From the lake came the cry of a loon and, nearer to Cork, the buzzing of a night insect the cold had not yet killed. He heard the approaching footfalls, the scrape of something huge pushing against the brush at the side of the trail, something that seemed to let out a small growl now and then as it came. Both Morgan and Fineday had their cheeks laid against the rifle stocks, sighting.
The black shape that appeared, rattling the underbrush, was like nothing Cork had ever seen. Nearly as tall and long as a moose, it lumbered along the portage toward Lamb Lake. Cork couldn’t help thinking of the cannibal ogre, the Windigo.
The creature stumbled and let out a cry. Then it spoke.
“Shit.”
Cork recognized the voice.
“Dina?”
He realized the truth of what he was seeing. No creature, but Dina Willner, portaging what looked to be an inflatable kayak, which was sometimes called a duckie.
She set the kayak on the ground, and as she did so, the heavy rubber siding scraped the underbrush, resulting in what sounded like a growl.
“I was surprised you stopped,” she said, a little breathless. “There was still daylight.”
Morgan and Fineday lowered their rifles. Cork made his way across the campsite.
“What the hell are you doing here?” he said.
“What I’m paid to do. Consulting.”
On her back she carried a pack, and slung over her right shoulder was a scoped rifle.
“Jesus Christ, we almost shot you.”
“With all that noise? You might not have known it was me, but I know you didn’t think it was Stone.”
“A visitor?” Meloux asked. He’d materialized from nowhere.
“Not for long, Henry. She’s going back,” Cork said.
Meloux shook his head. “Not tonight. Not with Stone in these woods.”
Dina walked to him and gave her hand. “I’m Dina Willner.”
“Henry Meloux.” The old man appraised her, top to bottom, and nodded appreciatively. “You are small but you have the look of a hunter. Are you hungry?”
“Henry,” Dina replied with a huge smile, “I’m absolutely famished.”
“It was the last inflatable the sporting goods store had. Not the best, but I figured that for a couple of days, it would do.” She’d eaten a sandwich and a handful of the apricots, and now she was sipping coffee Morgan had offered. “I stashed it on the other side of Bruno Lake before you all got started.”
“You haven’t answered my question,” Cork said.
“You mean, why am I here?”
“That would be the one.”
“Because I’m not one of your people and have to stay back. Because you wouldn’t have let me come if I’d asked. Because this is the kind of thing I’m good at.”
“How did you find us?” Fineday said.
“I’m an excellent tracker,” she said. “Also, I bugged Sheriff O’Connor.”
Cork thought a moment, then dug in his pants and pulled out the medallion she had passed to him through Simon Rutledge.
“Good old Saint Christopher,” Dina said. “He never lets me down.”
“The DeHavilland didn’t spot you,” Cork said.
“I have a radio tuned to your frequency. I made sure I was under cover whenever the plane was due to fly over.”
“We need to let base know the situation.” Cork turned to the radio.
He explained everything to Larson, said that Dina would stay until morning, then would be sent back. To which she shook her head with a definite no. Larson gave him the latest weather forecast—clear skies, cold temperatures—and then gave him the difficult news.
“Faith Gray says you have one more chance to keep your appointment with her before she orders your suspension.”
“Christ, doesn’t she understand the circumstances?”
“The circumstances don’t matter, Cork. The language of the rule is clear. You ought to know. Your rule.”
Cork signed off feeling tired, feeling as if there was too much on his shoulders at the moment.
With hard dark, the stars came out by the millions and the sky through the branches above the campsite looked as if it were full of a thin frost.
“At least the weather’s holding,” Morgan noted.
“A little snow would be good,” Meloux said.
“Snow?” Dina sounded surprised.
“Just enough,” Meloux said.
“We call it a hunter’s snow,” Cork explained.
“I get it. The tracks.”
Fineday had been quiet. Meloux said, “Worry will not save her.”
For the first time, Fineday spoke to Meloux harshly. “Sitting here won’t either. We haven’t seen a single sign of them. How do we know they came this way? They could be miles from here.”
Meloux replied calmly, “If they are, what can we do? Better to believe that we have been guided well.”
“By an old man with failing eyes?”
“By the spirits of these woods.”
“That’s what’s been leading us? Spirits?”
“We have not failed yet,” Meloux said. “There’s no reason to distrust or despair.”
Despite the old Mide’s encouraging words, Cork wondered if he saw uncertainty in Meloux’s dark eyes.
“So in the morning the plan is that we cut between those two islands, hit Carson Creek, and see what happens from there?” Morgan said. “Sounds a lot like the plan we followed today.”
His tone was not accusatory, but his point was clear. All the evidence so far seemed to indicate that they’d spent their time in a fruitless hunt that had netted them nothing except tired muscles and the prospect of a long night on cold ground. Cork understood that as a working plan for the next day it lacked appeal.
“Until Henry says different, we stay on the trail,” he said.
“You’re the boss. Anybody want more coffee?” Morgan got up from where he sat on his sleeping bag and took the pan to the lake to fill it with water. It was dark and he carried a flashlight. A minute later he hollered, “Hey, look at this.”
