Jo didn’t touch her tea, but the aroma, the soothing scent of apple and spice, registered in her senses. She wished she could give in to the pull of that smell, which seemed to come from a place of calm, of placid domesticity that was out of her reach at the moment. All she felt was irritation and worry.
“No wonder they wouldn’t tell me anything. He’s done it again, Rose. It’s that damned cowboy mentality of his. That’s the part of him I hate.”
“If you were to ask me, I’d say it’s also part of what you love about him,” Rose said. “He’s certainly come to your rescue on occasion. And mine.”
“I know, I know.” She lifted her cup, sighed into her tea.
“You’re worried, Jo, and that’s understandable. Why don’t you call Aurora again. Now that you know what’s going on, maybe they’ll be more forthcoming. It’s worth a try, don’t you think?”
She was right, of course. Jo used the phone in the kitchen.
Bos was on duty. Jo told her what she understood of the situation and pressed Bos for more details.
At the other end of the line, Bos hesitated, then seemed to come to a decision. She told Jo that the search party consisted of Cork, Morgan, Meloux, Fineday, and now Dina Willner. They hadn’t had any contact with Stone or Lizzie. Last check-in was at twenty-two hundred hours, ten o’clock, and everything was fine.
“Why did he do it, Bos? Why didn’t he just wait for Stone to come out?”
“He was concerned about the Fineday girl. He believed that if he didn’t locate her quickly, Stone might kill her.”
“Did it have to be him?” She hated herself for the question, for the whining way it came out. Of course Cork felt it had to be him, and that was all that mattered. “Bos, you call me with anything, good or bad, you hear?”
“I hear, Jo.”
She hung up, closed her eyes, breathed deeply. The whole kitchen was suffused with the smell of the tea.
“Sometimes,” she said, “I wish…” She let it drop.
Rose stood up and put her freckled arms around her sister, offered a comforting embrace. “I know, but would you have him be less than he is?”
“Of course not.”
They sat at the table again. Jo sipped her tea. “Morgan. He’s a good officer, and Cork trusts him. And Meloux as a guide, that’s a godsend. He’s old, but he’s tough.”
“There you go. God has sent good people along with Cork.”
They heard Mal returning with the children. “I don’t want the kids to know, Rose. Tomorrow, when you go to South Bend, I’m going to stay here and wait for word on Cork.”
“A good idea.”
That night, after Stevie had gone to bed, Jo stood for a few minutes at the window, listening, thinking of the unnatural quiet that came with the mornings since the birds were dead. West Nile virus was a merciless killer.
A breeze rose up, and outside the leaves of the trees murmured softly, as if to remind her that there were those things, like the wind, that moved swiftly and could not be killed.
Jo thought of Cork and the others with him. “Dear Lord,” she prayed, “let them be the wind.”
41
THE MOON, before it rose, put a glow in the sky above the trees, as if a lost city lay blazing somewhere in the distant forest. Under the aspens on Lamb Lake, Cork and the others prepared for sleep.
“What about Stone?” Dina asked. “Will he sleep?”
“It has been a long day for him, too,” Meloux said. “He will sleep.”
“To be on the safe side,” Cork said, “we’ll stand watches, two hours each. Howard, Will, Dina, and me, in that order.”
Meloux said, “I don’t sleep so good anymore. I can watch, too.”
“If you’re up, you can help whoever’s on watch stay awake.”
Morgan took his rifle and walked to the shoreline as the moon began to push up out of the trees. Cork and the others settled into their bags. Cork didn’t think Stone would try anything that night, but who really knew? It would have been comforting to have more deputies there, but Stone could probably elude an army if he wanted. It was best this way, to try to draw him out. Someone had to do it. Still, he couldn’t help feeling the weight of the responsibility like an anchor on his chest. He was glad Jo didn’t know what he was up to. Or the children.
He was surprised when Dina shook him awake.
“Your watch,” she said.
