See Also Deception

by Larry D. Sweazy

  “What on earth is the matter, Marjorie?” Pastor asked, as he stepped cautiously inside the house. He glanced down at Shep quickly, I think just to make sure he knew where the dog was, then turned his attention back to me a little more warily.

  I could barely form the words to answer him. I knew I must have looked crazed, all disheveled like Medusa, with my work clothes on and the Remington .22 clutched tightly in my hand. All I could do was keep shaking my head from side to side.

  “Marjorie,” Pastor said, stopping just inside the threshold, “you’re concerning me. Is everything all right?” I didn’t blame him for not wanting to come inside the house any farther. He was a trained observer, but it was my guess that he’d never walked into a situation like this before.

  As usual, he was dressed head to toe in black, including his perfectly starched shirt. His dog collar was nothing but a white square perched directly and perfectly under his Adam’s apple. I was reminded of Pete McClandon’s outfit, but Pete didn’t emit authentic grace like Pastor did.

  “I’m not all right, Pastor. I can’t tell you how happy I am to see you.”

  “Is something the matter with Hank?”

  “Not that I know of. But I wouldn’t know. The telephone line’s cut.”

  “Cut? On purpose? Are you sure, Marjorie?” He looked at me like I was a child prone to making things up. It was a practiced look for such a young man.

  “I’m certain of it.” I still had hold of the .22. I wasn’t letting go of the rifle just yet. Shep had calmed down. He hadn’t taken his eyes off of Pastor since he’d walked in the door, and he sensed, I guess, that Pastor, like Hank, frowned on animals in the house.

  “Who would do such a thing?” he asked.

  “The same person who slashed all four of my truck tires, that’s who.” I was angry and scared and did nothing to hide it.

  Pastor swallowed hard. “You’re certain of that?”

  “As certain as we are both standing here.”

  “Did you call the police?”

  I glared at Pastor, then realized what I’d done and tried my best to make the look go away. I’m sure the question was just a gut reaction.

  “Oh,” he said, two seconds later. “You couldn’t, could you?”

  I shook my head again. “No. I didn’t know what I was going to do. I need to get to the hospital to check on Hank, and I had planned on attending Calla Eltmore’s funeral.” I glanced over at the clock on the wall. I wasn’t surprised to see that it had quit running. There’d been no one home to wind it.

  He looked at the .22 approvingly. “We need to get you out of here.”

  I sighed. “If you could just take me to the Knudsens’ that’d be fine.”

  “Do you think it’s safe to leave?”

  “I don’t know, but I can’t stay here. I’m taking this,” I nodded at the .22, “and Shep with me. I’ve shot at varmints before, and I’ll do it again if I have to.”

  “All right,” Pastor John Mark said, “let’s go.” He turned toward door, then stopped to allow me to go first. I wasn’t sure if it was because I was a woman or because I had the gun, but it didn’t matter. I’d protect us both. But the first thing I had to do was trust that the man who had my back wasn’t a killer. I had no choice but to suspect him and everyone else who showed up on my doorstep.

  Shep was happy to sit in the backseat and stick his head out of Pastor’s Ford and ignore us completely. Even though it was ten years old, the interior of the car was pristine. The floor mats were so clean you could have eaten off them, and there wasn’t a speck of dirt or dust to be seen on the dashboard . The chrome push-buttons on the front of the radio gleamed like freshly brushed teeth. And if it hadn’t been for Shep’s presence and the shit ground into the soles of my shoes, I could have sworn I smelled that new car smell distantly, still embedded in the black vinyl seats.

  The sky had threatened to bleach itself white as the sun rose. A clean bedsheet that went on for as far as the eye could see, the edges tinged with color. The wind had returned, and any promise of precipitation was farther off than I could see. We needed rain—or snow, as much as I hated to say it.

  There had been no one waiting to stop us, but I’d yet to relax. Every nerve in my body sizzled with awareness and restrained panic. I looked over at Pastor, who had both hands gripping the black metal steering wheel tightly; there was a line of sweat resting on his upper lip. His eyes were starting to turn red, too, irritated or on the verge of an emotion he dared not speak of.