Cork and the others hurried to Morgan, who stood on the lakeshore near the overturned canoes. He pointed the beam of his flashlight at the water a few feet out. Something gold glinted in the light.
“It looks like a watch,” Dina said.
Cork used his own flashlight to locate a stick, then he fished the watch from the lake bottom.
Fineday grabbed it from him. “It’s Lizzie’s. I gave it to her when she turned sixteen.”
“Do you think she dropped it on purpose, to let us know?”
Meloux said, “She would drop nothing that Stone did not know about.”
“Stone left it?” Morgan asked.
Meloux looked across the dark water of the lake. “Fish and honey,” he said.
40
IT WAS SOFT twilight when Jo pulled off Sheridan Road onto a long drive that cut through a hundred yards of dark lawn. The tires growled over dun-colored bricks that had been used for paving. She pulled up to a house big as a convent, with a red tile roof and stucco walls. In every way, it rivaled the home of Lou Jacoby.
Ben met her at the door. “Come in. I just got home.” He was still dressed in his three-piece pinstriped suit, looking handsome, distinguished.
She stepped inside.
“It’s a little dark,” Ben said. “I can turn on some lights if you prefer.”
“No, I’m fine.”
They were in a large entryway that opened left and right onto huge rooms.
“Where would you like to talk? In the parlor?”
“You have a parlor?”
“And a billiard room, a library, a study. With a candlestick and a lead pipe we could be a game of Clue. It’s way too big, but it’s what Miriam wanted. How about we sit in the kitchen? It’s really the coziest room in the house.”
He led the way through a large dining room with French doors that opened onto a wide veranda. Jo could see a long stretch of
lawn, green and tidy as an ironed tablecloth, with a turquoise swimming pool as a centerpiece. A tall hedge marked the rear boundary, and beyond that lay Lake Michigan, dark silver in the evening light.
The kitchen, which Ben had called cozy, was larger than any room in Jo’s house on Gooseberry Lane. The floor was black-and-white tile. There were long counters, a dozen cupboards, and a butcher-block island. A round table with chairs was set near a sliding door that, like the dining room French doors, opened onto the veranda.
“You must eat well,” Jo said.
“Miriam hired fine cooks.” Ben indicated the table. “Have a chair. Would you like a glass of wine?”
“Thank you.”
“Red? You used to love a good red.”
“I don’t drink red anymore. It gives me a headache.”
“Things change, don’t they? How about a chardonnay?”
He took a bottle from the refrigerator and opened it. From a rack above one of the counters, he took two glasses that hung upside down by their stems.
Several books lay stacked on one of the chairs at the table. They appeared to be college textbooks.
“What are these?” Jo asked.
Jacoby carried the wineglasses to the table and sat down. “They’re Phillip’s. He’s around the house somewhere. He got expelled from his fraternity, and he’s staying here for a while until he can arrange for other housing.”
Jo had no idea what transgression might result in expulsion from a fraternity, but her sense, given the Animal House image she held, was that it had to be significant.
“All right,” Ben said. “Let’s talk. What do you want to know?”
“You get reports from a woman who’s helping with the investigation of Eddie’s murder, is that right?”
“Dina Willner.”
“So what’s going on out there?”
He settled back and folded his hands, a movement that seemed designed to give him a moment to think. “How much do you know?”
“Not much. When I call the department, they’re evasive. I’m sure they’re just following Cork’s instructions. My guess is that it’s because he’s involved in something that I’m not supposed to worry about.” When she said it, she heard a flutter of anger in her voice, and realized how strongly she felt.
“If they don’t want you to know, why hit on me?”
“Because you’re not one of his people. You can do what you like.”
He sipped his wine and thought it over. “They’ve identified the man they believe was responsible for the shooting on the reservation.”
“I know that. Lydell Cramer. He was burned during the meth lab bust a few weeks ago.”
“Seems they were wrong in suspecting him. They’re pretty sure now that it was a man named Stone.”
“Stone? You mean Byron St. Onge?”
“I believe that’s his name.”
“Why? Why in the world would Stone want to shoot Cork?”
“As I understand it, that’s still unclear.”
“They could have told me that. There must be more.”
“There is. When this Stone realized they were onto him, he ran, disappeared into the woods with the woman they suspect in Eddie’s murder.”
“Lizzie Fineday?”
“That’s right. Your husband’s gone into the woods after them.”
“Alone?”
“No, the girl’s father went with him. Also an old man who’s a guide of some kind, and one deputy.”
“Oh, Jesus. No wonder they wouldn’t tell me. Goddamn him.” She looked away a moment. “You know, he loves this. He’s in his glory.”
“Dina indicated she was going to try to accompany them, officially or otherwise. If it’s any consolation, if I had to go after a man like Stone, I’d want Dina there with me. She’s very good at what she does.”
“Tell me about what she does.”
“We use her as a consultant on all kinds of security issues. Protective services, investigations. She’s a crack shot, holds a black belt in some kind of martial art, has significant law enforcement experience. Really, Cork couldn’t ask for better backup.”
