Read Online A Cold Day in Paradise by Steve Hamilton - Free Book Online
Authors: Steve Hamilton
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at that newspaper. There was a picture of the motel on page one. You could see the police barricades set up around the place, and a few officers carrying out what looked like a big sack of laundry. I’m sureMr. Bing was quite a load, even with all thirteen or fourteen pints of blood drained from his body.
There were a couple paragraphs about Edwin, “heir to the Fulton fortune,” being the first man on the scene. I was not mentioned.
When I had finished reading about it, I drove up to the Fulton place. It was not far from Paradise, just straight up Sheephead Road, past the Shipwreck Museum, all the way up to the old lighthouse on Whitefish Point. I turned off on the road leading west along the shore, coming onto the Fulton property that took up a full three-hundred-acre corner of Chippewa County.
About a mile from the house, I saw someone walking on the road. When I saw who it was, I considered turning around and leaving. Instead, I pulled up next to her and rolled down my window. “Nice day for a walk,” I said.
Sylvia kept walking without looking at me. “If you like cold and gray,” she said.
“I’m on my way to see your mother-in-law.”
“Good for you.”
“Is Edwin around today?”
“He’s at the office.”
“What does he do at the office?” I asked. “Why does he even need an office?”
“He counts his money,” she said. “He calls it up on the phone and talks to it.”
“Can’t he do that from home?”
She finally looked at me for the first time. Those green eyes went right through me. “He prefers to have his time away from the house,” she said.
“I don’t get it,” I said.
“What?” she said. I stopped the truck as she turned to me and put her forearms on my door. “What don’t you get?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “Just the fact that he doesn’t spend more time with you.”
She shook her head and looked up at the sky. “You gotta hell of a nerve saying something like that.”
“Sylvia, is this the way it’s going to be from now on? Are you always going to act like this?”
“Yes, Alex.” She pushed away from the truck. “So you better get used to it.”
“You know, I think I’ve got you figured out,” I said.
“Oh, do you. Do you really.”
“For the first time in your life, you didn’t get something you wanted. That’s the whole problem right there. You just hate the fact that I was the one who ended it.”
“Alex, there are only two things in this world that I hate. I hate living on this godforsaken frozen cliff on the end of the world. And I hate the fact that I was ever stupid enough to get involved with you. I mean, look at you. Look at this … thing you drive around in.”
“Sylvia, don’t.”
“You look like, what, like a lumberjack or something.”
“I’m warning you.”
“No, not even a lumberjack. He’s the guy who cuts down the trees, right? That takes some guts at least. You look like___You look like the guy who delivers the firewood, stacks it up next to the house. That’s what you look like.”
“Good-bye, Sylvia,” I said. “It’s been nice talking to you, as always.” I watched her grow smaller and smaller in my rearview mirror as I drove away.
It didn’t take long to get to the Fulton place. It had been built by Edwin’s grandfather back in the 1920s, and had been improved on several times by his father. The Fultons were old automotive money, and were fixtures in Grosse Pointe, a ritzy little suburb on the Detroit River. They kept this place way up here in the Upper Peninsulajust as a summer cottage. Although to the Fultons, a “cottage” was a five-thousand-square-foot fortress of stone and glass and huge wooden beams cut from the original forest. Now that he was living up here year-round, I couldn’t imagine how much money Edwin must have spent keeping the road plowed during the winter.
Theodora Fulton was alone in the house. She seemed glad to see me after she wrestled open the huge oak front door.
There were a couple paragraphs about Edwin, “heir to the Fulton fortune,” being the first man on the scene. I was not mentioned.
When I had finished reading about it, I drove up to the Fulton place. It was not far from Paradise, just straight up Sheephead Road, past the Shipwreck Museum, all the way up to the old lighthouse on Whitefish Point. I turned off on the road leading west along the shore, coming onto the Fulton property that took up a full three-hundred-acre corner of Chippewa County.
About a mile from the house, I saw someone walking on the road. When I saw who it was, I considered turning around and leaving. Instead, I pulled up next to her and rolled down my window. “Nice day for a walk,” I said.
Sylvia kept walking without looking at me. “If you like cold and gray,” she said.
“I’m on my way to see your mother-in-law.”
“Good for you.”
“Is Edwin around today?”
“He’s at the office.”
“What does he do at the office?” I asked. “Why does he even need an office?”
“He counts his money,” she said. “He calls it up on the phone and talks to it.”
“Can’t he do that from home?”
She finally looked at me for the first time. Those green eyes went right through me. “He prefers to have his time away from the house,” she said.
“I don’t get it,” I said.
“What?” she said. I stopped the truck as she turned to me and put her forearms on my door. “What don’t you get?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “Just the fact that he doesn’t spend more time with you.”
She shook her head and looked up at the sky. “You gotta hell of a nerve saying something like that.”
“Sylvia, is this the way it’s going to be from now on? Are you always going to act like this?”
“Yes, Alex.” She pushed away from the truck. “So you better get used to it.”
“You know, I think I’ve got you figured out,” I said.
“Oh, do you. Do you really.”
“For the first time in your life, you didn’t get something you wanted. That’s the whole problem right there. You just hate the fact that I was the one who ended it.”
“Alex, there are only two things in this world that I hate. I hate living on this godforsaken frozen cliff on the end of the world. And I hate the fact that I was ever stupid enough to get involved with you. I mean, look at you. Look at this … thing you drive around in.”
“Sylvia, don’t.”
“You look like, what, like a lumberjack or something.”
“I’m warning you.”
“No, not even a lumberjack. He’s the guy who cuts down the trees, right? That takes some guts at least. You look like___You look like the guy who delivers the firewood, stacks it up next to the house. That’s what you look like.”
“Good-bye, Sylvia,” I said. “It’s been nice talking to you, as always.” I watched her grow smaller and smaller in my rearview mirror as I drove away.
It didn’t take long to get to the Fulton place. It had been built by Edwin’s grandfather back in the 1920s, and had been improved on several times by his father. The Fultons were old automotive money, and were fixtures in Grosse Pointe, a ritzy little suburb on the Detroit River. They kept this place way up here in the Upper Peninsulajust as a summer cottage. Although to the Fultons, a “cottage” was a five-thousand-square-foot fortress of stone and glass and huge wooden beams cut from the original forest. Now that he was living up here year-round, I couldn’t imagine how much money Edwin must have spent keeping the road plowed during the winter.
Theodora Fulton was alone in the house. She seemed glad to see me after she wrestled open the huge oak front door.
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