One Frosty Night

“Don’t you ever, you know, want to have sex?” His voice cracked at the end, and he turned his head quickly, cringing at the possibility that anyone had heard him.

More than you can imagine.

Ben heard himself make a sound he couldn’t quite classify. A groan? Damn, he wanted sex...but not with just anyone. With Olivia. He hadn’t been able to picture anyone else in his bed since he’d set eyes on her again after his return to Crescent Creek. Two years and four months ago, to be precise.

Carson suddenly blushed. “Or, oh, wow, maybe you are and you’re just making sure I don’t know about it.”

“No.” That came out so harshly, Ben had to clear his throat. “I’m not. And, yes, I do. Want to.” Was he blushing? “Unlike a lot of men, I’ve just never been into casual sex.” He hesitated. “I’m not saying that as a parental lecture, but to me, the whole thing is awkward when you’re with a woman you don’t feel much for. Sex with a woman who is essentially a stranger doesn’t hold any appeal to me.”

All the color left Carson’s face. He looked...shocked.

And Ben had no idea why.

For a strange moment, they stared at each other.

Then the sixteen-year-old gave an elaborate shrug and said, “You know that’s totally abnormal, don’t you, Dad?”

Ben let himself relax. Even enjoy the rare reference to him as “Dad” and not “Ben.” “Yeah,” he said, “but then I chose to spend my life working with teenagers, and what’s normal about that?”

They exchanged grins and resumed eating. It wasn’t until considerably later that Ben realized he still didn’t have the slightest idea what was weighing on his kid.

* * *

THE MINUTE OLIVIA opened the front door and smelled dinner cooking, she realized her mother was trying to make amends. Wonderful. What she’d really like was to go straight to her bedroom. Now she had to be nice instead.

In a better mood, she’d have laughed at herself for her sulkiness. As it was... She sighed and went to the kitchen.

Mom even wore an apron as she tore lettuce into a bowl. At the sight of her daughter, she offered an uncertain smile. “I didn’t hear you come in. I hope you didn’t already have dinner.”

“I’m just late. It smells good.”

“Beef stroganoff.”

“I can tell.” She forced a smile. “What can I do?”

“Oh— If you’d like to set the table?”

Olivia did escape upstairs briefly to dump her messenger bag and change into slippers, but then she went back down. Were they actually going to have a real conversation?

Apparently. Olivia had no sooner spooned stroganoff onto her noodles than her mother said, “I’m sorry I took you by surprise today.”

Olivia didn’t know how to respond to that. It’s all right? It wasn’t. Why didn’t you tell me what you were thinking? Now, there was the question.

“Lloyd’s wife wants him to look at those houses, too,” she offered.

“They’re really very nice.” Mom sounded so hopeful.

What could she say except “I’m sure they are”?

Both finished dishing up.

“I didn’t stop to think how you’d feel,” her mother said in a burst. “I mean, that this is your home.”

“You forgot I grew up here?”

“Of course not!” Mom visibly settled herself. “It’s just that it hasn’t been home for you for a long time. Until these past few months, of course.”

“I’ve been home for nearly a year now, Mom.”

Little crinkles formed on her forehead. “But I never dreamed you’d stay. Or were even considering staying.”

“I was focused on keeping things going for you and Dad,” Olivia said honestly. “I...hadn’t gotten so far as to think about what would happen when he was gone.” Unlike Mom, who apparently had been revving her engine waiting.

“Would you consider staying?” her mother asked after a minute.

Would she? Olivia felt a tug both ways, and that surprised her. Newly graduated from college, she’d have laughed at the idea that Dad’s hardware store was the sum total of her ambitions.

“I’ve been...happy at work since I came home,” she said slowly. “Making changes. We’re selling a lot of Christmas gifts.” Thanksgiving weekend, never that big in the past, had been fantastic this year, despite the death of Charles Bowen only days before. “There’s more that could be done to make the business even more successful.”

“But there must be an upper limit.”

“That’s true,” she agreed. “We can’t draw a lot of new customers unless the population increases.” Which they both knew wasn’t happening. “But what we can do is meet the needs of locals so that they don’t feel the need to drive to Miller Falls or even Everett to shop. We can be more competitive for builders, for one thing.”

“How?”

