Lone Wolf zw-3

by Linwood Barclay

  “Well, will you?”

  “Of course we will. Unless this town wants to be buried in lawsuits.”

  “So the gay and lesbian organization, they have your support?”

  “Ha!” said Alice Holland. “They’re nothing but a bunch of shit disturbers, pardon my French. Honestly, can you imagine any gay and lesbian group even wanting to be part of a fall fair parade that features lawn tractor racing? It’s all I can do to sit in the back of the convertible from Braynor Ford. Those gay activists’ll have the Braynor High School band in front of them performing ‘Feelings’ with trombones and tubas and coming from behind will be Eagleton’s Bait and Tackle, which, last I heard, was going to have choreographed, dancing night crawlers. People in worm suits. I mean, isn’t the gay community a tad too sophisticated for something like that? The only reason they want to be in the parade is because there are so many people who don’t want them in the parade. If Charles Henry, who, by the way, can kiss my skinny white ass, got rid of his petition and put a sign out front of his grocery store saying “Welcome Homos!” they’d pack up and go back to the city and forget this whole damn thing.”

  I said, “You don’t sound like you’re from around here.”

  Alice Holland smiled. “You’re very astute.”

  “How long have you lived in Braynor?”

  “George and I moved up here from the city almost fifteen years ago. He was a set designer, and I practiced law, and then we came into a shitload of money when his mother died, and we figured, let’s get out. We moved up here, didn’t have to work right away, but then we got interested in the area, about attempts to overdevelop it, and I ran for a seat on council and won, and then a couple of elections later, ran for mayor, and won. Who’d have thunk it?”

  “Don’t suppose you ever thought of opening a law office up here?”

  She shrugged. “Not really.”

  “Think about it,” I said. “Some of the local talent leaves something to be desired.”

  “Yeah, well, what can you do? You should meet our chief of police.”

  It was my turn to smile. “I’ve had the pleasure. Speaking of overdevelopment, which way’s council leaning on that big fishing-resort proposal south of town? The one Leonard Colebert’s pitching?”

  “Oh, that,” Mayor Holland said. “I was looking at the plans for that again only yesterday. Every time he submits new ones, there’s something new added. Another floor on the hotel, or a new outbuilding, or a casino. The day that goes in is the day I let them run over me with an Evinrude.”

  “So council’s unlikely to approve it?”

  “Well, there are a few members, they’re tempted by the extra jobs, the increased tax base. But they’d bring in a fucking nuclear waste dump if it brought in enough taxes to buy a new snowplow.”

  I really liked this woman.

  She leaned back on her couch. “So, what the hell are you actually doing here, anyway? I mean, I’m having a lovely chat and all, but are you doing a story, or what?”

  I paused. “I have a bad feeling,” I said with some hesitation.

  Mayor Holland’s eyebrows went up a notch. “Really?”

  “Yes.”

  “And why do you have this bad feeling?”

  I sensed that part of her was humoring me, that she was starting to find me amusing.

  “I have to tell you, first of all, that I’m something of a worrier. I’m a worst-case-scenario kind of guy. I’m not some kind of conspiracy nut. I just think that if there’s a chance that things might go really bad, they will.”

  Alice Holland said, “Some people would call that being a realist.”

  “Yes, well, I can appreciate that. It’s just that, the things I’ve seen happening in Braynor, and out at my dad’s place, I have a sense that these events are linked and leading toward something very bad.”

  Alice Holland said nothing.

  “Are you familiar with the people who’ve rented the farmhouse out on my dad’s property?”

  “Refresh my memory,” she said.

  “Timmy Wickens. And his family. A wife, her two sons, his daughter and grandson.”

  “Ah yes. Are they friends of yours?”

  I was taken aback. “Not at all.”

  “Then you won’t be offended if I categorize them as a bunch of whacko-nutcase-racist-survivalists.”

  “So you’ve heard of them.”

  “They have a bit of a reputation in the Fifty Lakes District. They’ve moved around a couple of times, they’re known to police. Some people think they burned down a lawyer’s house up in Red Lake, but nothing was ever proved. So what about them?”