“So Stone ambushed Cork. And Lizzie may have killed Eddie.”
“And once they’re caught, it’s all over.” He held up his hands as if it were as simple as two plus two.
They heard coughing in the dining room, and a few moments later Phillip walked in. He wore a black terry cloth bathrobe and sandals and carried a big white towel. He seemed surprised to find Jo and Ben in the kitchen.
“Hello, Phillip,” Jo said.
He glanced from her to his father, and a dark, knowing look came into his eyes. “Don’t let me interrupt,” he said. “Just passing through on my way to swim.”
“Have you eaten?” Ben asked.
“Lasagna. Mrs. McGruder made a shitload. It’s in the refrigerator if you’re hungry. Nice seeing you again,” he said to Jo as he slid a glass door open and went outside.
“Isn’t it cold for swimming?” she asked Ben.
“I keep the pool filled and heated until the end of October. I swim every morning, and prefer to do it outside. The first of November I start swimming at my health club.”
The light in the sky was thinning, and the kitchen had grown dark, but Jacoby made no move to turn on a lamp. He swirled the wine slowly in his glass.
“Rae told me she had a good long talk with you this morning.”
“Did she tell you what she gave me?”
“No.”
“A painting that you’d asked her to do twenty years ago.”
“Grant Park? White dress?”
“That would be the one.”
“I thought she got rid of that. God, I’d love to see it.”
“I considered bringing it.”
He looked genuinely disappointed. “There’s something you ought to see, something I feel a little guilty about.”
He led her from the kitchen through the house, down a long hallway past big empty rooms. The thick carpet seemed to suck all the sound from their feet as they walked.
“You and Phillip, you’re here by yourselves?”
“When Phillip’s gone, it’s just me.”
She followed him to a study that smelled faintly of cigars. He turned on a light switch and revealed a study with shelves of books, an enormous polished desk, an antique couch upholstered in leather, a fireplace. He went to the desk and, beckoning her to look, turned a framed photograph so that she could see the image. It was Jo, standing on the shore of Iron Lake, the water at her back shiny and blue as new steel. Jenny had taken the snapshot a year before for her high school photography class. She had framed it and given it to Jo as a Christmas present.
“That was in my office in Aurora,” Jo said. “I couldn’t imagine what had happened to it.”
He lifted the frame and cradled it in his hands. “Eddie snatched it on one of his visits. I should have returned it, but I couldn’t bring myself to do that.”
“Did you ask him to take it?”
“No. He thought of it as a gift to me.” His face turned pensive. “Jo, I have a confession. When I found out someone had tried to kill Cork, I thought for a while Eddie might have been behind it. For God knows what reason, Eddie wanted desperately for us to be as close as true brothers. I wondered if, in his thinking, killing Cork would open the way for me to have you. A kind of gift from him to me. I know it sounds crazy, but that’s exactly the kind of guy Eddie was.”
“What would you have done if that had been the case?”
“Honestly, I don’t know.”
He held out the photograph toward her reluctantly, and she saw the sense of loss in his eyes as she took it.
“I’d like you to have Rae’s painting, Ben.”
He looked stunned.
“If you’d like it.”
“It was meant for you, Jo.”
“Twenty years ago it was meant for me. My life is different now. Honestly, Ben, I wouldn’t feel comfortable with
it hanging in my home in Aurora. Do you understand?”
“I suppose.”
“Would you like it?”
“Very much.”
“Would you accept it?”
“I’m sure it’s a valuable painting. What if I paid you for it?”
“I’d rather it remained a gift.”
“Thank you, Jo,” he said.
“What if I brought it by tomorrow? About the same time? Say, six?”
“I could pick it up at your sister’s place on my way home from the office.”
“I’m not sure what will be happening there tomorrow night. I’d rather the kids didn’t ask a lot of questions. It would be best for me to come here.”
“All right, then. Six.”
There was a splash outside and Ben drifted to the window. Jo could see Phillip swimming laps with strong, even strokes, his body a long, lean silhouette against the glaring lights in the pool.
“He loves to swim,” Ben said. “He says when he’s swimming, all his problems go away for a while.”
“Problems?”
“He has more than his share. His mother’s dead, he hates his father.”
“How do you know?”
“Because I was the kind of father my father was.”
“And you hate Lou?”
“Why wouldn’t I? He’s arrogant, rude, demanding. He cheated on my mother, disinherited my sister, loved Eddie beyond all reason.” He gave a small, derisive laugh and shook his head in futility. “You know, I can still remember when I was a kid how even one word of praise from him was the best thing imaginable.”
He moved nearer the window and watched his son glide through the turquoise water to the end of the pool, climb out, and quickly grab the towel to dry himself. Then Phillip slipped his robe and sandals on and headed back toward the veranda.
“I should go,” Jo said.
Ben nodded and led her back through the vastness of a house that seemed to hold nothing but a silence waiting to be shattered.
The children and Mal had gone to a movie. The teakettle had just started to whistle on the stove when Jo walked in. Rose poured boiling water over the herbal tea bags in the cups on the kitchen table, then sat down with Jo, who told her what she’d learned from Jacoby.
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