Let the Dead Bury the Dead

by David Carlson

  Allyson made the drive up to the cabin nearly stress free by putting on her headphones and then falling asleep. So it wasn’t until they arrived and Worthy was unpacking the car that Allyson had a chance to show him what she needed from him in terms of distance. She dropped her suitcase in her room, and although it was already dark, immediately headed down to the shore of the lake. Worthy turned on the power and waited to hear the furnace fire up. Having already closed down the cabin for the winter, he’d brought the necessary bottled water they’d need for the weekend. They could thaw buckets of snow by the furnace to use to flush the toilets.

  After he started a fire in the wood stove to warm the cabin, he meandered into the fish room, the tiny space at the front so named by Allyson as a grade-schooler for the rods and tackle boxes it housed. From there, he was able to watch his daughter as she stood on shore, gazing out at the lake. How many years had it been since he’d seen this sight?

  The cabin was about the only family item to survive the divorce intact. In the final divorce papers, the cabin and property were listed as remaining in both Susan’s and his names, a kind of joint custody. The cabin was already old when they found it, having been built in the thirties by a local trapper and hunter. After a year of weekend trips to scout properties, Susan and he had found the place near Petoskey when Allyson was six and Amy only one. At the foot of the pier, Worthy had taught his daughters to fish and swim, and after that, Allyson had always seemed to linger near or in the water—in the summer swimming to the raft he’d built or fishing for bluegills, in the winter clearing the snow on the lake to ice skate. Later, Allyson had graduated to lifeguarding at a camp across the lake. Susan and Amy, on the other hand, had preferred gardening, or whatever passed for that in their losing battle with the deer.

  Worthy jolted from his seat when Allyson turned and started up the path to the cabin. But he risked another look at his daughter as she strode up the way. She was clearly a woman. Gone was her bounding up the steps he’d built from old railway ties. She walked slowly and confidently, as if she knew she no longer needed to hurry. Then again, he thought, maybe she realized there was nothing waiting for her in the cabin to make her hurry.

  He was on the stairs leading up to his second-floor room when she came into the cabin through the side door. He’d been stopped, as always, by the old photos and drawings by the girls taped to the walls. Nothing from the days of their marriage had been removed, even the picture of Susan and him mugging in the water when Allyson was already a teenager.

  In the weeks following the separation, he’d come to the cabin as much as he could. Perhaps that had been as much to be with the family pictures as to escape his tiny apartment. He would study the photos of Susan and the girls for hours, as if they held some answer for him. “You’ve been here before,” they seemed to whisper in that first year. “Find the key, and you could be here again.”

  He closed the door of his room behind him and breathed in the musty smell. Over the bed, a smallmouth bass would forever writhe in the taxidermist’s pose. He’d caught it the summer before the divorce, the summer Susan first seemed to withdraw. When, two months later, Susan had shocked him with her request for a divorce, he’d thought back and realized Susan had been pulling away earlier than that, maybe even the previous winter. But he’d been busy at work, and it wasn’t until they were at the cabin that summer that he finally began to wonder and worry. He probably should have asked her then, but the cabin had never seemed the right place to argue. And when they’d returned to the city, he’d been pulled into a particularly horrifying case—the rape and murder of an inner-city teenager. Things between Susan and him had seemed more normal. They weren’t, but as the investigation stirred up racial allegations in the newspapers, he just hadn’t noticed.

  He heard Allyson below him in the kitchen opening one of the cookie boxes they’d bought at the store. He wondered how much she remembered from that last summer when the photos on the wall still made sense. He sat on the bed and listened to the unfamiliar sound of someone else in the cabin. It must be over four years since she’s been here. Susan had told him that she’d tried to get Allyson to come up with her and Amy, but Allyson had always said she had to work. Maybe that was the real reason, or maybe it was just an excuse. In the fall of that same year, Allyson had run away.