  “Do you know what was stolen at the co-op?” I asked.

  “No.”

  I told her. And I told her what it could be used for.

  “You’re making quite a leap,” the mayor said.

  “I appreciate that.”

  “Have you discussed your suspicions with Chief Thorne?” she asked.

  “I have. These, and others. He’s not been particularly receptive.”

  Again, a small smile. “No, I don’t imagine he would be. One of the things I’ve learned, when I was in a law firm, and being mayor of a town as small as Braynor, your personnel problems are always your biggest headaches.”

  “I don’t know what the protocol might be, but you might want to see whether you can get any help from other law enforcement agencies. And I don’t mean this as a slap at Orville. There may be things going on that are beyond the expertise of any small-town police chief.”

  “Well, all I can say is-”

  The phone rang. The look on Alice Holland’s face suggested that her heart had stopped. She looked at the phone mounted on the wall next to the door, let it ring once without getting up. Let it ring a second time.

  It wasn’t any of my business whether she answered her phone or not, but I couldn’t help watching her while she let it ring.

  Then the door burst open and George grabbed the receiver. “Hello?” He only listened a moment, then slammed the phone back down.

  “Death to the dyke bitch again?” the mayor asked.

  George nodded once.

  “What’s going on?” I asked.

  “All this over a goddamn fucking parade,” Alice Holland said.

  20

  “Have you told him?” George Holland asked his wife. “About the other calls? This nonstop harassment?”

  Braynor mayor Alice Holland sighed and settled back into the couch. “George is very worried about this,” she told me.

  “There’s so many freaks living up here, it could be anybody,” George said. “But I tell you who I blame. I blame that crazy redneck son of a bitch Charles Henry for stirring things up with his petition, that’s who I blame. That motherfucking bastard, I’ll never buy so much as a carton of milk in his store again. I don’t care if we have to drive an hour to get our groceries, he won’t be getting a dime from us.”

  “I don’t think I can go in there either,” I said, not bothering to explain.

  “He has stirred things up,” Alice said. “But that doesn’t mean it’s him who’s been calling here.”

  “Is it the same person every time, or different callers?” I asked.

  George said, “I think there’s a couple of them, but I can’t be sure. Now, we just hang up soon as we know what kind of call it is. And I always answer the phone now.”

  “What kind of threats?”

  Alice Holland, very matter-of-factly, said, “Sometimes, they just say I should die. Other times they call me a lesbian, ask me the name of my girlfriend. One gentleman offered to use a lit stick of dynamite on me in a very personal manner.”

  George, seething, looked ready to kill somebody.

  “So, Mr. Walker,” Alice said, “I would have to say I share your sense of foreboding, that there’s something in the air, something not very good.”

  “I think you should cancel the parade,” I said.

  Alice Holland considered tha
t for a moment. “I don’t like caving. Although it would be nice if Mr. Lethbridge would offer to back out. I wouldn’t ask him to, but it would be worth pointing out the risks.”

  For a moment I’d forgotten the name. Then I remembered the story in The Braynor Times. Stuart Lethbridge, head of the Fifty Lakes Gay and Lesbian Coalition.

  George said, “The more risk, the less likely he’d be to pull out. It’s like he wants something to happen, so he can be a martyr.”

  Mayor Holland nodded. “I suspect there’s some truth to that. Any other suggestions, Mr. Walker?”

  “I have a friend coming up tomorrow. He might have some ideas. And like I said earlier, you might want to make some calls to other agencies, see if you can get Orville some help.”

  She nodded, then stood up. This, I quickly understood, was my invitation to leave.

  “Keep in touch,” the mayor said. “But don’t be surprised if we don’t always answer the phone.”

  The morning of my fourth day at Denny’s Cabins, I was up early, and when I emerged from my cabin to head over to Dad’s for breakfast, I spotted Bob Spooner and diaper magnate Leonard Colebert getting ready to go hiking. I was guessing Bob had run out of ways to say no to him.

