Ice Run

Chapter Seventeen

Mackinac Island. That’s where we were headed. If it wasn’t February, we’d be taking one of the ferries leaving from St. Ignace, and we’d be two people out of the thousands that make the crossing every day. We’d be going there because it’s a great place to be on a warm summer day, this island with no cars whatsoever, just bicycles and horse-drawn carriages, with the Victorian houses and Grand Hotel, with the main section of Huron Street where you can buy the world famous fudge in every other store. This was the place my father took me to when I was eight years old, the place I could have dreamed of taking Natalie to for a long weekend, back when I thought we’d still be together past Memorial Day. But in February, Mackinac Island was the last place I’d think of, for the simple reason that the place doesn’t really exist at that time of year at all.

“Is anybody gonna be there?” I asked him. “Isn’t it deserted now?”

“I think there’s a couple hundred people who live there year-round,” he said. “They keep a few of the horses around, just watch over things until the season starts again.”

“I know they’ve got some sort of Christmas festival over there, but after that…”

“It’s pretty dead, yeah. By now, the ferries can’t even run anymore.”

It was fifty miles to St. Ignace, straight down I-75, an easy trip for a change, with no snow falling. The sun was even trying to come out. When we got down there, we drove over to the little airport and saw a plane leaving just as we pulled in.

“Son of a bitch,” I said. “Was that our plane?”

“Might have been. We’ll have to ask.”

There was only one small building, so it wasn’t hard to find the ticket counter. The woman told us they were sending out two more planes today, the first in about an hour.

“With all the snow we’ve been having,” she said, “we’ve had to cancel a lot of flights this week. We only had one flight yesterday. And there’s more snow coming tonight. So we thought we’d better move some people while we can.”

We bought our tickets for twenty-five bucks apiece and sat down in the little waiting area. There was a big window where we could watch the runway, and a kiosk full of pamphlets for all the local attractions. I picked up one and looked at it. Something about the Antique Wooden Boat Show. I put it back. Just for the hell of it, I went over to the pay phone and tried Natalie’s number again. The phone rang and rang until I hung up.

“I wish I knew where she was,” I said to Leon. “She’s a cop, for God’s sake. It’s not like she doesn’t know how to get help if she needs it.”

“We’re doing what we can,” he said. “If we find either of the Grants out there, maybe he’ll have some answers.”

“God, I hope so. I swear, Leon, I can’t help imagining the worst.”

“Don’t think that way,” he said. “You’ll use up your energy. Just stay in the moment.”

Stay in the moment, another Leon-ism. But as usual he was right. The hour passed like slow death, but finally the other plane was ready to leave. A few other people had arrived by then, and we all piled into the little twelve-seater Cessna. The last time I had been in a small plane like that, it had been up in Canada when everything was getting turned inside out. I tried not to think about it. Meeting Natalie had been the only good thing that had come of that whole nightmare.

The little plane took off and banked hard into a stiff wind off the lake. “Another storm coming!” the pilot yelled to us. “Just what we need, right?”

The other passengers looked at each other with good-natured Michigan smiles. I stared out the window and saw a line of trees leading right out onto the lake. I nudged Leon and asked him what they were.

“Those are old Christmas trees,” he said. “They use them for trail markers.”

“What trail?”

“It’s a trail for snowmobiles to get out to the island. I hear guys at the shop talking about it. It’s about a five-mile run. Some riders get really nervous being out on the ice that long.”

Everyone else in the plane was looking out the windows on the other side now, as a ray of sunlight had broken through the clouds. Below us, the great Mackinac Bridge was glowing in shades of green and gold. On another day, it would have been a breathtaking sight and I actually would have enjoyed it.

Within a matter of minutes, we were descending. The pilot put the plane down on a runway that looked no longer than a quarter mile, pulling up next to a building even smaller than the one at St. Ignace. A sign read welcome to mackinac island international airport.

I took a peek inside the building. There were more people trying to get off the island today than trying to get on. It looked like some of them would have to wait until the next plane. I scanned every face in the room. With my luck, Marty would be flying off the island on the same damned plane.