  Always that persistent question: why had she run away, and where had she gone? He was a detective and she was a great mystery to him, as big a mystery as his divorce. So many questions, but were they the right ones? Wouldn’t it be better to focus on the immediate question of why his daughter had agreed to come to the cabin? What did she want, and what part was he supposed to play?

  They both retired early on Friday night, and on Saturday morning, they slept in before putting on cross-country skis for a lap around the lake. They skied hard, as if they both realized pushing themselves would make conversation more difficult. The only topic Ally raised was which of the neighbors had sold their places since she’d last been there. But as they took off their skis at the cabin, she offered the smallest of smiles as she said, “I can’t believe I remember how to do that.”

  It was a moment he’d thought might never happen again, maybe because he had once foolishly thought it would always happen. When buying the old place, he’d attacked its sagging roof and leaky windows with a certainty that it would stay in the family. And now he wanted to find some way to say that again, to tell Allyson that she would return here with her children. He wanted her to know that, just as he was doing at that moment, she too would kneel to feed the fire while her children played board games on the rickety card table. More than anything, he wanted her to know that when he and whatever pain he had caused were gone, this cabin was the one place that would always know her.

  But he didn’t say anything, not then or when they were checking the mouse traps. What he hoped she would realize about the cabin might not be even close to what she’d remember. For all he knew, she saw the photos in the cabin as all lies. For all he knew, what they’d had as a family was what she had tried to run away from.

  “Should we make bacon and eggs for supper?” she asked from the kitchen.

  He waited to hear if the word “Dad” would end that question, but when it did not, he replied, “Ah, give me a minute to think about it.”

  The thought of sitting across from Allyson in the silent cabin suddenly made him nervous. He knew how easily a careless word on his part could destroy the uneasy truce between them.

  “How about we go to the Outpost?” he asked as he rose from his knees. “I know it’s not Friday, but they still probably have the fish fry.”

  She stood in the doorway between the living room and the kitchen, hands on hips, as if she were ten. “Oh, gee, I haven’t been to the Outpost since forever. I’ll have to change.”

  He stood awkwardly, feeling giddy in the near normalcy of the moment. “You look fine.” And then before he could stop himself, he blurted out, “I think Rick’s off in the Army, if that’s who you’re thinking about.”

  That second seemed eternal to Worthy.

  “Rick! That goof?” she said, as she returned into the kitchen. “I must have been insane to like him. Actually, I think I was thirteen, and everybody’s insane when they’re thirteen.”

  He took a deep breath as she ran upstairs. She hadn’t freaked out. “I bet they’ll still remember you down there. The girl who’d ride her bike down to the Outpost every day for a Coke.”

  “Proves my point,” came the voice from overhead. “Thirteen and totally insane. Just like Amy’s getting to be.”

  He stacked some logs to the side of the fireplace for later in the evening. Maybe they’d rent a movie at the gas station and cap off a better day than he could have hoped for. Father Fortis would think it was an answer to a prayer. For him, it was just an answer.

  From her room upstairs, Allyson called out, “Give me a minute and then I’ll be ready.”

  He came to the foot of the stairs and ca
lled up, “How about me? You sure you don’t mind being seen with me in this old sweater?”

  “Nobody would recognize you in anything else. Mom used to say your old clothes were like your uniform up here.”

  “I suppose. I found this particular sweater in one of the trunks when we bought the place. Must be forty to fifty years old. I couldn’t believe it fit.”

  Allyson snickered. “And you haven’t taken it off up here since.”

  “Fine, I’ll go in my regular costume. Who’s going to be looking at me, anyway?”

  “Yeah, right, as if they don’t always swamp you at the Outpost.”

  “Swamp me?”

  “Sure. Mom always said you were like a celebrity up here.”

  “Oh, I don’t know. I haven’t been to eat there in … in more than a year, I guess. Bet you five bucks you get all the attention,” he said as they walked to the car. “Look, it’s Ricky’s old girlfriend.”

