What Happened to Rose Page 2

  Maria stepped ahead of her to avoid another ice patch. Carola had to raise her voice to be heard. “I picture a small cabin in the woods. Shouldn’t be too expensive, right?”

  Maria turned, nearly knocking Carola over.

  “In the wilderness? All by yourself? That’s impossible.”

  Sensing how serious she was, Maria caved. “All right. We’ll start looking together, but you stay at our place until the holidays are over. I couldn’t bear the thought of you being lonely and miserable in some drafty old cabin over Christmas.”

  “Sounds good.”

  “Next year we drive around and look at the possibilities.”

  “Don’t twist my words. I said, I’ll move next year, but I want to start looking now.”

  “But all the Christmas preparations…”

  “I know you’re busy. I’m imposing enough on you already. I’ll have to get wheels eventually, so I might as well buy a beat-up old car somebody wants to get rid of now.”

  “Are you that hard done by?”

  “Call it careful. Until I know how to make a living again.”

  3

  Carola bought a twenty-year-old F-150 with more rust than color on it, and a heating system that worked only on high or not at all, but it had four wheel drive, important because it was snowing lightly every single day since she set out to find a rental place.

  Not an easy task. All the summer cabins recommended by friends of Maria were located deep in the woods. Carola managed to inspect only one or two a day. On the long, treacherous drives on badly plowed country roads, cutting through low income areas looking like trailer parks, she usually wondered why she even bothered. Once there, her foreboding was usually confirmed. The cabins were uncared for, had cracked siding, slipped gutters, broken doors and windows, their yards were littered with scrap metal. No point even going inside. She couldn’t live like that.

  But the alternative was to stay home with Maria, getting fat and lazy.

  On day seven, she was yet again on her way to a place Maria had marked on her map. Five hundred dollars rent, well within her budget, and the description sounded promising, too. Probably too cheap to be a decent place, but still.

  Beggars can’t be choosers.

  Three hundred thousand to my name, but no income and no prospects.

  It started to snow. Thick and heavy. The kind that limits sight and blankets the ground with a wet, slippery mass. Turning back would be the smart thing to do, but then she considered her options again. Going back to Germany? To Peter? He had a girlfriend. He had locked her out of their office. To crawl back was to admit defeat.

  Staying with Maria was no long-term solution either. More like slow and sweet suicide.

  She’d have to lower her expectations, find a place of her own and reshape her future. Living in a run-down cabin in the woods would depress her, but only until she got herself out of this mess. Until she met some people, made contacts, got her work permit approved, found a job—could move again. That’s how she had to look at it. Pull yourself out of the dump you got yourself into. You’ve got only yourself to blame.

  Deep in thought, she registered the brake lights of the car in front of her a nanosecond too late. Carola hit the brakes hard, and felt her truck fighting the slippery road. She managed to slow down enough to avoid crashing into the rear bumper of the car in front of her, but the right front wheel of her truck slid over the shoulder, hit the snow bank covering the ditch and came to a stop.

  She moved into first gear and accelerated again. The truck buried itself deeper. Now both wheels, front and back, slid into the ditch. Leaning sideways, the truck would not right itself without being pulled.

  Shit. Shit. Shit.

  She hit the steering wheel with her bare hands.

  She switched the hazard lights on, climbed out of the cab, walked to the side of the road to avoid oncoming traffic, and pulled out Maria’s cell.

  No reception.

  Shit, again.

  Fat snowflakes danced around her face, seriously reducing visibility and muffling most sounds. Standing by the roadside was getting dangerous. Carola moved closer to her truck and leaned against the still-warm hood. It was getting colder by the minute.

  A pickup passed. The brake lights lit up briefly, then she saw the pickup reversing back to where she stood. A guy leaned across the passenger seat, the window slid down.

  “Can I help you?”

  He looked friendly enough.

  After a brief explanation he parked his pickup in front of her truck and got out to inspect it.

  “Can’t see any damage,” he said. “Does it start?”

  When she turned to climb back behind the steering wheel, he gestured for her to hand over the keys. A simple movement of his fingers that instantly annoyed her.

  “It’s a big truck,” he said, making matters worse.

  “Which I can handle very well,” she said.

  He stepped back, looked at the truck in the ditch, then back at her. His grin told her enough of his thoughts.

  She handed him the keys. “Do try. I dare you.”

  “If I can get it out you have to buy me coffee.”

  “And if you don’t?”

  Climbing in he mumbled something like “then I buy”, but she wasn’t sure and let it go. He rolled down the window and told her to give him some space.

  Fingers crossed behind her back, she moved far enough from the stuck vehicle to be safe. She heard the engine start. It took him about three tries, then he gave up.

  “I would have loved to buy you that coffee,” she said when he was out again. “Thanks for trying anyway.”

  He didn’t seem flustered by his failure. Still grinning, he shrugged it away, all the while locking eyes with her. Blue eyes. Way too blue.

  “I need to drive back to my office,” he said. “Got some chains there.”

  “I don’t want to impose on you.” Carola cringed inside. What a half-baked comment. Had she totally lost it now? “I mean, I’d be really grateful. I don’t know what to do. There is no cell reception.”