“It’s been a long time since I’ve been here,” I said to Leon. “And I don’t think I’ve ever been up here on the airstrip. How far away are we from Huron Street?”

“We’ll take a taxi,” he said. In this case, a taxi was one of the handful of horse-drawn carriages that kept working through the winter. There were two of them waiting by the airport building, and they were both going down to Huron Street. So we hopped aboard one of them with some other passengers and rode into town.

“Where are you gentlemen staying?” the driver asked us. He didn’t have to do much. The horses seemed to know exactly where they were going.

“We’re just poking around, sir,” Leon said.

He looked at us like we weren’t quite sane. “The last flight’s going back in a couple of hours,” he said. “You flew all the way out here, but you’re not spending the night?”

“If we end up staying, are there some rooms available anywhere?”

He looked back and forth between us again. “Yeah, I’m sure there are. A few places stay open during the winter. None of them are very big, but things are pretty quiet right now. Just a few snowmobilers around.”

“Oh good,” I said. “I love snowmobiles.”

“But you don’t have sleds on the island, do you?”

“Never mind. Just drop us off by the Grand Hotel.”

“It’s closed, sir.”

“I know that. We’re just looking for a house up that way.”

“Those houses are all closed, too.”

“I know,” I said. I wanted to take the crop out of his hand and hit him in the head with it. “Just drop us off by the Grand. We’ll be fine.”

He shook his head and turned around. The two horses kept going, moving slowly down the long hill. The trees on either side of the road were thick with snow, like we were riding down through a long white tunnel. The air was cold and wet, with a fine mist of snow sifting down from the branches. The trip ended up taking longer than the plane ride. When we were finally down on Huron Street, the carriage stopped to let out the other passengers at one of the hotels that stayed open in the winter.

“We’ll get off here, too,” I said.

“I thought you wanted the Grand Hotel,” the driver said.

“We want to look around a little bit first,” I said. “Here is fine.”

I paid the man. He drove off, still shaking his head.

The street was quiet. It was like some kind of polar ghost town, with virtually every storefront closed up and sealed over with plastic. Some of them still had Christmas decorations out. It looked like the entire town had been abandoned on December 26. We saw another horse-drawn carriage down the street, this one with a single horse and one rider. Then the whole quiet scene was torn apart by the sudden roar of a motor. Two snowmobiles came around the corner and raced down the empty street.

“What’s with that?” I said. “They can bring those right down the street? I thought this was the island with no motorized vehicles.”

“All bets are off in wintertime,” Leon said.

“Great.”

“You’re thinking they might be down here somewhere? Instead of up at the house?”

“It was just a thought. They’ve gotta come down here to eat once in a while, right?”

We took a look in the one grocery store on the eastern end of the street, then walked down past all the closed fudge shops and ice cream parlors, past another small hotel that was open, another that was closed. Finally, at the end of the street we saw a restaurant with the lights on. It looked warm and inviting. It even had a fireplace like Jackie’s. I took a good look inside.

“Are you ready to go find the house?” Leon said.

“I’m ready.”

We left the restaurant and started up the hill. As long as there weren’t any snowmobiles buzzing around, there was an eerie calm as we walked between the great trees and the unlit streetlamps. The Grand Hotel itself, the granddaddy of all hotels, was a huge white and green monolith at the top of the hill. The walk was tougher than it looked. I had to stop at the top to catch my breath, leaning over with my hands on my knees. Up close the hotel was even more imposing. The world’s largest front porch, which held hundreds of rocking chairs during the summer, was now completely empty except for a thin layer of snow.

We walked its length in silence. From our vantage point we could see all the way out onto the frozen surface of Lake Huron and the Mackinac Bridge in the far distance. A cold wind kicked up and spurred us on. Beyond the hotel there were a string of big Victorian houses, sharing the same magnificent view. But each one of them looked closed up for the season and utterly deserted. The snowmobile tracks on the road were the only sign that anyone had been here since the seasons changed.

We followed the upper road, passing one million-dollar house after another until the road went into the trees. From one house to the next, the view of the lake became obstructed, the property value going down by about three quarters. These were the older, smaller houses that hadn’t been bought up by the people with money to spend on remodeling. The road forked.