“Initially, lower profit margin. Long-term, we’d be buying in greater bulk. No, we still can’t compete directly with a Home Depot, say, but if we can come close, convenience will trump cost savings for local builders and remodelers.”

Her mother nodded her understanding.

“What I’d really like to do is to continue to expand stock. Go way bigger into clothing.”

That’s where much of the boosted sales had come from; Dad had never carried anything but the most utilitarian of carpenter pants, work gloves and the like. Olivia had added rain gear, parkas, hats, gloves and socks. Flannel shirts for men, cute T-shirts for women and even some clothes for kids. Mostly outdoor and work related but attractive. The last clothing store in Crescent Creek had closed six or eight years ago, and its stock had appealed to the matrons, not younger shoppers or men.

“We’ve got the floor space in the loft to make clothing into a huge sideline. I see a possibility for gift items across the board. Garden art as well as shovels and wheelbarrows, for example. And then expand in every area. We have electrical—why not sell a line of lamps and expand the number of lighting fixtures we carry? Plumbing? More choice of sinks and fixtures plus add some extras, like bath mats and hampers. We can keep our core business but appeal more to women.” She hesitated, the rush of ideas slowing as she broached the opportunity she’d been toying with. “You know that Swenson’s next door is going out of business.”

“Yes, I was sorry to hear that. Mr. Swenson’s in poor health, you know.”

“I do. My first thought was that we could use the floor space for some of my ideas.” She eyed her mother a little nervously. It was supposed to be Dad she’d have to sell on the idea. “My second was that we could buy Swenson’s and integrate it into our business. Appliances are pretty closely related to hardware and home improvement. Maybe we could pare down the stock to the bestselling brands and do both—sell appliances and use some of the floor space for other stock.”

Mom was staring at her, either riveted or shocked. Olivia was a little startled to have heard the energy in her voice and to realize how enthusiastic she was.

So, okay, maybe she had been thinking ahead. Somehow it hadn’t occurred to her that her mother would very likely want to sell the business once Dad was gone. As in, the minute Dad was gone.

Mom blew out a breath. “Well. I knew you’d made some changes, but I hadn’t realized how many ideas you have. I’ve been...well, a little self-absorbed.”

“Dad hasn’t been gone very long.”

Um...not the most tactful thing to say, when they’d both been trying to be conciliatory.

Without moving a muscle, Marian withdrew. “No, of course not,” she said with obvious reserve. “I suppose my instinct is to tell you to go ahead with your plans within reason. Even if we decide to sell, success should bring a higher price.”

At least she’d said “we.”

“Why don’t you talk to Mr. Swenson so we can get an idea what it would cost to take over his business and lease?” her mother suggested. “After that, we can both think about what’s best.”

“That makes sense,” Olivia agreed. “I can...help you with the house in the meantime.”

Mom lowered her gaze. “Thank you. My goodness, our food is getting cold.”

Prompted, Olivia picked up her fork. It occurred to her that eating together wasn’t something they seemed to do very well anymore.

Several bites later, her mother said, “Did I see you with Ben Hovik today?”

She froze with the stroganoff halfway to her mouth. Mom could only have seen them in the rearview mirror while she was retreating.

“We talked for a minute.”

“Such a handsome man. It’s a shame you let him get away.”

Olivia set down the fork. “Let him get away? He ditched me, Mom.”

Her mother must have seen the gathering anger on her face, because she said hastily, “I didn’t mean that the way it sounds. It’s just that, well, I’ve had the impression he could be interested again.”

“Would you want to open a second act with a man who’d dumped you the first time around?”

Her mother’s mouth trembled, and after a moment she neatly folded her napkin and set it on the table to signify that she was done, although she hadn’t eaten half of what was on her plate. “No,” she murmured. “When you put it that way...no.”

Upside of both losing their appetites? They had leftovers for tomorrow night’s dinner.

* * *

OLIVIA’S HAND HOVERED over the telephone on her desk in the office. She already had the phone book open: Crescent Creek School District appeared in the government pages at the front. All she had to do was dial the number for the high school and ask to speak to the principal.

She wished she could be absolutely sure she wasn’t using what she’d overheard as an excuse to talk to Ben. It was only yesterday she’d indulged in true confessions. What would he think, her calling the very next day?

