along her eyebrows. I didn’t get it right away. ‘Oh yes,’ I said. ‘He’s in the barn. How come you know Erik?’ all innocent like.”

  The pot came to a boil. The lid rattled and steam spurted out of it.

  “‘You know Stella Magnusson?’ she said to me. ‘That woman that got killed? I’m her daughter. My name’s Mo Penner but I think I’m gonna start calling myself Mo Magnusson.’

  “And I knew. Instantly. That explained the likeness. Her hair’s blonde at the roots, she’s got the cheekbones and of course the eyes.”

  The pot boiled over. Water sizzled and spat on the hot plate. Margo gently moved Roberta aside. “Go sit down,” she said, reaching for a cloth. “I’ll deal with this.”

  “I just felt cold,” Roberta said. She sank into a chair. “I told them to come into the house. I couldn’t leave the two of them out there on the doorstep to freeze. I left them here and I went to the barn to find Erik. But first I asked her, this Mo woman, how old she was. She said she was twenty-nine. Doesn’t look like it. She looks way younger. But Erik was living in Fiskar Bay thirty years ago. So was Stella. I knew exactly why she was here.”

  Margo put a mug of tea in front of her. She put a spoonful of honey in it and stirred. “Drink it,” she said.

  When she opened the barn door, Roberta continued, Erik had been pushing a wheelbarrow full of manure towards her. He’d smiled when he saw her, put down the barrow and stood tall to stretch his back, but his expression changed as he noticed that she was not smiling back. He was wearing a soft cap. The side of his head where they had operated was still covered with a bandage and the rest of his hair was cropped short. She’d trimmed it for him herself, the previous night.

  “You have visitors,” she had said, watching his face.

  “I have?”

  “A young woman called Mo and her boyfriend Keenan.” He hadn’t reacted to Mo’s name.

  “What do they want?” He’d pulled a rag from his pocket and was wiping his hands clean.

  “I didn’t ask. Didn’t have to. She’s twenty-nine years old and she looks like Stella Magnusson.” His eyes had widened. There was a slackening of the jaw. “She says that Stella was her mother. Guess we both know why she wants to see you, Erik.”

  He had stepped towards her. She had stepped backwards.

  “Don’t come near me, Erik.” Her teeth had clenched. The words came out like a hiss. She’d taken a breath before she spoke again. “They’re waiting at the house. I’m going to go back there. I’ll give her your truck keys. And you can go somewhere else to talk.”

 
“But Roberta—”

  “Don’t ‘but’ me, Erik. You know what this is all about. You and Stella Magnusson, you go way back. Way, way back. You had a daughter with her? And you told me that you and Stella were just ‘having a bit of a fling’ like it was nothing serious? What kind of a fool do you take me for? For God’s sake, Erik, I need you to get out of my life and never come back. We are over.”

  Then she had turned and walked out of the barn. She hadn’t looked back. When she got inside, she’d reached into a bowl near the door and lifted out his keys. She’d pulled the house key off the ring.

  “I was so calm,” she told Margo and Sasha. “I knew exactly what to do.”

  She had found Mo and Keenan in the kitchen looking suspiciously at the chicken carcass and the bowl of bloody guts that lay beside it. She’d held out the truck keys.

  “Here,” she’d said. “Your dad’s coming to meet you. Give him his keys, would you?” Mo didn’t argue. She’d taken the keys and gone to the door.

  “She said ‘Sorry,’ as she opened it. I told her it wasn’t her fault.”

  Erik had already reached the path to the house. Roberta had watched from the kitchen window. He’d stopped in his tracks when he saw Mo. They stood looking at each other.

  “He smiled all over his face when he saw her,” said Roberta, sipping her tea, quiet now. “Like he recognized her. He could see Stella in her, probably. Mo handed Erik his keys and she and her boyfriend went to their car. Erik came back towards the house, but I beat him to the door. I told him he wasn’t welcome. To go away and not come back. And I closed the outside door. Locked it.”

  He’d stared at her through a glass window frosted with ice, then turned and walked away. She’d watched until he got into his truck, backed it up and drove off after the little red car.

  “I talked to Lizzie, my daughter,” Roberta said. “She’s taking the day off tomorrow.” Today was Thursday. “She can stay all weekend and bring the kids. I’m going to be fine.”