“We go right?” I said. “Is that what he told us?”

“Third or fourth house.”

The houses were close to the road, but set back behind trees so thick with snow it felt like we were walking into an ice cave. We couldn’t hear the wind anymore. We walked by the first house, then the second, then the third. All three were locked up tight with plastic sheets on the windows. More important, we couldn’t see any footprints leading up to them in the snow.

“We’re protected from the wind here,” I said. “You’d think we’d see some tracks.”

“You’re right,” Leon said. “Look.”

As we came to the fourth house, we could see the line of churned-up snow leading to the front door.

“You think that’s Chris in there?” Leon said.

“Let’s go find out.”

“You gonna just walk up and knock on the front door?”

“No, first I’ll look in the window. Then I’ll knock. Any chance of you giving me that gun now?”

“Here,” he said. He took out his Ruger from his coat pocket. It was the same gun he had loaned me once before, after I had thrown my service revolver into the lake. “When this is all done, we’re gonna replace your old one. You shouldn’t have to use a loaner every time.”

“I keep hoping I’ll never need one again.”

“I’ll go around back,” he said. He pulled out his gun, too.

“Your wife is really going to kill me,” I said. “I promised her I wouldn’t get you in trouble again.”

“This isn’t trouble. This is just a little social call.”

I slapped him on the back, then walked through the trees to the house, stepping through the deep snow. When I got to the door, I looked through the little window. I saw furniture covered in white sheets. I tried the doorknob. It was locked.

What the hell, I thought. I knocked on the door. Nothing. I knocked again. I waited. I was beginning to wonder if we’d have to break into the place. Then I remembered Leon’s lockpicking skills. Knowing him, he’d have his tools with him. I was about to go around to the back when I heard something from inside. It sounded like the pounding of feet on a wooden floor.

Before I could look in the window again, the front door flew open. Chris Woolsey came running out, just in time for me to stick my foot out. He fell face-first into the snow.

“Help!” he screamed into the cold air. “Somebody help me!”

“Go ahead and yell,” I said, grabbing him by the collar. “They might hear you on the bridge.”

“Let go of me! Somebody help!”

I put the gun away and gave him a good smack across the face. That seemed to settle him down a little bit. Leon came out the door, sliding in the snow.

“Anyone else in there?” I asked him.

“No,” Leon said. “Not as far as I can tell.”

“What’s the deal?” I asked Chris. “Are you alone?”

“Go fuck yourself.”

I smacked him again. “I’m starting to enjoy this, Chris. You better talk to me.”

“I’m alone,” he said. “There’s nobody else here.”

“Okay,” I said. “Let’s go inside and talk.”

I pushed him back through the door and onto one of the covered chairs. “First question,” I said, leaning over him. “Do you know where Natalie is?”

“Natalie who?”

I had to try hard not to hit him again. “Natalie Reynaud. The woman who was at the hotel with me.”

“I haven’t seen her since that night. I swear.”

“Okay, next question. Your uncle Marty-”

“He’s not here.”

“I can see that,” I said. “Is that why you came out here? Were you looking for him?”

He didn’t say anything. He looked out the door like he wanted to make a break for it again.

“We know this is your family’s house,” I said. “That’s why you came here, right?”

“How do you know this is our house?”

“Your roommate told us.”

“Oh, man. That piece of shit.”

“He was trying to help you out,” I said. “Both of your uncles are in serious trouble. You thought if either of them were gonna hide out somewhere, this would be the place. Am I right?”

“Yeah,” he said. He wiped his nose on his sleeve. “Uncle Marty disappeared two nights ago, and Uncle Michael disappeared yesterday, after he…”

Chris looked at the bandage on my neck.

“Fuck,” he said. “After he tried to kill you, I guess.”

“But you haven’t seen either one of them here?”

“No. Not really. I mean, I think Marty was here.”

“How can you tell?”

“Somebody was here. There was some food on the table, and one of the beds was slept in.”

Leon came into the room, holding an ashtray. “Are these yours?” he said to Chris.

“No, I don’t smoke.”

“Let me guess,” I said. “Camel unfiltereds.”