Olivia moaned. Maybe she should call the police department instead... She got as far as starting to close the phone book before stopping and spreading it open again. No. This was really more Ben’s bailiwick. He might even know enough to say, No, the police investigated and there’s no truth to it.

Finally she dialed. When she asked to speak to Mr. Hovik, she had to give her name and was told, “I’ll have to check to see if he’s available right now.”

Not a minute later, he came on. “Olivia? Is something wrong?”

“No, nothing like that. I mean, not really...” She rolled her eyes, then started again. “I heard something I thought I ought to pass on, that’s all.”

There was a slight pause. “Concerning?”

“The girl. Well, the night she died.”

“Ah. Hold on a second, will you?” Muffled voices suggested someone else had been in his office. He came back on. “Olivia? Can you take time to have lunch and talk about this?”

Oh, heavens. Had she been hoping—?

Maybe, she thought. Then she remembered that sharp spike of anger she’d felt the day before when she’d said, Would you want to open a second act with a man who’d dumped you the first time around? No—she was doing what she believed was right, that’s all.

“Sure,” she said. “I didn’t bring anything today.”

“I won’t suggest Guido’s.” There was amusement in his voice.

“Please don’t.”

“Not much privacy at the café or the Burger Barn.” He sounded thoughtful.

“No.”

They agreed on pizza. He’d pick her up.

She used the time before he came to study the loft space she was envisioning as an expanded clothing department. She tried to decide how much of a deterrent the long staircase would be. Maybe to some of the older folks. In this vast old building, installing an elevator wasn’t all that feasible, and certainly not in the foreseeable future. They could seed the downstairs, so to speak, with some of the products available upstairs. Tempt shoppers, but also make some appealing items available to people who really couldn’t climb the stairs. Of course, she’d have to hire extra help...

Ben called her mobile phone when he was a couple of blocks away, and she stepped out on the sidewalk just as his Jeep pulled up in front of the hardware store, meaning he didn’t have to find parking. He leaned over to open the door for her. Her heart did some gymnastics at the sight of his lean, handsome face. Thank God he wasn’t smiling. Given her history, she’d probably have fallen off the curb.

She was belting herself in when a horn sounded behind them.

Ben glared into his rearview mirror. “Makes me want to just sit here for about ten minutes,” he muttered but immediately started moving anyway. “Downtown parking is grossly inadequate.”

“You’re telling me?” Olivia was glad for a neutral topic. “I’ve been campaigning for angled parking. I think the street is wide enough, and it would accommodate a few more cars on every block.”

“Plus pleasing anyone who didn’t master parallel parking.”

“Right.” She couldn’t help smiling, even though they both knew he was reminding her of the driving lessons he’d given her. She had been an exceedingly timid parallel parker. Still was; living in downtown Portland, she had rarely driven.

They talked about other possibilities, including a city-owned block not far away that could be converted to parking.

The pizza parlor turned out to be mostly deserted, maybe because the usual lunch hour had passed. The couple of other groups didn’t pay any attention to their arrival. Not until she and Ben were seated in a booth and had ordered did he prompt her. “What did you hear, Olivia?”

“You know how many kids we have working for us.”

He nodded. “I’ve sent a few your father’s way.”

“Right. He said you’d persuaded him to hire Tim Allard.” A senior in high school now, Tim had shaggy hair and a sort of sullen, hulking mien. She’d blinked the first time she saw him, but he’d grown on her.

“He still working out?”

“Lloyd says Tim is his best worker. If Tim is interested, Lloyd would like to hire him full-time once he graduates.”

“Good.” Raising a questioning brow, Ben waited for her to go on.

“Anyway, I was out in the lumberyard yesterday afternoon and overheard a couple of the boys. They didn’t see me in the next row. They were talking about a kegger, how lucky they were that word hadn’t leaked out.” She wished she didn’t feel as if she was betraying a confidence.

His dark eyes were steady on her face. “What makes you think this kegger was that night? It’s been almost six weeks.”

She took a deep breath. “One of them was nervous—I could tell. The other one said, ‘If anybody had talked, the police would have been all over us, and they haven’t been.’ No, a direct quote is, ‘So far we’ve skated.’”

