Chapter 17

People, dressed in festive sweaters, coats, and scarves, filled the sidewalks. Most held cups of cider given out by Handy Hardware, sandwiched between Clips & Tips Beauty Shop and Lakeside Grocery. The Harvest Festival hadn’t even officially begun yet, so I could only imagine the sheer number during the festival. 

As Sister Alice and I reached Brewski’s, I turned toward the door. 

She grasped my arm.

I flinched. “Ouch.”

“Sorry,” she said, placing her hands on her hips. “But what are you doing?”

I rubbed my arm where it had pinched. “Aspen wants a whiskey.”

She scowled. “Of course he does.”

I raised my hands, palms up. “Checking to see if Mike Swanson is here.” I continued in, Aspen by my side. Once my eyes adjusted to the dim lighting, I glanced around the pub, then strolled up to the bartender, busily wiping down the bar with a towel. “Have you seen Mike Swanson today?”

“Nope.” He tossed the towel onto the counter behind him. “What can I get ya? Bloody Mary? Two for one all day today.” He looked at Sister Alice. “We have Virgin Marys if ya like.” 

Sister Alice scowled and stared at him until he squirmed—which gave her significant pleasure.

“Kidding,” he finally mumbled, ripping his gaze away from Sister Alice and toward me. “Want me to let Mike know you’re lookin’ for him?”

“That’d be great,” I said. I took a business card from my handbag and handed it to him. “Give him this. My phone number’s on it.”

“Can I keep your number? I like redheads.”

“No.”

Sister Alice resumed the look. He shut up, quickly averted his eyes again, and swiped the business card from the bar top. “I’ll make sure he gets this.” 

Sister Alice paused, pointed two fingers at her eyes, then at him, and back and forth again in an I’m watching you motion. The warning lost all effect when her fingers jammed the lenses on her eyewear, landing them askew. The bartender smirked, I chuckled, and proceeded to the door. Blinded by the bright outside light, I crashed into something, feeling a solid thud. Rough hands grasped my upper arms as Sister Alice whammed into the back of me. I looked up at a man standing before me.

“In a hurry somewhere?” he said.

I stepped away from his grasp. “Sorry.”

“Michael Swanson,” Sister Alice said, straightening her glasses again.

“Sister,” Mike said. “Last place I’da thought to run into you.” He chuckled. “Literally. What are you doing here?”

“Looking for you,” she said.

I studied the man who stood before me in the still-open door, my eyes now adjusted to the light. 

“In or out, people,” the bartender called toward us. 

“I don’t know about you all,” Mike said, “but I’m going in.”

Sister Alice and I followed him back inside. Aspen let out a soft whine and followed. I sat on the stool beside Mike, and Sister Alice stood between and behind us next to Aspen. Mike held a finger up to the bartender. “The usual,” he told him.

The bartender nodded, flipped a glass in his hand, pulled the handle to draw a beer, and set it on a cocktail napkin in front of Mike. “Do you ladies want something now?” the bartender asked. 

“Nothing for me,” Sister Alice said.

“A bowl with water for my furry kid here.” I nodded toward Aspen. “Seltzer with lime for me.” 

“The hard stuff,” Mike commented. 

“Yep,” I said. “The lime is the kicker.”

He snorted a laugh and drew a large gulp of his beer, sounding his satisfaction. “Start a tab for me, Bill,” he told the bartender. “And don’t go too far. This one won’t last long.” He took another guzzle. As if remembering we were there, he swiveled his barstool to face us, the glass looking small in his giant hand. “Why were you looking for me?” 

Bill slid a glass of seltzer in front of me, the lime wedge straddling the rim. I squeezed the juice from the lime into my water and dropped it into the glass, then wiped my fingers on my jeans. Aspen left his water, more interested in the lime. “I have a couple of questions for you about Ivan Laskin,” I said.

Mike stopped his glass halfway to his mouth, set it back on the scratched and carved surface of the dark wood bar, and squinted at me. “What about him?”

“A witness said you two argued a couple of days before his murder.”

“Yeah?” he said, eyes narrowing. “And who is this witness?”

“I don’t know who it was,” I lied. 

“That so?” He drained his glass and motioned for a refill. “Someone just came up to you and said, ‘Hey, I saw Mike Swanson argue with Ivan Laskin.’ I ain’t stupid, lady.”

“Is it true about the argument?” I asked. 

Mike leaned forward until his face was mere inches from mine and belched. I gagged on the beer breath that blew in my face, leaned back, and grimaced.

“I don’t enjoy getting accused of something I didn’t do,” he said.