“You got it,” Leon said.

“That’s my uncle Marty’s brand,” Chris said. “He must have come here, but he wasn’t around when I got here yesterday. I’ve been waiting, hoping he’ll come back.”

“The rest of your family is all camping out at your parents’ house,” I said. “Do they know you’re here?”

“Hell, I don’t know. I left a message on the machine, told them I was going out looking. They could probably figure it out if they wanted to.”

“You seem to have a real communication problem in your family,” I said. “Like when you told them I was the guy who made your grandfather come to the hotel that night.”

He looked down at the floor.

“Now would be a good time to tell me everything you know,” I said.

He shook his head.

“I don’t give a shit about your uncles right now,” I said, “but Natalie is missing, too. I’m trying to find her. I swear to God, Chris, I will beat you right here and right now until your eyes bleed.”

“Okay,” he said. He wiped his nose on his sleeve again. He kept looking at the floor. “Okay, man. It all goes back to my grandfather, and some stuff he told me just before he… I mean, when he was still around. I’d go over there a lot, just to see how he was doing, sit with him for a while. Especially lately, since I’d been working at the hotel, which was right around the corner from him. That one night I went to see him, that was the first night where we were starting to get all that snow. I was talking to him about it, and I just happened to mention that I had carried some bags for a woman at the hotel, who had just driven all the way down from this town in Canada called Blind River. I asked her that in the elevator. I said, I hope you didn’t have to drive much in this weather, and she said, excuse me, I know how to drive in the snow and I came all the way down from Blind River.”

“That was the night before I got there,” I said.

“Yeah, I guess so. Anyway, I tell this to my grandfather because we were talking about the snow, and he says, Blind River, that’s where the devil lived. And I’m like, what are you talking about, Grandpa? I thought he was joking, but he got real serious and he said, I’m not making a joke, Chris. As far as I’m concerned, Blind River’s where the devil lived. Then he asked me what this woman’s name was. I said, I’ve got no idea. And he said, well if you get a chance, find out. I’d be interested to know.”

“Let me guess,” I said. “You looked her name up on the room registration.”

“No, it wasn’t like that. I didn’t go snooping around. I just asked Gail at the front desk. I said, hey, who’s that lady from Canada? I think I might know her. And Gail told me her name.”

“Okay, go on.”

“So I stopped in to see my grandfather on the way to work that morning, because my mother had made him something to eat. I told him, that woman’s name is Natalie Reynaud. My grandfather says, Chris, please tell me if you’re making a joke now. Is that woman’s name really Natalie Reynaud? I said, yeah, do you know the name? He said, I know the last name all right. That’s the devil’s name.”

“Did he say anything more about the devil? Like what this person did to earn that title?”

“No, I asked him about that, but he wouldn’t tell me. He said he wasn’t going to pass it down to me, whatever that meant.”

“Did he happen to say anything about killing the devil?”

“No, what do you mean?”

“Never mind,” I said. “Just go on.”

“He did say that the devil was dead now. Then he went into the bottom of the closet and dug out this old hat. He said, see this? This is the devil’s hat right here.”

“He didn’t say how he got it?”

“No, he didn’t.”

“Okay,” I said. “Keep going.”

“So later, when I’m at work, he shows up all dressed up in his suit. I’m totally freaking out, because there’s no way he should be out walking around on his own like that, especially in bad weather. There’s a guy, even, who’s supposed to be keeping on eye on him over in the apartments. I asked him where Tony was and how come he was out. He said don’t worry, he just wanted to see the old hotel because all he does anymore is sit around in his apartment. So here he is sitting in the lobby, saying hello to everyone. He was happier than I’d ever seen him, you know? I figured, why not? This was good for him. I’d let him stick around and then I’d take him back home later. I had no idea he was gonna go out wandering in the snow. I swear to God.”

“Why didn’t you stop him? Didn’t you see him leave?”

“No, I didn’t.”

“You were the doorman. How can you not see him leave?”

“I wasn’t down by the door.”

“Was it a maid or a waitress in the restaurant?”

He mumbled something.

“What did you say?”

“I said it was a waitress.”

