by Thomas King
“Thumps,” said Thumps.
“Thumps,” said Ethan.
“I’m sure Mr. DreadfulWater has heard the rumours.”
“Mom.”
“It’s all right,” said Adele. “Can’t control what people say. Can’t change what they believe.”
Thumps wanted to tell Adele that he didn’t put much stock in rumours, but he knew how hollow and insincere that would sound.
“There are those who believe that I killed Buck or allowed him to die.”
“How old was Trudy?”
“Twelve,” said Adele. “Not even a teenager.”
“How old was Ethan?”
“Eleven.”
“And he came here to live with you and Trudy right after Buck died?”
Adele sat up straight and rigid. “Day after the funeral.”
“It’s not as bad as it sounds,” said Ethan.
“I had to leave my child with my sister. He was only five,” said Adele. “You think I was going to wait a second longer?”
“I hope you’re not going to blame my mother,” said Ethan.
“Course he is,” said Adele. “Everybody else does. Poor little princess. Loses her mother and then her father. Left in the clutches of an evil stepmother and her pretender son. No wonder she fell apart.”
“I wasn’t here,” said Thumps.
“The truth of the matter is, I was a good mother to that girl. Sure, we had our moments, but we got along. You think Buck paid any attention to his daughter? Hell, Buck was all about the business. I was the one who raised Trudy.”
“And then Buck died.”
“Yes,” said Adele, “and then Buck died.”
“And the wheels fell off.”
“No,” said Adele. “The wheels fell off, as you so crudely put it, when she met Tobias Rattler.”
Thumps leaned back. The sunlight was streaming across his legs and threatening his thighs.
“She met him in high school,” said Adele.
Ethan held up a hand. “Let me do this, Mom.”
“Yes,” said Adele. “My son will have a different perspective.”
Ethan cleared his throat and leaned forward in the chair. “You remember high school, Mr. DreadfulWater?”
“Thumps.”
Ethan smiled. “Thumps.”
“Not much of it.”
“But you remember the dynamics. Who was in, who was out.”
“Sure.”
“Tobias Rattler was a loner. Good-looking. Mysterious. Didn’t have any friends to speak of. Someone passing through town on his way to somewhere else.”
“Shane.”
“The movie?”
“The loner.”
“Exactly,” said Ethan. “That was Toby. You know what they say about bad boys and good girls.”
“Sure.”
“Except Trudy wasn’t all that good.” Ethan paused and took a breath. “She had already started drinking. Maybe even drugs. We got along okay, but we didn’t talk. We weren’t like brother and sister.”
“More like boarders in the same hotel.”
“You have a way with words, Mr. DreadfulWater.” Ethan made an apologetic noise. “Thumps.”
“So Trudy and Rattler got together.”
“Not at first,” said Ethan. “I don’t think they ever spoke to one another. Trudy kept to herself, and Toby was Toby.”
Thumps waited.
“Second year at the homecoming game. Afterwards. Couple of guys gave Trudy a hard time. Tore her dress. Pushed her around some. Toby stepped in and stopped them.”
“The hero.”
“Guess so,” said Ethan. “After that they started hanging out together. Toby and Trudy. T & T.”
Adele’s eyes flashed in the light. “You know what they call a sixteen-year-old girl who has sex?”
“Mom!”
“A slut,” said Adele. “That’s the word.”
Ethan stayed composed. “They didn’t have sex. Sure, that’s what people said, but it wasn’t true.”
“How do you know?”
“Trudy and I didn’t get along all that well, but we did talk. She confided in me.”
Thumps debated his next move. “Because you’re gay?”
Adele Samuels started to get off the sofa. “Perhaps it’s time for you to leave, Mr. DreadfulWater.”
“No, Mom.” Ethan motioned for his mother to sit down. “It’s okay.” Ethan smiled and turned to Thumps. “Does it show?”
“No,” said Thumps. “It was a guess.”