He rolled out of his bag, his body stiff from the hard ground. Moonlight lit the woods, casting a net of silver and shadow all around. The air was cold, and he unrolled his fleece-lined jean jacket, which he’d used as a pillow, and put it on.
“Anything?” he asked.
“Only a beautiful night,” Dina replied. “I’m not ready to sleep yet. Mind a little company?”
Cork arched his back, working out a kink that felt as though a horse had kicked him. He sat down beside Dina on the fallen trunk where earlier Meloux had smoked. On the lake, the silhouettes of the two islands were clear, the water in the channel between them sparkling like a swatch of black velvet sewn with a million sequins. Occasionally a soft breeze came out of the west and the aspen leaves rustled with a sound like the running of fast water.
“I never have nights like this,” Dina said. “All my nights echo off concrete.”
“But you like being a city girl. Or so you said.”
“I could get used to this.”
“Why are you here, Dina?”
She stared at the lake, then at the sky, and finally turned her face to Cork. Her skin was milk white in the moonlight and flawless. “People around your town tell me that even when you weren’t sheriff you helped take care of some pretty troubling situations. Not because the responsibility was yours officially, but because that’s who you are. I understand that.”
“Nature of the beast?”
“Something like that. Also, I thought that when you found Lizzie, having a woman around might help.”
“If you like this kind of thing so much, why did you leave the FBI?”
“Men and money. Too many of the first, too little of the second. By men, I mean flaming assholes with enormous egos. Now I only do what I want to do.”
“And you do this kind of thing a lot?”
“I hunt people, yeah. Usually I find them. That’s something I’m good at. I also protect people. I’m good at that, too.”
Cork realized that his breath had started coming out in faint clouds. Soon, he knew, the frost would start to form, the leaves becoming brittle.
“What aren’t you telling me?” he said.
She looked surprised, perhaps a little too theatrically so. “What do you mean?”
“Your story makes sense up to a point.”
“What point?”
“That you’re here out of the goodness of your heart, some protective sentiment about Lizzie. You’re smart, you’re tough, and you’re not about public service and goodwill toward people. So why are you here?”
She smiled coquettishly. “Maybe I’m worried about you.”
“Right,” Cork said.
“Stranger things, Horatio…” She leaned over and kissed him lightly on the cheek. “See you in a couple of hours.” She stood up, but when she turned, she let out a small, startled cry. “Henry.”
Cork swung around and saw that Meloux stood very near, his dark eyes fixed on the lake.
“What is it, Henry?”
“I have been thinking about the bear trap.” Meloux walked forward and waved toward the two islands. “Only one way in.”
Cork followed his gesture and saw how the moon lit the water in the channel, a glittering path between the two black formations. He thought about it. The most direct way to the portage on the other side of the lake. The stone slabs breaking the water, requiring a slow, careful passage. He understood that whatever moved between the islands would be an easy target.
“You think he’s on one of the islands, waiting for us to pass?”
“If his heart is s
et on killing, it would be a good place.”
“How can we be sure?” Dina asked.
“Somebody needs to check it out,” Cork said.
Dina shook her head. “Even if you headed there now, you’d be a sitting duck in all that moonlight.”
“If he’s awake and watching.” Cork studied the island. “But if he’s awake and if he’s watching, he’ll be looking this way and not watching his back.”
Meloux laughed quietly. “You are thinking like the bear now.”
“You’re going to circle around behind him?” Dina said.
“It seems to me like the best approach.”
“Not alone.”
“I’m not risking anybody else.” Cork scanned the eastern sky, still heavy with night. “How long before first light, Henry?”
“An hour,” the old man said. “Maybe less.”
“Then we should get started.” He woke Fineday and Morgan and explained to them what was up.
“I’ll go,” Fineday said.
“It’s already decided, Will.”
“I’m not going to just sit here and see what happens.”
“That wasn’t what I had in mind.” Cork looked toward the sky. “It’ll be light soon, and if Stone’s waiting for us, he’s sure to be watching. We need to make certain his attention stays focused here.”