“Okay, so what happens next? You know your whole family is gonna kill you, so you look for somebody else to pin it on.”

He started to say something, but stopped.

“At least you’re not denying it,” I said. “I’ll give you that. Is there anything you want to tell us? About your grandfather or your uncles? Or anything?”

“No,” he said. “That’s all I know.”

“Come on, then. We’re going.”

“I can’t,” he said. “I’ve got to wait here, in case Marty comes back.”

“Does he have a snowmobile?”

“No.”

“Well, the last flight is coming in soon. We’ll go see if he’s on it. If he’s not, then he’s not coming back here today at all.”

Chris didn’t look too happy about that, but he didn’t say a word. He followed us out the door and down the road, past the Grand Hotel and down the hill toward town. The clouds were coming in thick and filling every corner of the sky, casting everything in a strange, muted light. We caught another horse-drawn carriage on Huron Street. This time there were no other passengers. We went back up to the airport, passing through the long white tunnel of trees, the air feeling colder by the minute. Chris was hunched over in his seat like a kid on his way to the principal’s office. We got there just in time to see the plane landing. I watched each passenger getting off-a young couple who stepped off looking up at the sky like maybe this whole trip had been a mistake. An older man behind them. Another man, young and big, about Marty’s size-my heart raced for one second until I saw it wasn’t him. There were no Grants getting off this plane.

We got on with a few other people, all of us getting off the island on the last flight before the snow came. We touched down in St. Ignace, got into Leon’s car with Chris folded up in the tiny backseat. He wrapped his coat tight around his body.

“Are you taking me home?” he finally said.

“I thought you might want to tell your story to the police,” I said.

“That actually sounds better than telling it to my parents right now.”

“Okay, then. Just sit tight for a while.”

“I lost him once before,” he said.

“Excuse me?”

“I lost my grandfather on the island, a couple of summers ago. I was supposed to be watching him and he wandered down the hill. They found him on one of the ferries.”

“Yeah, so?”

“So my father just about killed me. I mean, he really beat the hell out of me.”

“You’re in college, Chris. Learn how to take care of yourself. Or go to the police.”

“I know, I’m just saying… I shouldn’t have lied about it this time.”

“You’re right,” I said. It was another lie to think about as we drove the fifty miles back to Sault Ste. Marie. The snow hadn’t started yet. It felt like it was waiting to gather its full strength before hitting us again. All the while I kept looking out the window at the endless line of snowbanks as they whizzed by us. A long trail of white leading nowhere, with no answers at the end. The sun went down, and with it most of my hopes. It would be the second night with no way to find her.

We rolled into the Soo and headed straight across town to the City County Building. Leon parked in the back lot. Chris pried himself out of the backseat and stood rubbing his legs. I put a hand on his back and pointed him toward the door. He walked in with us and stood there with his arms folded while I told the receptionist we needed to see Chief Maven right away. That’s when it all went to hell fast. Maven came out of his office and down the hall, moving like a lineman rushing a quarterback. Behind him was one of his officers.

“McKnight!” he said. “Where the hell have you been?”

“I’m sure you remember Chris Woolsey,” I said. “He has a few things to tell you.”

“Of course I remember,” he said as he turned to Chris, his voice losing about half of its venom. “Please go with Officer Donovan. He’ll talk to you.”

Chris gave us one last look and went with the officer. Maven watched him leave. When he was gone, Maven turned and stepped in about six inches from my face.

“There was a state trooper over at the Woolseys’ house,” he said. “He says you two clowns showed up there today. What the hell were you doing?”

“You know what I was doing.”

Maven stepped away from me. He took his chief’s hat off, ran his fingers through what was left of his hair, looked at Leon for a moment, then at me. “I’m not going to say anything else, McKnight. I give up. You and your chauffeur need to go see Sergeant Moreland right away.”

“Why?” I said. I felt a sick chill in my stomach. Please, don’t let it be Natalie. “What happened, chief?”

“They found your truck,” he said, “with Michael Grant inside.”

The way he said it, I didn’t even have to ask. But Maven answered anyway.

“He buried the truck in a snowbank,” he said. “Then he bled to death.”