“Knock on the door,” Kitty said. She boldly marched up the two-step concrete porch and thumped.
Nothing.
Kitty tried the door. “Locked,” she said.
Fred jumped down from the bed of the truck and followed me to the back door, where I rapped twice before realizing the door jamb had been pried loose.
“We’re in,” I whispered to my partners, pulling the sleeve of my hunting jacket down around my fist and opening the door through the cloth. “Don’t touch anything.” I cautiously walked in, listening for sounds, but an empty house has a certain feel to it and this one was empty for sure. Angie and whoever had pried the back door lock were gone.
The ex-teller wasn’t a great housekeeper, but she didn’t have much to work with. Every yellowed shade in the house was pulled down. Every light was blazing brightly. The kitchen sink was full of dirty dishes, the bed in the only bedroom was unmade, strands of hair coated the bathroom counter.
“Angie’s moving out,” Kitty said, eyeing up several cardboard boxes lined up along the bedroom wall.
“She was moving in,” Cora Mae said. “That’s what I heard. She’s new to these parts. What do you think, Gertie? Was she coming or going?”
I scanned the interior of the tiny bedroom closet, seeing a line of metal hangers like the ones used by dry cleaning businesses. A few hangers were thrown carelessly on the floor. Other than that, Angie’s closet was as bare as Mother Hubbard’s cupboard.
“Going,” I said with confidence, “in a hurry.”
“Or she would have turned off the lights,” Kitty said.
What I didn’t know for sure was whether or not her exit from her home had been voluntary. The jimmied door concerned me.
Angie Gates, I decided, was running with the wrong pack, a gang of Michigan predators. But whose side was she really on?
Chapter 14
Word For The Day
ADIPOSE (AD uh pohs’) adj.
Containing animal fat: fatty.
Alternate Word
PERT-NER(purt nir) Yooper phrase.
An approximation: not exact
IT SNOWED THROUGH THE NIGHT, just a light dusting but enough for our needs. I could smell the rich aroma of cedar as George and I set out from the house to take our first sauna together. Dry stones gathered from the Escanaba River popped and hissed when George ladled on more water from a scoop in a bucket.
He had built the sauna behind my barn in his spare time with his own hands, cutting cedar planks to just the right lengths and pounding the boards together until the sauna stood tall and ready for social gatherings.
This crisp Sunday morning was as good a time as any to break it in with the man who made it happen.
George peeled off his jeans while I searched the ceiling, pretending to study the “stud” work. Cora Mae would enjoy the pun later when I filled her in.
I wore a pair of Barney’s old sweatpants to cover my adipose thighs and a baggy T-shirt to hide my waistline bulge. When I sneaked a peek, George was pantless and in the process of unbuttoning his flannel shirt. The shirt was long enough to cover his fine buns, but not too long. I caught a glimpse of muscular, man-hairy legs.
What was I doing here watching George undress? What about my life-long commitment to Barney? My husband had visited me in my dreams last night, as he likes to do when I’m worrying about something.
“Are you sure you want to hold me to our agreement?” George said, grinning as he peeled off the shirt, exposing the rest of his body. I hoped if Barney was around, he couldn’t hear my thoughts, because my lifelong partner never, ever looked like this.
“The agreement,” George prodded, while my eyes wandered down to make sure he was holding up his end of the bargain.
I nodded, noting with relief that he wasn’t in his birthday suit. “Swim suits,” I sputtered. “That’s the rule.”
In the U.P. we like to take our saunas wearing nothing at all, except maybe a towel. That’s the old way, and custom is important to us. This morning, I was throwing tradition to the wind and hanging on to caution.
Saunas are an important part of our community. They are healthy for us in mind, body, and spirit. We sweat away impurities and increase our blood circulation without having to lift a finger. In fact, right this minute as George sat down beside me, my pulse went up a notch or two on its own.
“Well,” he said, arching a brow and smiling at me. “Now it’s your turn to get comfortable.”
I was afraid of that.
What was it with males? Had they no modesty at all? I’ve yet to hear of one who wouldn’t shed his clothes at the slightest suggestion.
“I’m feeling a little chilly,” I hedged, as steam rose from the stones and raw heat slapped me in the face.
How could I show him my body? Barney was the only man who ever saw me unclothed. He got to start viewing when I was young, when my body parts were all where they were supposed to be. No varicose veins, no strange little warty things cropping up like weeds, no flab, no gravitational pull reworking my torso.
I couldn’t even suck in my stomach any more, no matter how I tried.
And look at George! Other than a few wisps of gray at his temples, he had managed to maintain fighting trim. He hadn’t carried three babies to term either, I reminded myself. And if he couldn’t handle the sight of me, now was the time to find out.
I snuck another peek and saw him watching me with something new glimmering in his eyes.
“I won’t look,” he said, turning away.
“Promise?”
“Promise.”
I wore a black one-piece bathing suit under my clothes, one with a flouncy little skirt that Cora Mae said would hide my flaws somewhat. The sweatpants landed in a heap at my feet, joining my shoes and socks. I draped a towel around my middle and pulled my top over my head.
That’s when I saw George staring. “You’re a beautiful woman,” he said softly.
I’m sure I blushed bright red, but the dry heat from the newly built sauna masked the embarrassment I was feeling. And I was feeling plenty.
By the time we ran out to roll in the tiny amount of snow on the ground, we were laughing like the old friends we were. And for a brief time, I forgot about Blaze’s medical condition and Grandma’s dementia and mean spirit. Temporarily I forgot about my widowhood and local murders and mayhem. I seized the moment.
____________________
Grandma Johnson had her chompers around a piece of Trenary toast when George and I came inside. Dickey sat next to her, bleeding cat hair all over my kitchen chair. I’m allergic to cat dander. Or maybe it was Dickey himself who caused my attacks.
“Make it quick,” I said to him. “I’ll start sneezing soon.”
He knew that, because it happened every time he came too close in a confined area. You’d think he’d wear something other than that hair-attracting green suit when we had to deal with each other.
“You’re allergic to that no-good, rabid dog of yours,” Grandma said, dunking the toast in her coffee cup and glaring at Fred, who stayed calm through her tirade. He stretched out by the door, close to a fast route of escape.