“Trudy was the only one who knew,” said Ethan. “And she never told.”
“But she talked to you about Rattler.”
“Some,” said Ethan. “If they were having sex, Trudy would have said.”
Adele was hard-faced and impatient. “Why else would Rattler be with a girl like Trudy unless there was sex?”
Ethan shook his head. “Rattler wasn’t with Trudy. Trudy was with him. Because he made her feel safe.”
“And that was more important than sex.”
“It was,” said Ethan. “Trudy gave up the booze and the drugs.”
“Because she was safe.”
Ethan nodded. “And because she was in love with him.”
Thumps thought on this for a moment. “But he wasn’t in love with her?”
“Rattler wasn’t gay if that’s what you’re asking,” said Ethan.
“You’d know?”
“Trudy said Toby wasn’t interested in sex.”
“What about Trudy?” said Thumps. “Was she interested in sex?”
“I think that’s enough, Mr. DreadfulWater,” said Adele.
Ethan ignored his mother. “Anyway, Mom and Trudy had a big fight, and Trudy moved out. Got an apartment in town.”
Thumps looked at Adele. “Over Rattler?”
“Yes, Mr. DreadfulWater,” said Adele. “Over Mr. Rattler.”
“Teenagers,” said Ethan. “I’m sure you understand.”
“Sure,” said Thumps.
“Trudy was mad at Mom because Buck died and Mom lived.”
The shifting light had found him, bright and glaring. Thumps moved across the sofa to the shadows at the far end.
“Light too bright for you, Mr. DreadfulWater?”
“Yes, ma’am,” said Thumps. “It is.”
“Mr. Rattler didn’t like the light much either,” said Adele. “Do you think that’s an Indian trait?”
“Mom.”
“Speak my mind,” said Adele. “Always have. Not about to stop now.”
“I’m told that Trudy and Tobias had a fight just before she died.”
“I heard that too,” said Ethan.
“Any idea why?”
“Mr. Rattler was going to leave her.” Adele’s voice crackled like green logs on a fire. “Off to university somewhere. Was going to dump her. Fuck the rich bitch and dump her. Is that what you wanted to know?”
“Maybe you better go,” said Ethan.
Thumps stood and set his hat on his head. “Thank you for seeing me.”
Ethan stepped in behind him. “I’ll walk you out.”
Adele stayed on the sofa. “I’m sure Mr. DreadfulWater can find his own way out. I understand that Indians are good at finding scent.”
Ethan walked Thumps to the truck. “My mother has edges,” he said. “For all the money, she’s had a hard life.” Ethan picked at the palm of his hand. “Anything else?”
“Injury?”
“This?” Ethan opened the hand and held it up. “Log house. Live in a log house and you get splinters.”
Adele appeared behind them. “I said we were done.”
Thumps nodded. “One last question. Why do you stay here?”
“What?”
“You said the place is a monstrosity. So why do you stay here?”
Adele turned her face to the wind. “Is that part of your investigation?”
“Probably not.”
“When you get to the gates,” said A
dele, “make sure that they close behind you?”
“I will.”
Adele stood framed against the open doorway, ready to repel friends and foes alike. “And don’t come back.”
Thirty
Thumps had always imagined crimes to be rather like the puzzles you found at thrift stores, where there was no guarantee that all the pieces were still in the box. As he drove east from the Samuels estate, he wondered if Trudy and Nina Maslow were one puzzle or two. If Trudy was murdered, then the cases could be linked, but that would mean that the person or persons who killed Samuels had murdered Maslow as well. Or the cases could be separate. Trudy’s death might have been suicide or an accident and had nothing to do with Maslow. But why then had the bodies of the two women wound up in the same place?
Misdirection?
Coincidence?
Edge pieces. That’s all he had. Edge pieces and little else.
Thumps wasn’t sure he was going to find any of the missing pieces at Moses Blood’s place, but there was every chance he’d find Moses.
