Norbert Crosskill and the Dodge Challenger

A Story From Kat Tovslosky, the main character in the Iconoclast Thriller series:

I am the part-time (and only) help for the Ravens Cove police. In the winter, I go in once or twice a week. So, the story that follows can only be described as serendipitous.

The day started normally enough. As always, I stood in front of the station and fumbled through my bag for the ever-elusive keys. (I know I should put them in a specific pocket but it is winter in the Cove and ever-so boring.

So, I made up this little game: I see how fast I can dig the keys out of my ‘bottomless pit’ of a purse. I reward myself with a mocha if I retrieve the keys in less than thirty seconds.)

I grabbed the key ring on the first try. Exhilaration coursed through my body, and I high-fived my reflection in the door.

The sound of tires screaming to find traction on the frosted streets caused me to drop my prize back into the ebony depths.

I swung around to watch as a fire-engine red Dodge Challenger sped toward the station — and me.

Terror replaced exhilaration in ‘two shakes of a cat’s tail,’ as Grandma Tovslosky was fond of saying when she was alive.

I plastered my body against the door and sucked in my stomach. (Like that would make me less of a target?) All the things I hadn’t done, all the things I’d yet to do flashed through my mind like an accelerated movie. I’m really gonna miss mochas, I thought.

I turned my head to the side and closed my eyes. I waited for the end to come.

Tires sliding like skates on ice filled my ears. Then silence.

I opened my eyes to see the Challenger sitting pretty as you please in front of the general store, which is about ten feet from the police station — and me. Still plastered to the door, eyes as wide as saucers, I watched Norbert Crosskill open the driver’s door and slam the tip of his white cane to the ground. Norbert has been legally blind for at least a decade.

“Mornin’, Norbert?” I couldn’t think of anything else to say — well I could but it shouldn’t be printed here.

He jumped. “Kat? Where’d you come from?”

“It’s a work day for me,” I replied.

Norbert dropped his head to his chest. “You know I’m not supposed to drive,” he whispered.

“Yep.”

He lifted his head and we stared at each. My eyes still wide from adrenaline, his wide as if it would help him see me better.

Norbert broke the silence. “Well, have a good day.” He tap-tapped his way to the store and disappeared inside.

I located my keys and bee-lined it to my desk phone to call Bart. (Bart is my cousin and the town’s police officer.)

I punched in the first three numbers and stopped. I couldn’t shake the feeling that Norbert reached his boiling point that day and this reckless drive to town was his way of shaking a mental fist at his failing eyesight. I dropped the handset into its cradle.

“No harm, no fowl.” I mumbled. I turned on the computer at my desk and went to work. Or, I should say, I tried to work.

My nerves would have none of this. I gave up and headed for home.

I cuddled into my overstuffed couch with a hot cup of some kind of nerve-calming tea and asked myself, “If Norbert is legally blind and, as far as I know, hasn’t owned a vehicle in a decade, how did he get a car?”

I tapped the sides of my cup with one nail while I looked out the window. I let my mind dip and fly upward like a raven at play in the wind.

The light dawned and I bolted upright. I KNEW that car. (After all, I live in a small town and a fire-engine red Dodge Challenger kind of stands out.)

I promptly walked myself back to town and to the car’s owner — namely Arnie Thralling who has a penchant for all motorized vehicles.

Arnie stood up straight when he saw me heading in his direction. He held up a hand and grinned. “I heard about that, um, incident from Norbert.”

“Really? And you think it’s funny?” I asked through gritted teeth.

Irritation turned to fury. It took everything in me to hold my tongue and not tell Arnie a thing or two about his character.

The smile left Arnie’s face. “’Course not. I’ll explain.”

“Please do.”

“Norbert came to me and said his niece would be visiting from somewhere South — Alabama, I think. He didn’t want her to brave the elements, ‘coming to such a cold climate and all.’ So, I said no problem and dropped the car at his house.”

“Okay . . .?”

Arnie shrugged. “The rest is history.”

“Except for the fact that Norbert doesn’t have a brother or sister, Arnie. How’d he get a niece?”

Arnie’s eyes twinkled with new respect for Crosskill. “I never thought about that! Gosh, Norbert’s still one shrewd guy.”

“He’s what? . . .” I stared at Arnie, still considering those few choice words. I let out a sigh. “Check the facts next time, would you Arnie?”

“Sure thing.”

On the way home, I stopped at the top of Ravine’s Ravine and looked back on the town. In that moment, the gift of living in Ravens Cove flooded my mind and heart. All the anger of moments ago dissipated. I smiled remembering what I loved about this place.

Both Norbert Croskill’s and Arnie Thralling’s actions spoke volumes about the personal views of all of our residents. We have to be creative and as independent as we can to live happily in small-town Alaska. It’s about survival and helping each other to persevere.

“Even if it means letting your blind buddy drive your car,” I whispered, then chuckled. “Well, creativity and independence are still alive and well here — I love this town!”

I turned on my heal and headed back into town to revel in its uniqueness — and to get me that well-deserved mocha.