“How?” Morgan asked.
“I think someone should cook breakfast. The wind’s blowing toward the island and the smell ought to get his attention. There should appear to be a lot of activity going on.”
“I don’t want to sound pessimistic,” Dina said, “but what if he shoots you, slips off the island, and gets away?”
“We need to close the back door, make sure he stays there. That’s where Will comes in. And you, Howard. As soon as you can see enough to make your way through the woods, I want each of you to circle the lake from a different direction, post yourselves about two-thirds of the way around on either side, someplace where you have a clear view, a clear shot if Stone tries to leave. Dina, you’ll be seeing to the same thing from this side. That way, you’ll each have a third of the lake covered. As soon as we confirm that Stone’s on the island or as soon as any shooting starts, you’ll be responsible for radioing base, Dina, to get the critical response team out here right away.”
“What about you?” Dina said.
“I’ll be leaving very soon to paddle to the back side of the island.”
“I already told you, in the moonlight you’ll be a sitting duck.”
“The moon’s low enough that it casts a shadow of the trees onto the lake, see?” He pointed toward a black, ragged lip of deep shade that lay over the water all along the western shore. “If I stay in the dark there, keep to the shoreline, and circle carefully, Stone shouldn’t be able to see me.”
“You hope,” she said.
“Whatever we do, there’s risk. You and Meloux, you’ll have to make it look good, like we’re all still one happy family here at the campsite.”
Meloux nodded thoughtfully. “It is a good plan, Corcoran O’Connor. Worthy of a good hunter.”
“Thanks for the vote of confidence, Henry. Let’s roll.”
The first thing he did was to contact base, explain the situation, and make sure that Larson had the CRT standing by. There were only three walkie-talkies. Cork took one and gave the other two to Morgan and Fineday. He tuned the radio to the same frequency so that initially Dina could communicate with the others, then change frequency when she needed to communicate with base. He checked his rifle, stuffed extra cartridges into his jacket pockets, and with Morgan’s help quietly set one of the canoes on the water.
“Half an hour to first light,” he said to Dina. “As soon as Howard and Will take off, get a fire going, start something cooking, anything.”
“How does peanut butter and jerky sound?”
“Awful. But see what you can do to make it smell good, okay?”
Meloux said, “I can think of a few tricks.”
“Thanks, Henry.”
“Good luck.” For the second time that morning, Dina gave his cheek a kiss.
Morgan said, “I wish you good luck, too, but don’t expect a kiss from me.”
Fineday offered his hand. “Thank you, Cork. I owe you.”
“All right, then.”
He stepped into the canoe, shoved off, and dipped the paddle. A few strokes out, he glanced back. In the dark among the trees, his companions had become nearly invisible. He glanced toward the islands and hoped the same was true of him.
Lamb Lake was an oval with a circumference that Cork roughly calculated to be about two miles. If he didn’t care about noise, he could easily make the trip to the backside of the islands in twenty minutes, but paddling quietly took more time. He was painfully conscious of the gurgle of water that accompanied each paddle stroke. Once, because he couldn’t see clearly in the shadow of the trees, the canoe bow scraped a rock with a disquieting rumble.
In a while the birds, those that had yet to migrate and those that never would, began to sing, to call, to argue, to declare territory. Cork hoped the noise would help mask his own sound and he bent harder to the paddle.
By the time he slid around the southern end of the lake, out of the protective shadow of the tree line into moonlight, a faint evanescence had crept into the eastern sky, the promise of morning. The Northwoods began to take shape like a photo tediously developing. Cork glanced toward the campsite. A yellow tongue of flame licked among the trees there, and he knew that Morgan and Fineday had begun their mission. They were spreading a net across Lamb Lake, and if they were lucky they would snag Stone in it. If they were very lucky, no one would be hurt. But Stone was well named, and Cork was a realist. He would be satisfied if Lizzie and all those who’d come with him to look for her made it out of the Boundary Waters safely. He tried not to think of himself beyond the point of his own mission, which was simply to find out if Stone was on one of the islands, waiting. The possibility that they might have anticipated correctly and actually surprise him fueled Cork’s tired body and brain. He felt remarkably ready.