  He finally let go of her eyes, marched to his parked pickup, and when she didn’t follow he called over his shoulder. “Hop in. No point in catching a cold.”

  Get in the car with a stranger? On an empty country road, miles from the next village? No witnesses. A quick city girl film ran through her mind. He would drive her God knows where, do God knows what to her. Leave her dying on a remote stretch of wilderness, cover her with fresh snow that would freeze into a solid mountain overnight. They wouldn’t find her body until spring.

  He walked back to her. “You’re new here?”

  That was the catch question. A visitor without any local attachments, how sweet was that for a rapist. A killer. Probably a serial killer. He preyed on victims of accidents. The way he looked at her. She’d passed inspection.

  “I live close by. Just up the road. With my friends. You may know them.” She hated how desperate her voice sounded.

  “Don’t be scared of me.” He reached into his pocket, handed her his card. Jason Golden, of Golden Real Estate. “That’s me. Jason. Everybody knows me around here. Put it in the glove compartment of your car. If I drag you into the woods, at least the community knows it was me again.”

  His expression moved between pleading and irritation. He understood her reluctance to go with him, but he was insulted by her fear.

  She put his card into her pocket and walked over to his car, her face flushed but determined. Her trust level was on zero, same as her confidence. Right, let’s get some positive energy back here. I will believe in the good of this guy, even with his arrogant attitude, and if he fails me, I’ll kick him into the ground and cut his balls off. She gently stroked the small Swiss Army knife in her pocket, the one she had bought a long time ago because it had such fancy extras like a nail file, scissors and a tooth pick.

  Half an hour later both their trucks were parked in front of his realtor’s office. Located at the highway 24 intersection only about five minutes’ drive from the site of her accident, Carola wondered why she had never noticed the quaint log building. She must have passed it several times on her trips to find accommodation.

  Jason handed her a cup of steaming coffee. He had insisted that she come in and let him make good on his promise.

  “But I owe you,” she said.

  “And I will hold you to it,” he said. “Eventually.”

  He sure had no problems with his confidence level.

  She looked around. The room was cluttered with office equipment and filing cabinets.

  “That’s my little kingdom. All my own, including the mortgage.”

  “I hope I’m not holding you up.”

  “Doing important business, you mean? The phone is not exactly ringing off the hook. It’s close to Christmas, nobody’s looking for property now.”

  “Except me.”

  He straightened his casual position. “You are?”

  “Well, kind of.”

  “You said you live with friends.”

  “That’s temporary.” She hesitated. Not being a serial killer was a notch in his favor. A bit of extra information wouldn’t hurt. “I’m planning to stay in the area for a while and don’t want to impose on my friends for too long.”

  “That’s perfect.” He stood, actually rubbed his hands together. “Heaven sent you my way. I was getting so bored I already considered doing my annual accounting before the year end to entertain myself. And I’m sure you know such activity ranks fairly high up on the boredom list.”

  “I’m a tax consultant.”

  “Ouch.”

  That damn attractive, arrogant grin again. And that impertinent stare.

  She held it and smiled back at him. Take that, b
oy. He couldn’t be more than twenty-five.

  “You seem awfully young to have your own company.”

  “Oh, that’s nothing,” he said. “Anybody can get a real estate license if they put their mind to it. And it doesn’t take much money to set up your own operation. The trick is to survive the winters here. Too slow to even warrant opening the office door. Which I still do, hoping for the odd client—and if all else fails, I drive around and look for damsels in distress.”

  “I heard that works like a charm,” Carola said. “So, let’s see what you have to offer.”

  4

  “You’re not serious,” Maria said, barley glancing at Jason’s card. “A realtor can’t show you rental places.”

  Carola crossed her arms. Jason had explained to her that real estate agents weren’t allowed to broker rentals but she had hoped Maria wouldn’t catch on to this minor detail.

  “I can still look at the market. Who knows, it might be cheaper long term to buy than to rent.” Lame. Pretty damn lame.

  Maria latched on to that one, too. “Don’t be daft. What if you don’t like living all by yourself in the wilderness? What if the isolation drives you crazy? Then you’d need to do a fire sale, and you can’t afford that. The market is depressed right now. Things move slowly, if at all.”

  Carola packed Jason’s card away. “You said it. That’s the best time to buy into the market.”

  “It’s too risky. I can’t imagine you staying here long term. You’re a city girl. You need a changeover period to determine if you can handle it. Renting makes sense. You can pack up and leave without burning too much money. Hard-earned and much-needed money, may I remind you?”

  “No need.” She let out a deep breath. “Peter reminded me often enough.”

  His name made Maria jump to her feet. “Oh, damn it, I forgot. Another letter arrived for you, from the same law firm.” She took the envelope out of the drawer and held it to Carola. “I hope it wasn’t bad news in the last one.”

  “Haven’t even opened it yet.”

  Maria waved the paper in her face. “Promise me you will read this one—and the last. Maybe it’s good news. Maybe Peter’s come to his senses.”