The trail from the ridge to the river bottom had always been a narrow, rutted path that not even the deer or the coyotes used for fear of breaking a leg. Moses called it his “driveway,” but that’s because the old man had a twisted sense of humour.
However, today the dirt trail was smooth and banked. As impossible as it seemed, someone had widened and graded the track and turned it into a road, the kind of road that suggested the beginnings of executive estates and hobby farms.
Maybe this was what the billboard in Randall was advertising.
Moses’s house sat on high ground banked against the Ironstone and the run of cottonwoods that followed the river. At one point, there had been about fifty trailers arranged on the flat in interesting patterns that resembled a giant maze or an enormous patchwork quilt. The trailers were long gone. The house, the chicken coop, and the barn remained.
Moses was in the yard, splitting wood. Thumps parked the car against a large cottonwood and got out.
“Should get someone to do that for you.”
Moses set the maul down and wiped his face. “Cooley already put up about nine cords.” Moses waved a hand at the low running wall of wood near the barn, all neatly stacked and squared off. “I figure I should have one or two more, just in case.”
Next to the firewood was a pile of orange stakes with ribbons tied to one end.
“Those surveyor stakes?”
“Bunch of young boys came by and stuck them up in a nice straight line,” said Moses. “Ran ’em right across the river and up onto high ground. One long line. Should have seen it. Pretty impressive sight.”
“You pulled the stakes up?”
“They couldn’t get their big truck down here,” said Moses, “so they brought in a grader and fixed my driveway.”
“Someone’s not going to be happy about the stakes being gone.”
“Pipeline,” said Moses. “We don’t need it, so I figure they don’t need those stakes.”
Thumps tried to keep a straight face. “And good kindling is hard to find.”
Moses grinned. “Yes,” he said, “good kindling is hard to find.”
Thumps picked up the maul. “How about I split some wood for a while. Could use the exercise.”
“Yes,” Moses agreed. “Exercise is a good thing. I’ll make some tea. Tea’s a good thing too.”
Splitting wood seemed like a good idea at the time, but it didn’t take long for reality to set in. By the time Moses returned with the tea, Thumps was soaked with sweat, and his arms and shoulders ached. Somewhere in the small of his back, muscles were organizing a major protest.
“It’s American ginseng,” said Moses. “They grow it in Wisconsin. Supposed to give you energy for all sorts of things.”
“Like chopping wood?”
“And collecting kindling.” Moses set the cups on the wood plank table.
The wind was off the river. It was cutting but not that cold. Thumps buttoned his jacket up so he wouldn’t get chilled. Moses closed his eyes and let the breeze flow over his face.
“You smell that?”
“The wood?”
“The snow,” said Moses. “It’s on its way. This week. Next at the latest. You got your car working yet?”
“Nope.”
“Probably going to have to give Stas’s truck back at some point.”
“Probably.”
“Maybe you’ll be living with Claire by then,” said Moses. “She has a good truck.”
“Don’t think that’s going to happen.”
“She’s going to need a man around,” said Moses, “even if she don’t know it yet.”
“Claire doesn’t need a man.”
“Most women don’t,” said Moses. “But they do it anyway.”
The tea was strong and bitter. Thumps felt something that could be energy. Or it could just be his body being startled.
“Sometimes when I drink this tea,” said Moses, “it helps me think.”
“Maybe you can think of why someone would kill Nina Maslow.”
“That’s the television woman.”
“It is,” said Thumps.
“I fell off Belly Butte one time.” Moses chuckled. “Mary Many Bears pushed me, but she had cause.”
“You try to kiss her?”
Moses looked concerned. “Mary’s my cousin. Why would I want to kiss my cousin?”
“What’d you do?”
“Told her she was skinny.” Moses smiled. “She was skinny. But she was also quick.”
Thumps tried to picture Moses going down the side of Belly Butte. “You get hurt?”
Moses shook his head. “Scraped up a bit. Tore my pants and shirt.”