  “Are you sure that you don’t want me to take you into town?” Pastor asked, not taking his eyes off the road. “I think you should talk to the police.”

  I shook my head. “I want to leave Shep with Jaeger. He’ll be safe there. Besides, I want to make sure Jaeger’s all right, all things considered.”

  “I understand.”

  “I don’t want to hold you up.”

  Pastor glanced over at me quickly, then focused back on the road ahead—all the while keeping an eye on the rearview mirror. The road behind us was obscured by an eruption of brown dust coming out from underneath the car. We weren’t going fast, but Pastor wasn’t driving like a grandma, either.

  “You’re not holding me up,” Pastor said. He sniffled.

  “Are you all right?”

  He ticked his head toward Shep. “I’m allergic to dogs.”

  I immediately felt awful. “I’m sorry; I didn’t know.”

  “You couldn’t leave him behind.”

  “No, I couldn’t. It must be hard with your job and all.”

  He flashed a quick smile. “It’s a small burden that I pay to visit with folks. Besides, most people around here don’t keep their dogs inside.”

  “I need Shep’s company,” I snapped.

  “I wasn’t judging, Marjorie. Just saying, that’s all.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “No need.”

  Silence suddenly settled between us. The only sound inside the car was the roar of the engine, the unsettled gravel hitting the chassis underneath, and the wind pushing in through Shep’s open window. The dog was in pure heaven, enjoying the ride, in a new place, content with watching the world go by. He had no chores to do, nothing to worry about. I was envious.

  “Will you be officiating at Calla’s funeral?” I finally asked. I wasn’t sure why. I knew Calla wasn’t a Lutheran. I didn’t know exactly what she was. We hardly discussed her personal views on religion, which were vague and nondenominational. God and Jesus in any setting seemed an uncomfortable topic for her, so I tended to avoid it.

  Pastor shook his head. “She wasn’t a member at our church. Not any church as far as I know. Pete McClandon called and asked if I would conduct the service, but I had to tell him no.”

  “Why?” It was not an inquisitive question. I knew why. I just wanted him to tell me to be sure.

  “You know why, Marjorie. Suicide is the gravest of all sins. I couldn’t bargain with God to allow Miss Eltmore into heaven. All I could do would be to preach to the mourners, try to ward them off doing such a thing themselves, and that seemed inappropriate, so I declined. I think Pete’s going to say some words.”

  “No one would do it?” I was exasperated.

  Pastor shook his head. “I’m sorry, Marjorie.”

  “But she didn’t do it. She didn’t kill herself, Pastor. I’m sure of it.”

  He looked at me the same way he had when he’d first arrived at the house: Like I was crazed, out of my mind. Then the look faded into sadness. He felt sorry for me; I was deluded.

  “I swear to you,” I said, defending myself. “Calla Eltmore didn’t kill herself. And I’m not the only one who thinks so.”

  “Do you know what you’re saying, Marjorie?”

  “Yes. Yes, I do. And I’m not crazy. As God is my witness, I believe Calla Eltmore was murdered in cold blood and that she deserves the same kind of respect as anyone else who’s had their life stolen from them. There is nothing to bargain. Th
e sin wasn’t hers.”

  More silence. More rumbling; the engine slowed as we came over a rise. He looked at me curiously and stopped the Ford just at the edge of the Knudsens’ lane up to the house. “Why do you believe this, Marjorie?”

  I answered by telling him everything I knew. The wound on the wrong side of Calla’s head, no note, no sign of depression leading up to the event, and validation from the women with the broken glasses. Everything.

  “You have to go to Duke, then. Especially when you consider what has happened at your house,” Pastor said. “You have to go to the police right away. If you’re right, then whoever did kill Calla must have figured out what you know. You’re not safe, Marjorie. Not here. Not in town. Not anywhere.”

  I sat frozen, listening to Pastor’s concerned voice. I knew he was right, that I was in danger. I just didn’t want to believe him.