  “Thing is,” he said to me quietly while Leonard went back into his cabin for another water bottle to tuck into his backpack, “he’s not that bad a guy, once you get past his extremely annoying personality.”

  “I saw the mayor last night,” I said to Leonard when he came back out with a couple of bottles of Evian in his hands. “She doesn’t seem all that fired up about your resort proposal. She seems to think it’s a bit over the top.”

  Leonard was either in denial, or knew something I didn’t, because he had a broad grin on his face. “Oh, she’ll come around. And she’s still just one vote on council. If the others go for it, there won’t be any way she can stop it. This town hasn’t even got a community center. Now suppose someone was willing to pay for one in return for getting approval for his project, what do you think might happen then? Especially when everyone in town finds out they could get a center for nothing?”

  Bob shook his head. “Leonard, I really think you need to reconsider some of this. You know, take into account the character of the area, the beauty of it, and just how your place might impact on-”

  Leonard slapped Bob on the back. “Come on, let’s go. You think I don’t love nature? I love nature! In fact, why don’t we drive down the highway and we’ll hike into the woods where I’m gonna build my dream. You’ll come around, I know you will, when I show you what I’m actually going to do.”

  Bob looked at me and rolled his eyes. “We’ll take my truck,” he said, and off they went.

  Lana Gantry’s car, which I’d failed to notice the other morning when I’d walked in and embarrassed myself and everyone else, was parked behind Dad’s cabin, so I rapped lightly on the door before opening it.

  “Just me,” I said softly, but loud enough that I could be heard in Dad’s bedroom.

  The bathroom door opened and Lana walked out, clothes and makeup and hair all in place. She strode over and gave me a peck on the cheek. “Hi, sweetie,” she said. “Your dad’s still in bed. I’d love to make you breakfast, but you’ll have to come down to the cafe to get it. I got to head straight in. One of my girls is off today.”

  It’s difficult to get used to the notion that your father is sleeping with a woman who’s not your mother, even when your mother has been gone for several years. I peeked in on Dad, who was snoring, and went back to the fridge, getting out some orange juice and cream for coffee. Lana was looking in her purse for her car keys.

  “So who was that you were having coffee with yesterday?” she asked. “And wasn’t that Timmy Wickens you were talking to on the sidewalk?”

  “Hmm?” I said.

  “Yesterday. At the cafe.”

  “That was his daughter, May.”

  “She lives up there at the house with the rest of them?” she asked.

  I nodded.

  “Well, if I were you,” she said, “I wouldn’t be getting involved with some woman from a family like that.”

  “Lana,” I said, “we were just having a coffee.”

  “Oh, listen, I know you and Sarah are okay, your dad’s told me that. I’m just saying, don’t get mixed up trying to help anybody from a family like the Wickenses. You’ll get your ass shot off for the trouble.” She discovered her keys, gave them a shake, and smiled on the way out.

  A few minutes later, I glanced out the window over the sink and saw two vehicles swoop down over the hill and brake abruptly, tires slipping in gravel. One was Orville’s cruiser, and the second, a blue pickup I didn’t recognize. Orville jumped out of his car and two men hopped out of the pickup.

  They were all carrying rifles.

  I peaked in on Dad again. “Hey,” I said. “Cavalry’s here.”

  Dad opened one eye. “What?”

  “Orville. And others. All armed. Come to hunt bear.”

  “Jesus.” He opened his other eye, threw back the covers. “Where’s Lana?”

  “She left. Not before dispensing a little advice.” I looked at the mess of bed covers, the indentation in the pillow next to Dad’s. “Good to see that bad ankle hasn’t curtailed all your activities.”

  Dad sat up in bed. “Where the hell were you last night? Did you really go see the mayor?”

  “Yeah. Nice lady. Why don’t you get dressed while I go say hello to our rescuers?”

  I walked outside, hands in pockets, and strolled over to Orville Thorne, who was talking to the two other men, both dressed in hunting jackets and caps, looking like maybe, after they got our bear, they were off to audition for Deliverance 2.