Sister Alice stepped in closer. “Take a breath, Mike,” she said. “No one is accusing you of anything.”

“So you didn’t argue?” I asked him. Sister Alice shot me a you’re-going-to-get-us-both-killed look before making a quick, ambiguous sign of the cross. 

“I didn’t say that,” he said, wrapping his hand around the full glass Bill slid in front of him. “But if you didn’t see it, you got no business talking about it like you’re some hotshot cop.” He gave me a pointed look. “Which you are not.”

I took a drink of my seltzer water and set it back down. “Since you admitted to it, and I’m no longer assuming—” I winced as Sister Alice discreetly pinched my arm. I’d have to wear long sleeves for a month to cover the bruises. “Can I ask what the argument was about?” I quickly asked as I lurched away from Sister Alice.

“I refuse to answer on the grounds of possibly incriminating myself,” he said. 

“I’m not the police, Mike. There’s no threat of incriminating yourself with me.”

“Forgive me if I don’t believe that anything I say to you won’t somehow find its way back to the cops.” He looked at Sister Alice and dipped his chin toward his chest. “You too. No offense.”

“None taken,” Sister Alice said. She pushed the bent frames of her glasses up with her pointer finger.

“Can I ask where you were the evening of Ivan’s murder?” I asked, earning an elbow jab. “Ouch.” I said under my breath and rubbed my arm. Geez. I was becoming a quick believer in the stories Grandpop and Honey used to tell me about the harsh discipline from the nuns back in the day when they were in Catholic school.

“With Ella. Ask her.” His voice issued the warning his words didn’t.

I sat there for a minute longer, prolonging the time, hoping he’d share anything else. Not that he’d shared anything up to this point except an alibi, most likely unreliable. I planned to check it out. When he faced forward, intent on pretending we weren’t there, I slid my glass toward the inside edge of the bar, then pushed myself to a standing position. 

“All right. Thanks, Mike.”

“I’d say ‘my pleasure,’ but I ain’t no liar.”

Sister Alice patted his arm. “God is happy about that, Michael.”

After the door closed behind us, I said, “What do you think? He has a temper, and he’s not a sweetheart by any means, but I don’t feel like he killed Ivan.”

Sister Alice turned toward me and looked at me, chin tipped downward. “You don’t feel like he did? Please don’t tell me you’re trying to make an informed decision based on emotion. I thought you were a life coach.”

I scoffed. “This might surprise you, but that doesn’t mean I don’t fail to follow my own advice. By the way,” I said as I attempted to straighten her glasses. “Now I know why you buy so many of these things.”

“Sobriety can’t fix everything.”

We walked back to Hallowed Grounds. As luck had it, not only was Roman back from break, but Luka stood at the counter ordering a coffee. We quietly stepped up behind him. I nudged Sister Alice with my elbow and nodded my head toward the wad of cash in Luka’s open wallet. I leaned in to look more closely at the bills. At the same time, Luka turned around, nearly bumping into me. I jumped back.

“Pardon me, Deacon Molotov.” 

He looked from me to Sister Alice. “Good day for a hot drink,” he said, toasting us with his cup. 

Another customer wedged her way in front of us, so I took advantage of the added wait time. “Do you have a minute to talk, Deacon?” I asked.

“If it’s quick.” 

He and Sister Alice followed me as I stepped toward the side. Another customer stepped in line. 

“Do you know if Ella and Ivan knew each other?”

“I suspect so. Mike and Ivan were friends, and Ella has been with Mike off and on for several years.”

“Hm.” Between hearing about their frequent rifts and the conversation with Mike moments ago, it didn’t sound too friendly between him and Ivan. “Are you sure they were friends?” I made air quotes as I said “friends.”

“I only know what everyone else in town knows. I’ve already told you that Ivan and I haven’t spoken in years. Why do you ask?”

“I didn’t get the impression that they were close. They don’t seem to have any similarities.” 

He grunted and looked at me as though I’d just been released from the nut ward. “Men differ from women, Ms. Kaczmarek. They don’t feel the need to—well, bond, shall we say, as women do. That makes similarities and differences a lot less important.”

“Have you ever counseled Mike and Ella together?” I asked. 

“That information is confidential,” he said. “You know, like what’s said and done within the walls of an AA meeting.” He smiled, but it held no warmth. I gave him a sidelong glance. “Spirit Lake is a small, close-knit community,” he said. “Of course, I know.” 

“I see confidentiality isn’t popular with everyone here.”

