Ink and Ice Erin McRae (general ebook reader TXT) 📖

MARIE TURNED OUT TO be an ex-nun who lived in Diamond Lake in a house with an in-law apartment. Usually, Brendan informed him as they drove, she rented it out to various elite skaters who came through the Twin Cities for choreography or a tryout for Katie and Brendan’s team.

“Figured this made more sense than dumping you in a hotel,” Brendan said as he leaned against the doorbell at the little bungalow. The neighborhood was quiet, the windows of the other houses dark. They were evidently the only ones awake at this hour. “If you want to get a handle on the skating life, staying at Marie’s is practically a rite of passage around here.”

Marie, bless her heart, answered the door with a plate of kolaczki and the offer of coffee, which struck Zack as a little odd, until Brendan explained.

“Sometimes we start training days at the rink at five. Sometimes I’m on an overnight shift at the farm. If someone’s still awake at...” he paused and checked his watch, “One a.m. around here, there’s a better than even chance they’re starting their day, not ending it.”

“Let’s get you inside,” Marie said. “I have to leave for the soup kitchen at four thirty, but there’s plenty of time to get you fed and caught up on some of the gossip.”

Zack followed her through the door, then held it for Brendan once he was inside.

“Oh no,” Brendan said. “I’m headed home and am gonna crash. But I’ll see you tomorrow at the rink, yeah?”

“Definitely.” Truth be told, other than making a call to Sauer’s coaches to try to set up an interview, Zack had nothing else to do than get up to speed quick.

“Take some for everyone, all right?” Marie pressed a tinfoil-wrapped plate into Brendan’s hands. “Tell them I say hi.”

“Thanks! You’re the best.” Brendan gave Marie a hug and then, to Zack’s great surprise, hugged him as well. “You’re in good hands here, but call us if you need anything, okay?”

“Uh. Sure.” Zack hugged him back awkwardly. He felt both relieved and a little guilty when Brendan had closed the door behind himself and he was alone with his new landlady for the next several weeks.

“Is he always like that?” Zack asked before he could stop himself.

“Brendan? Oh no. Sometimes he’s worse. Midwestern meets figure skater sensibilities is a potent combination. Especially if you’re not used to it. Which something tells me you’re not,” she said keenly.

“Not so much, no.”

“Regretting whatever it was in your life that brought you here?” Marie asked, the short, grey curls of her hair looking far more alert than Zack felt.

“At this very moment, yes, I am,” Zack admitted. Something in Marie invited confidences. And the briskness of her manner indicated she was practical and unlikely to judge him for whatever those confidences might be.

“Congratulations. You’re not the first to stay here feeling that way, and you won’t be the last. Now come on, I’ll show you your room and you can get settled.”

Zack followed Marie down the hallway, past a small living room and dining room and into a kitchen. Clean dishes were piled up on a dish rack and spread across several dish towels on the counter.

“You’re down here,” Marie said, opening a door that led to a flight of basement steps. They were somewhat steep and narrow, which made them difficult to navigate with his luggage. At the bottom of the steps Marie flipped on the lights to reveal the place he’d be calling home.

There was an open plan kitchen at one end of the living room, both painted a shade of green that had gone out of fashion at least a decade ago. The couch and armchairs, table and stove, were all clean and well-kept but also showed signs of much wear. There were framed photos on the walls—some of them were signed portraits of people Zack vaguely remembered from watching the Olympics as a kid, and some were larger ones of various landmarks in the Twin Cities. Shelves along the walls held books, board games, and more ceramic figure skating figurines than Zack had known existed. Also not a few pairs of figure skates, covered in sharpied signatures. Through one door off the living room Zack could see the edge of a bed, and through another a bathroom, tiled in remarkably vintage pink.

“That’s your entrance,” Marie said, pointing at another door. “Leads you out into the back yard, there’s a path that’ll bring you around to the front. Will you have a car?”

“Yeah, I have to pick up a rental at some point.”

“That’s fine, there’s room in the driveway for you. I really don’t care what hours you keep, just don’t make a racket coming home. Whatever you’re doing, you won’t be the strangest one who’s ever stayed here. Your keys and the Wi-Fi info are on the table.”

“Okay.” Zack strongly suspected he was going to like Marie. “Does the offer of gossip cover some of those people who are probably stranger than me?”

“Oh, possibly,” Marie said. There was no protest in it at all.

“You mentioned coffee,” Zack said, eyeing a coffee maker on the counter. “Are you interested in partaking with me?”

“Depends. Are you any good at making it?”

“Well,” Zack said, starting to open cupboards in search of supplies. He’d have to go shopping soon, but there were beans and a grinder in the cupboard. “Of the many reasons my ex-husband and I got divorced, my skill at coffee making was not one of them.”

Marie pulled herself out a chair. “That sounds promising.”

“Because coffee?”

Marie gave him a slow smile, and Zack loved it. “No. Because you seem to appreciate the rules when it comes to an exchange of gossip.”

Chapter 3

TWO DAYS AFTER MEMORIAL Day

Twin Cities Ice Arena

TWENTY-FOUR HOURS AFTER he’d left Whisker Island in its gray morning gloom, Aaron walked toward the doors of the Twin Cities Ice Arena. The scrape of his skate bag’s wheels across the