Garfield thought about that as he went into the kitchen to find his cheque book.
She could have been there. She could have been at the lake that night. Maybe she lived in one of the cabins that lined the shore. On his way up there, Garfield had felt confident that being spotted would not be a problem. Most of the places on the lake were seasonal. At this time of year, the cabins were boarded up. By the end of November, almost everyone had turned off the water, poured anti-freeze into the pipes, and put out the mousetraps. Once they had spread around the mothballs, and closed up the shutters, they headed back to their comfortable homes in the city. They would have no plans to return until the spring.
Garfield now had to consider the possibility that one of the cabins had been occupied. Maybe someone had been looking out of their window that night and noticed a car with no lights on, being driven out on to that new ice with only a dusting of snow on it. That sliver of moon gave all the light anyone would need to get an idea of what was going on.
Someone could have seen that car creep out there and stop. Someone could have seen a man get out of the driver’s side, with an actual broom in his hand. Someone could have watched as he attempted to sweep away the tyre tracks as made his way back to shore.
Then someone could have seen that same man stop and look back, waiting, waiting for the car to plunge through the thin ice.
Garfield shuddered at the memory. The waiting had been like agony. For a few moments there, standing out in the freezing cold, he was convinced the car was not going to go drop through. He had begun to think that it was going to sit there, and that it would still be there in the morning when the sun came out.
It would still be there with his wife’s dead body still strapped to the passenger seat.
He’d been talking, earlier in the day, to some customers at the Home Depot store, a couple of fellows who lived up this way. They’d said the lake was starting to freeze over pretty quickly, and that you could already walk out on it, but it wasn’t thick enough to take any real weight yet. Some winters, when the ice got thick enough, they’d actually race cars out on the ice. However, they didn’t think that would happen until at least February, and only if the temperatures stayed well below freezing.
He didn’t think much about it at the time, although the conversation had come back to him later that night.
After it had happened. After she was dead.
When he needed a plan.
Maybe Keisha Ceylon had been there, at the lake. Maybe she had been that someone watching from one of those cabins. When the story about his wife hit the news, she had put it all together.
And now she’s here, trying to squeeze money out of me, he thought. It was not quite blackmail. If she were that direct, if she were to say to him, ‘I saw what you did, and I’ll go to the police with what I know unless you pay me,’ she would be taking quite a risk. For all she knew, he wouldn’t pay her off to keep her quiet.
He’d just kill her instead.
But using this whole psychic nonsense, that was pure genius. She knew enough to get him curious, to get him worried enough that he’d pay her some money to find out just how much she really knew. Then, once she had the money, she’d keep things just vague enough so that he’d always be left wondering. She’d never have to give away what she knew. She’d never have to admit that she was there. She’d never have to say that, if she wanted to, she could put him in prison for the rest of his life.
Well, Keisha Ceylon wasn’t nearly as clever as she thought she was.
Wendell Garfield wasn’t interested in taking any chances.
Eight
Melissa
After her father dropped her off and she went up to her apartment, Melissa felt light-headed and sick.
She’d been inside the door only a minute when she suddenly felt very ill. She ran into the bathroom, and dropped to her knees in front of the toilet. She got there just in time.
She cleaned herself up and found herself looking in the mirror. Her hair was dirty and stringy, and there were bags under eyes. She’d hardly slept in the last couple of days. She might have had more sleep than her father, but not much.
Melissa rested her hand on the top of her very pregnant belly, rubbed it, and felt something move around beneath her hand. Then she felt her body begin to shake, her eyes start to moisten. With all the crying she’d done in the last few days, she couldn’t believe she had any more tears in her, but they just kept on coming.
She wanted to crawl into bed and never wake up. She’d like to just get under the covers, pull them up over her head, and stay that way for ever. She didn’t want to ever have to face the world again.
It was all so terrible.