  CHAPTER 32

  The landscape in North Dakota was so flat and barren that it most often felt like you were the only human on earth, sharing the ground with only antelopes, coyotes, and those ubiquitous and dangerous gophers. And then out of nowhere a house appeared like it had been dropped from the sky. Humans in this topography seemed like an odd add on, like an automobile painted into a picture of cowboys, like they had never belonged there in the first place. But more than the rare oddity of a house sitting in the middle of thousands of unoccupied acres of nothingness, it was the sight of the Knudsens’ house in particular that brought me the real shock. I had avoided visiting Jaeger and my dear neighbor’s house as much as possible after Erik and Lida’s death. I felt guilty about that, but the sight of the small abode that had housed my friends for so many years was more of a heartbreaking sight than I could bear on the best of days.

  I expected to see Jaeger’s red International Harvester pickup in its normal spot as Pastor pulled up the lane, but the truck wasn’t there. There was a different truck parked next to the simple gray clapboard house instead. A white Chevy about as old as my Studebaker, and in far worse shape, sat where Jaeger’s truck should have been. The fender wells were rusted so completely that I could see daylight streaming through to the ground. Red bubbles of rust and jagged edges of metal looked like a bad rash had broken out at the weakest points of the battered vehicle’s body. The rest of the truck was dented all about, peppered by more than one hailstorm, and it looked like the only wash it had had in the last ten years had come from the rain, and not any human effort. No question, it was a work truck and nothing more.

  A familiar young man stood with his back to us, swinging an axe. He stopped chopping wood as we drove up to the house and shielded his eyes from the midmorning sun as he tried to get a look at us. I knew right away that the young man was Lester Gustafson, Jaeger’s new hand. He looked like a younger version of our previous extension agent, Lloyd Gustafson. It wasn’t hard to tell a Gustafson from any distance. He was of medium height, less than six feet tall, muscular but in a sinewy, trim kind of way, with a head of thick, wheat-colored brown hair. It was like the land had dyed Lester’s hair and eyes from so much exposure to it. He was about Jaeger’s age and might’ve even had a few years on him, and all in all, Lester looked to be a fine choice for a hand around the place.

  After we parked, I waited for Pastor John Mark to get out of the car before I did. I didn’t know Lester, but I suspected his manners were as consistent as his Gustafson looks. He wouldn’t look down at me for being the mess that I was, but I still glanced at the mirror and patted my unruly hair into place. Once Pastor was halfway around the car, I got out and followed after him. I made Shep stay in the car.

  “Lester,” Pastor said, extending his hand for a friendly shake as he made his way to him.

  “I thought that was you, Pastor John Mark,” Lester said, then looked at me curiously. “Mrs. Trumaine?”

  I nodded and offered him no explanation. “Is Jaeger home?”

  “No, he just ran Betty Walsh home. She came out to fix us a fine breakfast before we set to work ourselves. I swear, I’m not sure there’s anything that girl can’t do. Not sure why Jaeger don’t go ahead and marry her and get it over with. But it ain’t any of my business now is it, aye? She said she had to get ready for some funeral today, I think.” Lester propped the axe up against the chopping block, an old ironwood stump that had taken a beating over the years but still looked to have plenty of use ahead of it.

  There was only one funeral in town that I knew of and that was Calla’s. I wasn’t surprised to hear that Betty planned on going. From what I could tell, she liked a spectacle as much, or a little more than, everyone else in town. Though I wasn’t quite sure that Calla’s funeral was going to be a big draw.

  Pastor stuffed his hands into his pockets and a serious look drew on his otherwise sunny face. “You see anything out of the ordinary this morning, Lester?”

  “Here?” He shrugged his shoulders.

  I stood still and watched Lester as closely as I could. I wasn’t surprised that Pastor had questioned him right away. Glad of it, truth be told. It meant he believed me, didn’t think I was totally crazy.

  “Anywhere in between town and here?” Pastor said.

  “Nah, not that I can say,” Lester answered. “’Course I wasn’t lookin’ for nothin’ out of the ordinary, either. Why’d you ask?”

  “Just some tomfoolery going on about, that’s all,” Pastor said.

  “Over’t your place?” Lester asked me.