  But he’d have lost the bet. The patrons that night in the bar and restaurant were the older set, the retirees still spry enough to endure the cold winters. One after another, they came over to his table on their way out to greet him, say when they’d last seen his photo in the Detroit papers, and leave him to introduce Allyson over and over again.

  “You’re Allyson? Why, I almost didn’t recognize you.” The old man took off his duck hat and swept back a strand of hair over his bald spot. “Your hair sure has grown since last summer.”

  “Actually, I haven’t been up here for four years.”

  “No, I’m sure it wasn’t that long ago.”

  The old-timer’s wife stepped forward. Her sweatshirt, fanning out at the hips, showed faded photos below a logo: “Ask me about my grandchildren.” Without waiting for Allyson to answer, the woman turned her attention to Worthy. “We still can’t believe it about you and Susan. Just so sorry. We all say how much we miss seeing you both here together.”

  “I appreciate that,” Worthy said. He felt an urge to say that though the past five years had been hard they were all doing okay, but he stopped. Allyson wouldn’t understand the kind of lies adults told.

  “So it’s just the two of you up for the weekend?” the woman continued. “My, my, Allyson, you’re looking so much like your mother. I suppose you get that all the time. And now you’re having a little father-and-daughter time together? Well, well, well. Norbert, isn’t that sweet?”

  That was the problem with not telling lies, Worthy thought. People like this old woman could smell the scent of hard truth. Worthy felt panic rise in his stomach as the woman eyed Allyson, preparing for her next attack.

  “Yes, just the two of us,” Allyson said in a voice loud enough for the entire room to hear. “We were hoping for some peace and quiet.”

  The piece of fish stuck in Worthy’s throat, forcing him to cough and cough again. Norbert hit him between his shoulder blades, then donned his cap before escorting his wife toward the door.

  The other patrons silently pondered their food. In a few seconds, the waitress was standing by their table. “Do you want your check, then?” She’d already begun to tally the bill.

  “Want anything else, Ally?”

  “Not unless they serve liquor to minors here,” she murmured, looking down. “Let’s just go.”

  He handed his plate to the waitress. “I’ll have some more fish.”

  Raising her eyebrows, the waitress walked the plate back to the kitchen.

  “I don’t think you’ll be confused with the sweet lifeguard anymore.”

  “I’m not sorry,” she said.

  He took a swig of his beer. “I don’t know why you should be. She had it coming. Other people are just wishing they could say things like that.”

  “No, most of them think your daughter is a bitch.”

  “So order some dessert and show them you don’t care.”

  “Why are we the only ones talking in here?” she whispered. “That doesn’t bother you?”

  He shrugged and pondered the question. “My folks raised us to be nice in public, no matter what anyone said or did. Don’t you remember what your grandmother always says? ‘If you can’t say anything nice—’ ”

  “ ‘Then don’t say anything at all,’ ” Allyson finished.

  “But I realized that was just my father’s way of keeping his job. With him being a minister, he couldn’t afford having what he called sassy-mouthed kids. As a cop, I learned pretty quickly being nice doesn’t always work.”

  “My Dad, the sassy detective. That’s how you make people confess?”

  He basked in his daughter’s interest and her occasional smile. “No, unlike on TV, it pays to be polite to witnesses, even suspects. But some of the other guys in the precinct are another matter.”

  “That why you never have a partner?”

  “Who said I don’t?”

  “Mom told me once. She said you like to work alone.”

  The waitress put the plate of fried fish in front of him. “And my daughter would like dessert.”

  “What’ll it be, sweetie?”

  “A chocolate shake. Just a small one.”

  “One small shake coming up.”

  Worthy squeezed lemon over the fish. “I wouldn’t say I prefer working alone. I just seem to do better that way.”

  Allyson balled up a napkin. “Wouldn’t a good partner help you find the killer quicker?”

  Worthy put his fork down. “It did in New Mexico. They gave me a good partner. Actually, two of them, if you count Father Nick. And I had some local help. She was very good.”