“Says the one trying to get personal information on someone else.” His tone was one of impatience, as if explaining something logical to a teen.

I suspected my cheeks were now the same color as my hair. “Touché,” I said, readjusting Aspen’s leash wrapped around my hand. 

He looked at Sister Alice, his chin jutting before giving a dismissive nod. “If you ladies will excuse me, I have an appointment.”

As he passed, I stepped to the side, then looked at Sister Alice. “You know, I really hate that.”

“Hate what? That you couldn’t get the information you wanted?”

“Well, yeah, that too.” I shook my head. “But the whole men differ from women spiel gets my goat. I wanted to wipe that smug look from his face.”

Sister Alice looked amused. “Do I need to explain the differences between men and women? I’d have thought you knew them by now.”

“You know what I mean,” I scoffed. “He thinks women are less than men. I help women with self-esteem and confidence issues so they don’t lose themselves in a relationship. Men with Luka’s mentality destroy that confidence. And to think I used to think he was nice.” 

“Think of it as job security,” she said. I rolled my eyes. “I’m just saying that men and women are different in more ways than we like to admit sometimes.” I opened my mouth to speak, and she held up a hand. “I didn’t say we’re inferior, but we are different. And thank the good Lord for that.”

I begrudgingly nodded and took a breath. “Okay, I’ll accept that.” 

“Good, because I, as your sponsor, have a responsibility to remind you what resentments do to an alcoholic.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

Five more customers now stood in line since we stepped out to chat with Luka. We moved in behind them. When it was finally our turn to order, I looked at Roman. “A medium two-pump pumpkin spice latte with oat milk, please. And a cup of whipped cream for my boy here.” I nodded toward Aspen, who perked up at the mention of whipped cream. Three words he understood too well were “whipped cream” and “walk.” Roman scribbled it on the cup, passed it off to the barista, then took Sister Alice’s order, a black coffee, room for cream. “You’d better leave half the cup empty for cream,” I said. “In fact, give her a two-pound bag of sugar and a gallon of cream.” He chuckled and passed the cup to the barista. “Do you have a minute to talk?” I asked him. “Maybe a break?”

“I just got back. I don’t get another one until my shift is over.”

“What time is that?” I asked.

“Six. What’s this about?”

“Ivan Laskin.”

His eyes grew wider. “Oh. If you wanna sit at a table, I can stop by as soon as I can.”

“We’ll do that,” Sister Alice said. “So long as it doesn’t get you in trouble.”

“The boss is gone today,” he said with a shy grin.

“So we’ve heard,” I said. “My staff probably feels the same way when I’m gone.”

He chuckled. “Not probably. They do. Trust me.”

I nodded soberly and pointed to the corner table facing the street. “We’ll be right over there.” 

“I’ll be with you as soon as I can.”

Sister Alice and I each pulled out a chair, and Aspen lay by my feet. His body was mostly under the table save for his paws, which clutched the paper cup with whipped cream. 

“Did you see the wad of cash in Luka’s wallet?” I asked her. 

“Is that what you were doing while practically leaning on his shoulder? Looking in his wallet?”

“It’s not like I was looking for it. It was right in my line of sight.”

“I saw it,” she conceded.

The barista slid my order across the counter and called my name. After fetching it, I sat back down and said, “Well? Could I be right, and the church thief and the killer are the same person?” 

She shook her head. “The crook stole more money from the church than Luka had in his wallet.”

“Well, yeah, but he wouldn’t carry the entire amount around with him,” I said. “He’s arrogant, not stupid.”

She shook her head again and stirred the cream in her coffee with a wooden stir stick. “I can’t see it. What reason could he have to steal money? He’s not destitute. He’s got a nice house, a beautiful family, a good car. There’s no rational answer.”

“Not all criminals have a reason for what they do,” I explained. “That would insinuate sanity. It’s the thrill of the chase. Seeing if they can get away with it.”

She leveled her gaze on mine. “He’s a deacon, for crying out loud. Who’s he trying to pull one over on, God?” She took a breath, gathering her wits. “Tell you what, I’m not ruling it out, but he’s toward the bottom of the list of suspects I’d look at for it.” 

Not ten minutes later, Roman came over to the table and pulled out a chair. Aspen sniffed his leg, then licked his fingers.

“I think he likes you,” I said.

“More like the syrup on my hands.” He reached for Aspen again. “So, what did you want to talk about?”

“I was hoping you could give us some insight into the relationship between your dad and Ivan.”

Roman visibly stiffened and looked down, wiping something off the table that wasn’t there. “There was no relationship between them.”