  I nodded. “Somebody slashed all four tires on my truck.”

  “That don’t sound like tomfoolery to me. Sounds like meanness of the worst kind. Too much of that goin’ on ’round here of late, you ask me, aye?”

  I looked at the ground. Honestly, I was trying my hardest not to look up at the house. I expected Lida to come rushing out the front door at any second with flour on her cheek, wiping it away with the corner of her apron, wondering what was going on. Or Erik to be making his way out of the barn, one hand covered in grease, the other wrapped in a bloody towel because he had busted a knuckle trying to wrench something off a motor. But neither was going to happen. Not now or ever.

  Before I could answer Lester, I heard the rev of an engine behind me. I was relieved when I turned around to see Jaeger’s red truck cresting the rise of the drive.

  “There’s Jaeger now,” Lester said, glancing back at a wood pile that would hardly last a week in January. “I best get back at it. We got a lot of makin’ up to do.”

  “Jaeger won’t mind that you talked to us,” I said.

  Lester shrugged. “Probably not. But I need this job. I can’t afford to mess it up.”

  “You’ll be fine, Lester. I’m proud of you,” Pastor said. There was a knowing tone and a lack of information that I didn’t seem privy to that passed between the two of them and, for a brief second, made me uncomfortable. Then that feeling evaporated with a warm smile from Lester.

  Pastor was a keeper of secrets. I understood that. It was just that I didn’t witness it very often—or share any darkness of my own with him. I didn’t understand the depth of that trust, of that relationship. Hank was my hope chest and the safe locker of my fears all rolled into one.

  Jaeger parked his International Harvester next to Pastor’s sedan.

  Shep immediately started bouncing between the front and back seats of the Ford, barking his fool head off. I looked over at Pastor, who had a concerned look on his face. I knew he was worried the dog was going to muck up his car.

  “Shep!” I yelled. “Settle down!” But the dog paid me no mind.

  Jaeger stopped at the back door of the Ford and looked up at me questioningly as he grabbed ahold of the door handle. I nodded yes, and Shep tore out of the car like he’d been caged up half his life. The dog circled happily around Jaeger as he joined the three of us.

  “What brings you here, Pastor?” Jaeger asked. He looked back at the Ford, expecting, I think, to see my truck. “And Mrs. Trumaine? Everything all right?”

  The air had a dry, static
feel to it. The wind wasn’t so pushy where we stood, and the sky had lost all of its early morning threat. Thin gray clouds were glued in place high against the white sky overhead.

  Pastor offered an answer before I could. “I was heading out to the South Branch for a little fishing this morning and dropped by to see how Marjorie was doing,” he said.

  I hadn’t had the forethought or concern to ask why he’d come by the house in the first place. I’d been in such a state that wondering hadn’t crossed my mind. I had just been happy to see him.

  I looked at Pastor, all dressed in his everyday preaching clothes, and wondered if he waded into the river like that, or if he ever put on a pair of work pants at all. I wondered if he had his gear and fishing clothes in the trunk of the car. But I didn’t say anything. I was sure Pastor had his reasons for saying the things he did.

  Jaeger looked at me. “Hank all right?”

  “As far as I know,” I answered.

  He must of heard something in my voice. “You’re sure?”

  “As sure as I can be. I haven’t had the chance to check on him this morning. Somebody cut my phone line.”

  Jaeger shivered, and his face withdrew into a tight pale retreat. “Cut?” he said. “On purpose?”

  “Cut clean through and through. Never knew of any animal or bug who could do such a thing,” I said. “I’m sorry, Jaeger; I didn’t know where else to go.”

  “No, of course. I’m glad you came here. What can I do?”

  At that second I didn’t know how to answer him. I knew there were things coming at me on this day that I would have given anything to avoid, but I knew I couldn’t. The truth was, I just wanted to stand there and scream at the world, at Pastor John Mark’s loving, plotting, maniacal god for allowing such horrible things to happen, at the wind for not carrying me away, far away to another place and another life that held a dose of happiness and peace in it. But that was impossible. This was my life, and this was the day I had woken up and found myself in.