“It’s a long ways down.”
Moses finished his tea. “Come on,” he said. “Throw a couple of those logs in the truck. You and me can try our hand at forensic science.”
“Forensic science?”
“Just like the TV show.”
THE TRAIL UP to Belly Butte had not improved. All the activity the day before had only deepened the ruts. The truck bucked its way up the hill, the front end rising and crashing down on the undercarriage, the logs rolling around in the back, banging against the sides of the bed. By the time Thumps got to the top, his fingers were welded to the steering wheel.
Moses got out of the truck first. “You might want to check the oil pan,” he said. “That last hole you hit was impressive.”
Thumps pried his fingers open. “So, tell me about Tobias.”
Moses jammed his hands in his pockets. “Didn’t catch him in time. By the time we caught up with each other, it was already too late.”
“For what?”
Moses walked back to the truck and dropped the tailgate. “Most people are born into a family. Families are part of a community. You put communities together, and you got a tribe.”
“Okay.”
“But some people are born alone, and they grow up alone, and if you don’t find them in time, alone is all they’re ever going to be.”
“Rattler.”
“He was hitchhiking,” said Moses. “Headed to Paris.”
“And you took him in.”
“He stayed with me a while.” Moses pulled one of the logs off the truck. “And then he left. Went to that Indian university back east.”
“Indian university?”
“Dark Mouth,” said Moses.
“Dartmouth?”
“Grab that other log.”
“Dartmouth’s a private university. Expensive as hell.”
Moses carried his log to the edge of the butte and set it on its end. “When Mary Many Bears pushed me, what do you think happened?”
Moses tipped the log over the edge of the butte. It slid and banged its way down the slope. A quarter of the way down, it hit a narrow ledge and became airborne, picking up speed, pitchpoling end over end, bouncing off the rocks, and crashing into the scree field at the bottom.
“Now you try it.”
Thumps rolled the second log over the edge. With the same result. Slide, ledge, airborne, pitchpole, crash.
“Boy,” said Moses, “not much difference.”
Both logs had come to rest within feet of each other.
“That about where the Maslow woman landed?”
Thumps stepped to the edge of the butte and looked down. “More or less.”
Moses nodded. “That’s where we found Trudy.”
“Kind of a waste of firewood.”
“In experiments,” said Moses, “they got control groups and subjects. Those logs are our control group.”
Thumps didn’t feel himself being shoved over the edge, but one moment he was standing on top of the butte, talking to Moses, and the next minute he was sliding down the slope, grabbing at anything his hands could find, digging his feet into the side of the butte, as he slowly slid down the slope.
And then he hit the narrow ledge.
And stopped.
Moses was standing at the edge of the butte, looking down at him. “Scared the hell out of me too,” Moses yelled. “Mary thought it was real funny.”
“You pushed me!”
The slope wasn’t as steep as it looked. At least until it reached the ledge. After that, Thumps could see that there would be no stopping. And he wasn’t much the worse for wear. A couple of cuts. A tear at the elbow of his shirt.
“If you work your way to the left,” shouted Moses, “you’ll find hard ground.”
Moses was sitting on the tailgate of the truck. “After we found Trudy,” he said, “I tried it a couple of times. Just to be sure.”
Thumps brushed himself off. “And you always landed on the ledge.”
“’Cause I was trying to stop myself,” said Moses. “Someone goes off the butte, they try to stop themselves.”
“Unless they can’t.”
Moses nodded. “Unless they can’t.”
“But if you’re dead weight.”
Moses squeezed his lips together. “Then you’re a log.”
“Control group. Subject group.”
“Forensic science,” said Moses. “Just like CSI: Crime Scene Investigation.”
Thumps stood at the edge of the coulee and looked down. “Too bad about the logs.”
Moses stayed on the tailgate. “Yes,” he said. “Going down will be pretty easy. Coming up will be harder.”
Thumps winced. “You want me to get the logs?”