A nerve ticked in his cheek. “Damn,” he said. “I’ve been afraid of something like this.”

She stared at him in astonishment. “Wait. You mean...you knew?”

CHAPTER THREE

“KNEW?” BEN SHOOK his head. “No. I’ve just had an uneasy feeling that something wasn’t right. Too many conversations that fell silent when I was seen approaching. Tension. Maybe—” he had to think it out while he was talking “—a different kind of shock than I’d expect at the announcement of the girl’s death.”

Olivia crossed her arms on the table and leaned forward, her vivid hazel eyes fixed on his face. “What do you mean?”

“I held an assembly.” He waited for her nod. “A lot of the kids—freshmen and sophomores—reacted about how I’d expected. They were ghoulishly fascinated. Most likely thinking, Wow, horror movie awful, and she was, like, our age.”

Olivia smiled at his mimicry, as he’d meant her to do despite the grim subject.

“But the juniors and seniors went really quiet. Not all of them. I saw heads turning, but also a lot of people not looking at anyone else. Definitely shock.” This was the first time he’d put any of this into words. “I didn’t necessarily have the sense they’d all gone on a rampage and were now afraid I knew. But I had to wonder whether a whole lot of them either thought they knew what happened or at least suspected something.”

“You must have asked questions.”

“In a subtle kind of way. Did a lot of eavesdropping, too.”

She made a face. “Like I was doing.”

“Yeah, sometimes I think it’s a shame the architect didn’t add a secret passage that leads behind the lockers.” He waggled his eyebrows. “I could know all.”

He hadn’t heard that small choked laugh in an eon. Or seen the tiny dimple that flickered in one cheek. Mostly because he hadn’t seen a lot of amusement or happiness on her face since she’d been back in town.

Her smile faded, though. “So you haven’t learned anything.”

He lost any vestige of humor, too. “No, and that’s made me even more uneasy. High school kids aren’t good at keeping secrets, not en masse, and not for so long. A girl being sexually molested at home, she’s got it down to a fine art. But when more than one kid knows?” Ben shook his head. “After so many weeks, I’d almost convinced myself I was imagining things.”

“I could be wrong,” she offered. “I mean, it might just have been a party that got wild and didn’t have anything to do with that girl. Maybe at somebody’s house when the parents weren’t home, and damage was done.”

He shrugged acknowledgment. “You’re right. But if it was that bad, wouldn’t you expect the parents to have been bitching?” He shook his head. “I don’t believe it.”

He could tell Olivia didn’t, either. From her quote, it was apparent the boys she’d overheard were scared, not just afraid someone’s dad would be pissed. Nothing out of the ordinary had happened this fall in Crescent Creek—except for the one tragic death—so there had to be some sort of connection there.

Their pizza arrived. Different waitress than he and Carson had had, fortunately. He didn’t tell her he’d eaten here last night with his son. He was glad to have gone with a veggie special today, for a change of pace.

They dropped the subject for a minute, but between bites, he asked about the boys she’d heard talking.

“Maybe you don’t want to tell me who they were.” She looked uncomfortable, and he nodded. “I assume they were juniors or seniors?”

“I think all the kids we employ are. I mean, they have to be sixteen.”

“Right.” He frowned. “Tell me one of them wasn’t Tim.”

Olivia chuckled. “No, Tim doesn’t talk.”

Ben laughed. “You’re right. I don’t know what I was thinking.”

“I’ll ask Lloyd to keep an ear to the ground, too,” she offered.

Lloyd Smith was roughly the same age her father had been, early sixties. Growing up, Ben hadn’t known him well, but his face was familiar. He had thinning white hair, a deeply creased face and brown eyes framed by crow’s-feet. Days spent lifting heavy sheets of plywood and operating the forklift kept him lean and fit. He seemed like a good guy to Ben.

“He okay with you being in charge?” he asked.

“He seems to be. I half expected a problem, since I’d never worked with him before. He was at the lumber mill, you know, before they closed the doors.”

Ben nodded.

“But he says he’s happy running his side and letting me handle the hardware side. Claims he doesn’t know much about keeping the books, but I’ve found him to be sharp when we sit down to try to figure out directions to go.” She took a couple of bites before her next question showed that her thoughts had reverted to Jane Doe. “Have you talked to the police?”