  “She?”

  Worthy nodded.

  “Let me get this straight. You had a woman for a partner, and it worked?”

  “There was a rough spot or two, but yes. Does that surprise you?”

  Her eyes were boring into his. “What kind of rough spot?”

  Why is she so interested? he wondered. “Two people working on a case don’t always see the clues the same way. I made some assumptions, kind of jumped ahead of her at one or two points, and she thought I was all wrong.”

  “Let me guess. In the end you were right.”

  “Not really. It turned out we both were partly right. Also partly wrong.”

  Allyson leaned forward. “Was she cute?”

  He took a sip of his beer. “It wasn’t something I paid a lot of attention to. I guess you could say she was cute, but I’d say we became good friends.”

  “So you had a partner in New Mexico, and you got along okay. So why doesn’t that happen in Detroit? Why is it always just your picture in the papers?”

  “Look, Ally, I don’t write the news. And besides, I do have a partner on the case I’ve got now. The only question is whether he’ll stay on it.”

  “Is it a murder?”

  Worthy nodded. “A priest was strangled about three weeks ago.”

  “I heard about that.”

  “Actually, it’s a takeover case. That means I got somebody else’s case.”

  “The first guy screwed up?”

  “No, he was just pulled away to work on something else.”

  “Oh, a big case like this. Boy, I bet he loves you.”

  “No, we’ve known each other too long for that. He pretty much told me he hopes I fall on my face, except he didn’t say ‘face.’ I wonder when she’s going to bring your shake.”

  “It’s her way of telling me she doesn’t like me.”

  “Nah. She’s just busy,” Worthy said.

  “You know who she is, don’t you?”

  “No.”

  “Ricky’s older sister. I think her name’s Tammy. We hated each other.”

  “You going to let her know you remember her?”

  “No, Dad. Anyway, back to you.”

  Back to me? Where did this sudden interest in his career come from?

  “What did you mean when you said your new partner may not stay on the case?” Allyson continued. “Cops get to do that?”

  “No, cops can’t do
that. But he’s had some problems lately. Real explosive type, the kind who slugs people he shouldn’t. They might have to pull him.”

  “Won’t that cost him his job?”

  “Probably.”

  Tammy brought the shake and set it down with a straw.

  “I’ll take the check when you’re ready,” Worthy said.

  Allyson took a long sip and grimaced.

  “What is it?” Worthy asked.

  “It’s vanilla. I asked for chocolate.”

  “Want me to call her back?”

  “No, I don’t want to give her the satisfaction.” Allyson took the straw out and drank from the glass before looking back at her father. “Anything you can do to help?”

  “Who’re we talking about?”

  “Your partner.”

  Worthy tried to make sense of the worried look on his daughter’s face. He’d understood Captain Betts’ concern, but why would Allyson care? “You’re not the first to ask me that, but I can’t see how,” he said. “I mean, look at it this way. Somebody strangled a priest in front of his own altar in broad daylight. In this country, a priest or minister is like a symbol of goodness. If they get killed, people get really scared. And they should be. The media will roast us if whoever did it gets away with it. That’s what I’m paid to prevent. My partner’s problems are just distractions.”

  Allyson looked down at the half-empty glass. “That’s what he is, a distraction?”

  “Look, I’m not saying his problems aren’t important. In fact, I told my captain the man probably needs professional help. But that’s not my job.”

  Allyson pushed away the half-empty glass and rose from the table. “Let’s get out of here,” she said, looking past him.

  “What’s the matter?” he asked, still seated.

  “Nothing. Can we just go?”

  He could see tears in the corners of her eyes. “Don’t do this again, Ally. Tell me what’s the matter.”

  “It’s always just that one thing for you, isn’t it? To find your killer. The rest of us? Well ….”

  Worthy watched her walk toward the door, her hands in her pockets. There it was again, that sense he’d failed some test. What had he said?