  “And sends me a cheque for half the value of our company?”

  The one she’d signed over to him. He’d tricked her out of her share.

  “Why should he do that?” Carola said. “He’d rather cut off his right arm than give me more than what I had agreed to accept.”

  “It was unfair to exploit you in the state you were in, right after the split.”

  “But it’s legal now. I’ve signed the document, taken the money and run.”

  “Open it.”

  Carola crossed her arms. This letter would be another demonstration of his superiority. He wanted to gloat. He was a master of drawing strength from his opponent’s humiliation. The more his enemy had to squirm, the grander he felt. That she learned over the years by watching how he treated his employees. After he sucked the last drop of loyalty out of them he got rid of them. How effortlessly he manipulated people around him, including herself.

  She should have left him years ago. Twelve years ago to be exact, right after their wedding. Her only excuse was that she’d been too young, too stupid, and too dependent.

  “I’m not leaving this spot until I see you open it.”

  Oh, to hell with it. Maria wouldn’t let go. Carola took the envelope and ripped it open. When she started reading, she could feel Maria walk away. She glanced over the first paragraph of the letter drafted by Peter’s lawyers.

  A request to sign the attached documents for divorce proceeding, needed to speed up the process and save both parties considerable expenses. An amicable divorce was what Mister Haug proposed.

  Really? The leopard changed his spots?

  The next paragraph confirmed her deep-rooted suspicions. Mister Haug was willing to waive his rights to his share of the house sale proceeds if she signed the attached divorce settlement by January fifteenth at the latest. Any previous agreement Mister Haug had entered into in regards to this house sale was made under duress and would therefore not withstand judicial scrutiny.

  What were they talking about? Could he do that? Ask for half the money back? Money she needed.

  Icy fear gripped her, pressed all the air out of her lungs. Made it hard to breathe, hard to think.

  She forced herself to read on.

  As she had not responded to their previous mail, they were now urging her to immediately respond to their request, otherwise their client would withdraw his offer. Consequences were, again, a lengthy and costly battle in the courts over the loan her husband had advanced her.

  Here it was again. Threatening her. Sign, or else. Blackmail. Wasn’t that blackmail? It must be.

  “Bastard. Fucking goddamn conniving bastard.”

  Maria was by her side before she could get air into her lungs again. Breathing heavy with frustration, she threw the letter on the floor.

  “He’s twisting it all around. Challenging me on the money from the house sale. Money I received for waiving my rights on the company we jointly owned. He’s tricking me again. If I have to pay back half, I’m left with nearly nothing.”

  She stepped on the letter.

  Maria quickly bent down, picked it up and straightened it.

  “Hold your horses, young lady. This is Canada. Not only another country, but another continent. He won’t be able to withdraw money from your account. Not him, and not his lawyers.”

  “He can make a lot of trouble for me. My work permit isn’t through yet. A legal squabble like that might delay the process—or the permit might be denied altogether. This is freaking me out. I want to build a future here. I need to work. If I can’t, I have to go back to Germany.”

  She couldn’t hold back tears. How many more did she have to shed until this nightmare was over?

  “Maybe that is what he wants.”

  “What?”

  “For you to come back.”

  Never in a million years. She’d fight him all the way.

  “I’ll fight him,” she said. “I’ll spend the money I have before he gets his grubby hands on it.”

  “That’s the spirit.”

  What if she did? Use it in a way nobody could blame her for if it came to a court battle. Buy a dwelling she needed to live in. A little cabin in the woods. That way, she could always argue with the Canadian government that Peter would get his money if she sold it. The market was depressed, Maria had said so. It would take a long time. She’d sit it out.

  “You’re not thinking straight,” Maria said. “Just sign those stupid divorce papers and be rid of him. What’s wrong with that?”

  “I don’t know. I can’t put my finger on it. Peter never does anything without a hidden agenda. He ignores our agreement and threatens me with something that’s already been dealt with. Signed and paid out. That may have been hasty on my part, but I can’t believe it won’t stand up in court. Something is fishy, and I intend to find out what it is that smells so revolting. I’m not signing anything until I have figured out what he’s up to.”

  5

  After seven days of relentless snowing, the sun appeared in a cloudless blue sky like a winter warrior, chasing away the dull ache nature felt in its frozen bones. All of a sudden everything was sparkling white—roofs, trees, meadows, even the tops of fence posts.

  Jason had picked her up in the morning, and they drove through this winter wonderland, looking at one disaster after another. Carola hadn’t really expected to find the place that would miraculously extinguish her house guest existence on the first day of their search, so she wasn’t disappointed. This day, which was coming to an end soon, judging by how low the sun stood, had been her best in months, if not years. She would have liked to drive along forever, with Jason by her side, comfortably silent most of the time. No questions about her past, no probing into the reasons for her change of heart from renting to buying.

  Jason had shown her three small homes in the price range she specified to him. Sixty percent of her total funds. The rest would have to be hidden from Peter and his lawyers until she found a way to make a living. All of the three houses were horrible. Not just plain, but outright ugly. She pushed the thought of having to live in one of those dark, reeking dumps aside.