“Sure.” The Crescent Creek Police Department consisted of the chief and five officers, two of whom weren’t that long out of high school themselves. It was the chief himself who had been to see Ben immediately, the morning Marsha found the girl. “Chief Weigand’s first thought was that the girl had to have friends here in town. Why else would she be here? It was at his prompting that I called the assembly. He spoke to the kids, described her, asked for a call if she sounded familiar to anyone. He borrowed an artist from the sheriff’s department, and they got out a sketch as soon as possible.”

Again, Olivia nodded. Presumably they hadn’t been able to make a dead girl look alive enough to want to flash around a photograph. Especially to kids, he thought, although he worried about the liberties the artist had had to take to give that illusion of life.

“Did he notice the reaction you described?” she asked.

“He didn’t comment. I didn’t, either. How could I, when I don’t know anything?”

And, God—when he’d been excruciatingly aware that Carson had been out the night before. Supposedly spending it at a friend’s house, but who knew? He was one of the students whose reaction to the news had been subtly off. Who had been more withdrawn than usual since. And until Ben knew what role, if any, his son had in the events being kept hushed up...he’d as soon the secret wasn’t sprung open.

Seeing the slight crinkles in Olivia’s high, usually smooth forehead, he was assailed by guilt. She thought they were having an open and honest exchange of information, and really he was holding something in reserve.

But how could he help it? His first loyalty went to Carson. It had to.

“So...what do we do?” she asked.

He was warmed by that “we” even as he shifted on the bench in renewed discomfort because he was holding out on her.

“I don’t know what we can do but keep an ear out.”

That dimple quirked again. “Thumbscrews,” she suggested.

It felt good to laugh again, to let go of the guilt. “Keep some in my desk drawer.”

He was pleased when she asked how he’d ended up in administration instead of teaching, and especially how he’d gotten himself hired as principal when he was younger than most of the teachers at the high school. He hoped it meant she was curious and not just scrabbling for a topic to get them through the rest of the meal.

He told her about going back for his master’s degree even as he taught high school history and government, then making the decision to return full-time for a doctorate in education. “I always liked to be in charge,” he admitted. He opened his mouth to say, I guess you knew that, but he changed his mind when he saw the way her eyes narrowed. “I wouldn’t have had a chance at a position as principal anywhere but here, not so soon. I gather they weren’t getting many quality applicants, and, well, I was the hometown boy.”

“So that’s why you moved back.”

“Partly,” he said, then shook his head. “Mostly it was for Carson’s sake. You know I have a stepson?”

Her “I’d heard” wasn’t very revealing.

“I thought he needed family.” He shrugged. “This seemed like a good opportunity all around.”

She nodded. He waited for her to ask about Carson—why he was raising a boy who wasn’t his biologically—but she didn’t go there. Either she wasn’t curious, or she didn’t want to admit to being.

So he asked what her plans were, and she told him she really didn’t know.

“I never intended my return to be permanent. When I first came, I thought I was just filling in for Dad.” She sighed. “Then I was so focused on him, I didn’t think much about the future. It was just day to day.”

She looked so sad, Ben wanted to lay his hand over hers, but he didn’t dare.

“And now it isn’t necessarily in your hands.” He’d no sooner heard about Charles Bowen’s death than he’d worried that it meant Olivia would be returning to whatever life she’d temporarily laid aside. That was when it struck him that her mother must now own the store. And Marian had never, as far as he knew, so much as worked part-time to help out. If she could get a good price for the business, why would she want to keep it?

The “if” was a big one, though; in small-town America, “Going Out of Business” signs were more common than transfers of ownership were.

“Yeah, you’re right.” Her smile was small and crooked. “That hit me about the same time she announced she was selling the house. I’ve been having fun running with some ideas—only suddenly, it was bam. Not my store, not my decision.”

“Tough,” he said with a nod.

She told him some stuff she and her mother had talked about—including the fact that they had talked last night. Made up after their lunchtime debacle. He liked all her ideas for the business and was impressed at how well thought out they were. The hardware store had always been solid, and, from all reports, her dad had made a success of the lumberyard, too. Ben couldn’t imagine that Charles had done much to build the business into anything bigger and better in recent years, though, not the way she seemed to do by instinct.