  “Morning,” I said.

  Orville glanced my way. “Your father here?”

  “Just getting up.”

  “You can tell him we’re here. To get the bear. We see it, we’re going to kill it.”

  “Super,” I said. “Knock yourself out.”

  “What do you mean, knock ourselves out?” asked one of the hunters. He turned to his buddy. “He wants us to make ourselves unconscious?”

  Orville approached, coming up almost nose to nose with me. “I know you’ve got your own crazy ideas about how Morton Dewart died, but I have a responsibility to protect this community, and if there’s a chance he was killed by a bear, I have to go looking for it.”

  “Absolutely,” I said. “But I think you may have bigger things to worry about.”

  “Like what?”

  “You know the mayor’s getting death threats?”

  Orville’s eyeballs danced for a second. “She may have mentioned something about that to me. How do you know about that?”

  “I went to see her last night. Her husband greets visitors with a baseball bat. They’re on edge.”

  “I’ll talk to her.”

  “And how’s your investigation of Tiff’s murder coming along?” I asked.

  “We’re making inquiries,” he said, trying to sound confident. “His wife, she might have had a boyfriend who did it.”

  “Really?” I said. “So he’s a suspect?”

  “Well, not exactly. We don’t know yet whether Tiff’s wife actually had, or has, a boyfriend, but once we find that out, and if she did, then of course, he’d be of interest to our investigation.”

  “Especially if this boyfriend, if there is one,” I said, “ever said to Tiff, ‘I’m going to stab you one day,’ and if he doesn’t have an alibi for the time in question, and if you go to his house and find him holding a bloody knife that matches Tiff’s DNA,” I said. “Sounds like you’ve practically got the whole thing wrapped up.”

  “I don’t owe you any explanation of how I conduct my job,” Chief Thorne said.

  “I think those threats the mayor’s getting might be more than just crank calls,” I said. “Some people are getting pretty agitated about this parade on Saturday. This Charles Henry, who owns the grocery
? He’s been stirring up a lot of shit with his petition.”

  “And so’s that guy who wants to be in the parade. Maybe he should do everyone a favor and take a hike.”

  “Maybe so,” I said. “You want to know what I think?”

  Orville said nothing, breathed through his nostrils.

  “I think you’re a good guy, but I think you’d rather chase a bear, a real one or an imaginary one, than confront some of the people in this town. You’re running off into the woods to avoid problems, not deal with them.”

  Orville shook his head. “Gee, thanks, Dr. Phil.”

  The two hunting buddies snickered. “Let’s go, guys,” he said to them, and they marched off together into the forest.

  Dad opened the cabin door halfway and asked me, “Do they want some coffee first?”

  After breakfast I went about my camp chores, collecting garbage, burying fish guts, cutting some grass. Around eleven I went inside to check Dad’s computer, see whether Sarah had gotten back to me after I’d e-mailed her the picture of Orville Thorne. She hadn’t. I surfed a bit, read The Metropolitan’s website to see what was happening back in the city, then checked some of my favorite sci-fi sites, learned that some new kits from the old Lost in Space TV show were being issued. I still hadn’t gotten around to replacing my model of the Jupiter II, the saucerlike ship the Robinson family used to travel around the galaxy, that had been smashed to pieces a couple of years ago.

  Outside, I heard voices.

  I looked out the window and saw Thorne and his two helpers emerging from the woods, looking discouraged and bedraggled. I didn’t have the energy to go outside and rub it in, so I stayed in front of the computer while Dad, crutches tucked under his arm, went to meet them. The conversation was subdued, but I could make out enough to know that they hadn’t spotted a bear, but were prepared to come back the next morning.

  “Just because we didn’t see him doesn’t mean he’s not out there,” I heard Orville say, loud enough, I figured, so that I would hear him through the wall.

  I heard a car coming down the hill and moved my head closer to the window so I could get a better look. A shiny blue Jaguar sedan.