Superior Storm (Lake Superior Mysteries) (33 page)

“Watch them,” said
Angela
to Phil, and
got to her feet and went up the companionway. Now was the moment of truth. Either Jasmine would tell her everything I said, or she would keep my secrets.

The storm was definitely past its peak. It wasn’t calm by any means, but the front that had blasted down upon us was far to the southeast. I wondered if this was one of those Alberta Clippers that broke hard, and then
kept the lake
churned up for days afterwards.

I couldn’t stop shivering. I wanted to get out of my wet clothes, but I couldn’t think of a way to do so without revealing my secrets. I settled for stepping over
to
the galley for more coffee.
I wanted to wrap up in a blanket and rest, but unless I somehow changed things, there were only a few hours before we all died.

“So
,
Phil,” I said, the hearty pastor making small talk, “you know Angela had an affair right?”

Phil looked at me cautiously. “She told you that?”

“She did. I’m sorry.” In the scheme of things, I wasn’t as sorry as I might have been.

“She probably
just
said that to get us into counseling.”

“So,
you guys
never
had
any trouble with your marriage then?”

Phil’s face looked pinched. I wasn’t playing fair. The fact is,
all
couples have various issues in their marriage sooner or later. It was normal and
natural
;
the working through of marriage problems is part of God’s plan
to give
people
an opportunity
to mature. But I was playing for our lives, so I didn’t say that to Phil.
I tried to make him think he was the only one.

“The guy she cheated with was a professor at UMD.”

Phil looked even more sour, and also sad and strangely vulnerable. I began to dislike myself a little bit, but my only choice was to find a weak link and hammer at it until something gave.

“He was into feminism. You know how she likes that. She probably thought he understood her or respected her, but I doubt it. He was probably just after her body.”

“Shut up,” said Phil thickly.

I wanted to shut up, I really did. Now, I was disliking myself a good deal. But I thought of Leyla and Stone lying there helplessly, watching me, and the Coast Guard getting to
the
wreckage of the
Tiny Dancer
long hours after we were lost in the cold darkness of Superior’s depths.

“She doesn’t think a lot of you, does she
,
Phil?”

Phil screwed himself together with effort. “Shut up,” he said again. “I know what you’re doing
,
and it won’t work. You’re just trying to get us mad at each other, and then you’ll jump us.”

“Could be,” I said. “That’s a pretty good idea, now that you mention it. But even if I was doing that, what I am saying is true. You know it is.”

“Stop it,” said Phil. He was almost pleading.
It was going to be a long time before I wanted to see my face in a mirror. But I kept my expression cold and blank toward Phil.

“How long are you going to let her do this stuff
,
Phil? How many more affairs will you let her have before you stand up for yourself?”

I sipped some coffee, choosing my words with as much thought as I could muster.

“Phil
,
you aren’t a
murderer
, but Angela is. Even if you don’t care that she looks at you like chopped liver, don’t you care that she’s killing people? How many
more lives will you let her take
? She’s out of control.
Be a man, Phil. Do the right thing, and stop her.
”

With a supreme effort, Phil got ahold of himself. “You killed my brother,” he said.

As a conversation stopper, it was a pretty good one.
I didn’t know what to say. It was true, I guess, and there wasn’t any way to change it. I stared at him and felt my shoulders slumping. He wasn’t going to listen to me. I was the one who killed his twin. The silence began to lengthen.

“Angela started the shooting.” It was Stone who spoke, startling Phil and me. His voice sounded like sandpaper on limestone, but we could understand him just fine. He slowly eased himself up a little on the settee until he could turn his head and see Phil. “If Angela hadn’t started the fire-fight, Borden wouldn’t have
shot
back. Fact is, Borden didn’t even have a gun to use until Angela shot the guard.” He coughed a little and grunted with pain.

“
It’s true
,” I said sadly
.
“I was shooting back at Angela, though I didn’t know who it was
,
of course. I missed her and hit your brother. I didn’t mean to. When someone shoots at you, you shoot back if you have the chance. It’s a defensive reaction.”

“The
fact
is,” said Stone slowly and clearly, though painfully hoarse, “Angela got your brother killed. If she didn’t start shooting, no one would have been hurt, and he’d be alive. If she hadn’t made you guys
keep on with the robberies, no one would have been hurt
, and he would be
alive
. It wasn’t the first person she got killed either, was it? She got her own brother killed first, same way, by Borden’s father.”

“She’ll never quit, Phil,” I said quietly. “Who is it going to be next time? You? There aren’t many left.”

“We’re done with this now,” Phil said in a tight voice. “
We’ve hit our last bank.”

“I bet you thought that when you left Washington
,
too,” I said. “You really think she’
ll quit
for good?”

At that moment, Angela blew back down the companionway. I
looked
at her
, trying to read her face
. Now was the moment of truth – did Jasmine keep my secret or not?

She saw me staring at her. “Were you hoping I got blown overboard?”

“The thought had crossed my mind,” I said.

She laughed
, but there was no humor in it
. “No such luck, Borden.”