A rat-gray light seeped over the lake. When Cork reached the shoreline almost directly opposite the campsite, the whole woods had emerged in particulars. Individual trees stood out, irregularities of the shoreline became obvious, distant hills were distinct. And everything had color. The green pine boughs over red-brown trunks, yellow meadow grass, silver reeds in the shallows. A breeze barely strong enough to ripple the water touched Cork’s face, and he smelled a campfire. Along with it came the aroma of frying fish. Meloux, he knew. God bless him.
He slipped his walkie-talkie from the holder on his belt. He had set the volume low so any noise that might slip out wouldn’t announce his presence. He spoke into it quietly.
“O’Connor, here. I’m in position on the eastern shore and just about to head to the big island. As soon as I know anything, I’ll report. Out.”
Cork had cautioned the others not to respond, not to risk any sound that might jeopardize him unless it was absolutely necessary.
Three hundred yards of water lay between him and the islands. Once he started toward them, he was, as Dina so aptly described it, a sitting duck, an easy target for even a lousy hunter, and Stone was a dead shot. But there was nothing else to be done now, and he dug his paddle into the water and shot forward.
Far across the lake, the first direct sunlight touched the tops of the aspens that enclosed the campsite, and the leaves glowed as if they were molten. Fish fed in the water all around Cork’s canoe, flashes of scale and fin that left rings spreading on the still surface.
Cork headed for the larger island, toward a small indentation surrounded by pines. The shoreline there appeared to be free of rocks, and he hoped he could land without bumping the canoe against anything that would cause a sound. The part of the island dominated by the jack pines was to his right, and the hill covered with sumac rose to his left. As he approached, he saw no sign of
Stone or of a canoe that would have brought him there.
Ravens flapped about in the crowns of the pines, their caws grating harshly against the quiet that lay over the lake. As Cork neared them, the birds seemed to grow more agitated, hopping along the branches, shrilly protesting. He drew up to the island and back-paddled to slow his approach. The bow kissed land and he stowed his paddle. Lifting his rifle, he disembarked and eased the canoe farther onto solid ground to anchor it. He hunkered down and listened. In the treetops, the ravens had fallen suddenly and ominously silent, but they still followed him with their black eyes as he slipped along the edge of the tree line. He saw no indication of Stone or Lizzie, no evidence that any human had ever set foot there. The ground under the pines was thick with brush and he knew there was no way to move through silently. Instead, he hugged the shoreline, edging toward the rise where the blood-red sumac grew.
He’d half circled the island when the walkie-talkie on his belt crackled to life.
“I see her. I see Lizzie.”
Although Cork had turned the volume low, in the silence on the island Fineday’s voice exploded like a firecracker.
“She’s on the shore. Christ, I think she’s dancing.”
Cork fumbled with the knob and turned the walkie-talkie off completely. He did a quick calculation. If Fineday had set himself up as planned and could see her, it meant that Lizzie must be on the far side of the sumac-covered hill. That she was on the island didn’t necessarily mean that Stone was with her, but probably it did, so Cork no longer had a purpose in staying there. His mission had been accomplished. He could leave, make a judicious exit, but he couldn’t bring himself to do that.
Lizzie dancing? What was that all about? What did Stone have up his sleeve?
He bent to the ground and began to crawl up the slope on all fours, snaking his way among the woody stalks of the sumac. The leaves hid him, but they also blinded him. As he neared the top of the hill, Lizzie’s voice came to him, singing. Something about sunny days, clouds. Then he realized it was the Sesame Street song, the opening ditty his own children had grown up singing. Lizzie’s voice was sweet, almost innocent, a little distracted. Cork took a risk and stood a moment, lifting his head and shoulders above the sumac branches.
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