“God, how long ago was that?” he said. “You should have seen this little shack we were living in. It wasn’t fit to be a henhouse. My little sister, she was just…”
His voice broke.
“This angel. I remember her like…”
He put his hand in front of his face, then let it fall back to his lap.
“So when, 1972… That’s forty-three years later. You were in high school back then. I get this call from a man named Albert DeMarco.”
I looked over at Natalie. She didn’t turn around.
“This man tells me, all these years later, that his father was out on that ice, too. He knew all about it. He told me something else that I had never heard before. He told me that the gangsters let one of the men live. That man must have made a deal with them. My father and uncle get killed… the man’s partner, Mr. DeMarco, he gets killed… and Luc Reynaud, he’s the one man who made it back home-he works directly with the gangsters from that point on. I asked this man why he was telling me this now. He says it was something he thought I should know. Of course, I knew there was more to it. Eventually, this Mr. DeMarco, he gets around to telling me that the Reynaud family was fabulously wealthy, that they had all this money from way back, during the last few years of rum- running, supplying the gangsters in Michigan, buying gold during the Depression… this whole story the man’s telling me. A big house and horses, a whole estate up there in Blind River, Ontario. All this built up on that one night Reynaud sold out my father and my uncle, and DeMarco’s father, too. He tells me all this and then he finally gets to the point. Luc Reynaud’s spoiled brat son, Jean Reynaud, was coming down for a big party at the Ojibway on New Year’s Eve. He told me if he was in my shoes, he’d want to know about it.”
“Pops,” Marty said, finally speaking up. “Are you telling me this was the man…”
“DeMarco wanted me to kill him. That was pretty obvious. I told him I didn’t run errands for cowards, told him if he wanted Reynaud dead he should kill the man himself. That’s what I told him. But at the same time… let’s just say I was curious about meeting the son of the man who killed my father. So I went to the hotel that night. There he was, all dressed up. He was real smooth. He had this old hat on. A gray homburg. I went up to him at the bar and I introduced myself. I asked him if he knew who I was. He said no, he didn’t. I told him I liked his hat. He told me it had belonged to his father. I asked him if he knew how his father had made all his money. He sort of looked at me funny, and then he told me that his father had made all his money by milking cows. I asked him if he was sure about that. He put his two fists up, started moving them up and down, like he was milking a cow. He said, that’s where the milk comes from, sir. Just like that. He started laughing. Then he bought me a drink. He slapped me on the back and said, Happy New Year to you, sir. Then he walked away. I just sat there for a while, thinking about what he had said, drinking the beer he bought me. Milking cows, he said.”
Simon Grant stopped for a while to let that sink in. Marty Grant stared at the hospital floor.
“When it was just about midnight, he came over and slapped me on the back again. He asked me if he could buy me another drink. I said, no thanks, but you should come outside and see the fireworks over the river. We went out in back. He asked me where the fireworks were. I said they’re right here and I shot him in the head.”
“You had a gun,” Marty said.
“Yes.”
“You brought it with you, I mean.”
“I always carried a gun. It was 1929.”
“Pops, I can’t believe any of this. I can’t.”
“That next summer, I went out to Blind River. First thing I wanted to do was see this big Reynaud estate that DeMarco had told me about. It was just a little farmhouse. Jean Reynaud was telling the truth. His father did make his money milking cows. That fancy suit he had on that night, that hat… those were probably the only nice clothes he owned. I knocked on the door, but nobody was home. I’m not sure what I would have done if Luc Reynaud had been there. I mean, this whole story about him getting rich off the gangsters, it obviously didn’t happen that way. But still, he was the one man who came home alive that night. My father was murdered out on the ice. And DeMarco’s father. They died on the ice and they stayed there all winter until it melted. I don’t know exactly how it happened, but I would have sat old Luc Reynaud down and made him tell me. Then when he was done, I would have told him I had taken away his son, just like he had taken away my father.”
“What if he had nothing to do with it?” Marty said. “What if the gangsters just decided to let him go?”
“I don’t think that could have happened, son. You’ve got to remember who we’re talking about.”
“Pops…” Marty shook his head.
“I ended up going to the next house down the road, and it turns out that was the DeMarcos’ house. I met Albert’s mother, this tiny little woman living all by herself. She was friendly, so I got to talking to her. I asked her some questions about her family. She told me about her husband, and about Luc Reynaud coming back alone that night. For some reason, she didn’t think that was suspicious. Or maybe she did. Hell, maybe she knew exactly what had happened and she just wasn’t gonna say it. Not to me. Anyway, I asked about her son, Albert. Turned out he had just gotten married to Jean Reynaud’s widow. I even got to see their wedding picture. Grace, her name was. What a beauty. All of a sudden it made sense to me. This man had used me. He wanted Jean Reynaud out of the way, and he knew I was the only other man in the world who could hate that family as much as he did. So now I hated all of them. The Reynauds. The DeMarcos. I hated myself, too. It never ends.”
Simon Grant coughed a few times and then he reached over to his son. Marty Grant didn’t move.
“Now that I’ve told you this, Martin… I know I’m getting close to the end of my life. I hope you’ll see what a life of hating can do to a man. I hope you’ll let me take it right to the grave with me, son. Please bury it with me. You gotta promise me one thing, too.”
Marty looked up.
“You can’t tell your brother Michael about this. You know how he is.”
Both men sat there for a long time, not saying a word. Finally, Marty got to his feet and came toward the camera. The last shot was Simon Grant alone in his hospital bed. Then the tape ended.
The football game came back on. I paid no attention to it. Vinnie sat next to me in silence. Natalie stood at the window. In my mind I saw the photograph again. The three men. Luc Reynaud in his gray suit, Jean Reynaud in light linen, holding the hat over his head like a trophy.
Because he had just taken it from his father-his father’s gray hat that went perfectly with his gray suit. It had been on his father’s head, and now it was on his, his young wife taking the photograph to record the moment forever.
“The devil of Blind River…” I said.
“It wasn’t my father,” Natalie said, finally turning around to look at me. “It was my grandfather.”
“The devil’s hat, filled with ice and snow…”
“He wouldn’t do that, Alex. Not my grandfather.”
“It was so long ago,” I said. “There’s no way to know what really happened out on that ice.”
“He wouldn’t sell out his partner like that. Or set up those other men.”
“It doesn’t matter. Just tell me, what does all this have to do with you being here on this island? And Albert…”
“He’s here,” she said. “Somewhere.”
“Why? What does he want?”
“That’s an easy one,” she said. “He came here to kill me.”
Chapter Twenty-One
A lone snowmobile roared by on the street below. The sound got farther and farther away until it was gone.
“This is why Marty Grant came looking for us,” Natalie said. “He wanted my mother to have a copy of this tape, so she’d know the truth. Albert killed her first husband.”
“Natalie…”
“He killed my father, Alex.”
“He didn’t kill anybody,” I said. “Simon Grant did.”