I sipped some coffee while she took off her coat. She glanced at me, and then looked more closely.

“When did you change your clothes?”

“I didn’t,” I said, surprised. A half-second later I was grateful for the fact that I had completely forgotten that I had been given new
,
dry clothes on the
Superior Rose
. My reaction had been perfect.

“You must have,” said Angela. “I don’t remember those clothes. Those pants look too short for you.”

“You’re crazy,” I said loudly en
ough to emphasize the point to
Stone and
to
Leyla, who was wide awake now.
“You think I keep spare clothes stashed up there in the cockpit?”

“I don’t know what to think,” she said, looking at me closely.

“Those are his clothes,” said Leyla. “He’s been wearing them all night. I’ve bugged
him
about those stupid short pants for months, but he says he loves them. I think they make him look stupid.”

That’s my girl! I wanted to hug her, but I was careful to not even look at her.

“Something’s going on,” said Angela.

“Right,” I said. “I jumped off the boat, swam over to some convenient freighter that was in the neighborhood, got myself some dry clothes and a cup of coffee, and then swam back here because I missed you so much, and I wanted wet clothes anyway.”

“I think those must be his own clothes Angela,” said Phil.

“You’re a moron
,
Phil
ip
,” she said. “You wouldn’t even recognize your own pants if I didn’t pick them out for you in the morning.”

I watched Phil’s face get pinched again. It broke my heart, but gave me hope at the same time.
Angela dropped the business with my clothes. I sipped some coffee to cover
my
relief. I am always discovering new uses for coffee.

I noticed that the light seemed to be dimmer. Even so, w
e were no nearer to being safe. I had to try again.

“So
,
Angela
,” I said,
“you
killed your
professor-
lover in Duluth
,
huh?”

Her eyes locked onto my face. So did Phil’s.

“I heard it on the news
,
right before the storm. Professor of
counseling
and women’s studies shot to death in his own home. First name Ethan. Same first name as the lover you claim you
invented
, Angela. Professor of the same things.” I looked at Phil. “You see?”

Phil looked like a man struggling through a thick swamp. “We’ve only got your word for it, Borden,” he said.

Angela lifted her chin. “I did it.”

Phil stared at her. Even Stone looked surprised through his pain. I myself didn’t expect her to admit it all so easily, but then I was cold and tired and wasn’t really thinking straight about Angela and her twisted view of the world.

“I had the affair, Phil
ip
, because it is wrong to be confined by the artificial social construction of marriage, which is merely used as a tool to oppress women.”

“Yeah,” I said. “It sure looks like Phil’s done a lot of oppressing in this relationship.”

“Shut up
,
Borden.”

Phil was looking like someone had just clocked him with a right hook. “Why did you kill him?” he asked. I wanted to cry. In Phil’s voice there was the sound of pathetic hope, as if he thought maybe Angela had killed her lover out of true love and commitment to
himself
.

“I realized he was just using me, like men always do,” said Angela. “Plus,” she said casually, “it’s not like we’re going back to Minnesota. I wouldn’t be seeing him again anyway.”

I saw Phil’s world brutally impl
ode. He looked away from Angela
and wouldn’t meet her eyes.
His shoulders slumped, and
through
the dim light
,
I thought
I saw
tears in his eyes.
I didn’t know what he would do, if anything, but he was facing the truth now in a way that
he
probably never had before. I wanted to give him time and space to make up his mind to do the right thing.

“So did killing the guy help your guilt problem?” I asked Angela.

She leaned back against the desk underneath the radios. “You know, I haven’t really had time to think about it,” she said. Incredibly, she seemed genuinely interested in the question.
Then she shook her head. “No, guilt is an artificial construct used by the elites of society to oppress others and maintain control. I already told you that.”

“So the answer is, no – you still feel guilty.”

“Well
,
your approach isn’t really an option now, is it? I think we’re a little past forgiveness.”

“Nobody is past forgiveness,” I said. “You know the song
Amazing Grace
?”

“You think some stupid platitude from a
hymn
is going to change my mind?”
She sounded incredulous.
She shook her head. “I used to think you were intelligent.”

“The writer of that hymn was a slave trader.”

“What – what do you mean?” asked Phil. There was a catch in his voice.

“I mean
the guy who wrote
Amazing Grace
was a slave trader. He captured innocent people, imprisoned them
,
and transported them across the ocean in unimaginably horrible conditions. A lot of them died because he didn’t take care of them. He sold them like cattle
,
and got filthy rich. And when he
finally admitted
that what he did was evil, he also found out that
even he
could be forgiven.
That’s what inspired the song.
”

“Religious propaganda to further oppression,” said Angela.

“How does forgiveness oppress you, Angela?” I asked.

“You want me to admit I’m wrong,” she said in a voice that sounded like
nails on a blackboard
.

“
You think killing, kidnapping and stealing are not wrong?”

“
Morals are made up by societies to control the masses. But i
t’s not just that. It’s everything. You want to justify what was done to me.”