“So why are you telling me this today? Why now?” Laura asked. She had always been somewhat in awe of Mariska—of her looks, her nerve, her self-confidence. Now she felt something else besides awe—shock and disapproval.
“I might need to go away for a while,” Mariska said. “Longer than usual.”
Food for Thought
BY JENNY MAJESKY
A Colorful Cordial
My grandparents had very few treasures because they brought so little with them when they emigrated from Poland. The treasures they had were precious, and one that stands out in my memory is a set of crystal cordial glasses. My grandfather went to Brooklyn one year and bought a set imported from Poland. They had the color and cut of jewels—ruby, sapphire, emerald, amethyst—and they were only used on special occasions. A birth, a death, a holiday. Krupnik is a hot honey-and-spice cordial that brings warmth to any occasion.
KRUPNIK
1 cup honey
½ cup water
1 crumbled bay leaf
1 teaspoon pure vanilla extract
1 teaspoon grated lemon peel
a pinch of nutmeg
10 whole cloves
2 pinches of cinnamon
3 cups 100-proof vodka
In a pot, combine everything except vodka. Bring to boil, reduce heat and simmer, covered, for about 10 minutes. Strain, discarding spices. Add vodka and heat gently but do not boil. Serve immediately, preferably in crystal cordial glasses.
CHAPTER THIRTY
Giving people bad news came with the job, Rourke reminded himself as he trudged through hip-deep snow to the lodge at Camp Kioga. It had always been that way. In training, he had studied the optimum methods of delivering the news and providing support. On the job, he had been called on to arrive on strangers’ doorsteps, to tell unsuspecting people that the unthinkable had happened—an accident, a death, an arrest or some other incident that would forever change the lives involved. Those moments haunted him for years afterward.
Due to the snowfall, the road to the camp wasn’t even accessible with a snowplow. He’d used a snowmobile with deep-snow tracks, and had then been forced to hike the final leg by snowshoe. One of his deputies had pointed out that he could contact Jenny by phone, but there was no way Rourke would do that. He needed to tell her this in person.
It was dusk by the time he reached the lodge, and the snow was coming down harder than ever. He focused on the golden glimmers of light in the windows, the friendly puff of smoke coming from the chimney. He pictured Jenny inside, maybe sitting at her computer or fixing something to eat, listening to music, thinking or dreaming. And with that image came a piercing surge of tenderness, and the knowledge that had been with him for at least half his life. One summer long ago, he’d fallen in love with Jenny. He’d spent years trying to fall out of love with her. Now he was forced to acknowledge that he’d never succeeded. The notion brought him no joy. Somewhere in the world, there were people who were good at love, who found it bright and easy, something to give meaning to their lives. Rourke was not one of them.
He stopped in front of the lodge and took off the snowshoes. The front stairs were layered with snow and a fringe of icicles hung from the eaves. As he passed beneath them, a big section fell, stabbing silently into the snow. He called Jenny’s name and then knocked at the door. Rufus sounded the alarm, baying and hurling himself at the door.
Good dog, thought Rourke. He liked the mutt’s protective instincts.
The door opened and Rufus lunged, then instantly dissolved into a puddle of affection when he recognized Rourke. Jenny stood back, wearing an expression Rourke found hard to read. She was anything but happy to see him, and she looked…was that guilt on her face? What did she have to feel guilty about? She was wearing jeans and a sweater, and her hair was in a ponytail. She stood with her arms folded protectively in front of her.
“Rourke,” she said. “I wasn’t expecting you.”
Clearly. “I need to talk to you. I, uh, wanted to say this in person.”
She frowned and her gaze shifted, much like… He couldn’t shake the notion that she was acting like someone brought to the booking desk at the station.
He stepped inside and shut the door. With Rufus prancing around him in welcome, he took off his boots and parka. It felt good to peel off a few layers. Snowshoeing was hot work. “Can we have a seat?” he asked her.
“Um, sure.” She gestured at the sofa.
Rourke decided to be quick about it. She seemed distracted and mystified, and holding out was just cruel. “A body was found in the ice caves above the falls,” he said without preamble.
She looked utterly confused. “A body.”
“Yes.”
“A human body.”
He nodded. Though he wanted to touch her, he kept his fists clenched. “Sonnet, Zach and Daisy were up there snowshoeing. There’s been no positive ID of…” He started to say “the remains” but let his voice trail off. “A recovery team will go up as soon as the weather clears. I think you need to know, to be prepared for the news.” All right, he thought. Get it over with. “The deceased is almost certainly your mother.”
He watched the words sink in like a slow burn, the initial confusion deepening to comprehension and then pain. She didn’t say anything, didn’t move except to press her hands flat on her knees and study them intently.
“I compared the, um, clothing to the description in the original missing persons report,” he explained. He had reread the archived report, though that hadn’t been necessary. He’d gone over it so many times over the years that he’d memorized it, and the moment he’d seen Daisy’s photos, he had known. “It’s pretty conclusive.”
