by Dana Mentink
He put her gently away from him as reality once again seeped in. “Everything changed for me, Heather. Now I’ve only got anger left. That’s a good thing, in one way.”
Her face was pained. “How?”
“Because I’m going to use every ounce of that rage to bring down Oscar Birch once and for all. He’s not going to hurt you or anyone else ever again.” He walked to the door, missing the feel of her in his arms. “I’ll be back tomorrow. Don’t go anywhere until I’m with you.”
He called to Tank and hastened out the door, anxious to leave before those tears left a sad trail down her cheeks.
Heather made omelets for dinner and she and her mother sat at the same banged-up wooden table they had when she was a child. They both ate little. The conversation was strained to the point of being painful.
Finally Heather said, “You don’t have to help with the story.”
Her mother looked at her gravely. “I know. I want to.”
“Why?” Heather blurted out, the need to know overwhelming her anger. “Why? After all these years?”
Her mother put down the fork. “What you really want to know is why I left, isn’t it? How I could turn my back on you?”
Heather looked at her plate, suddenly terrified to hear the next words out of her mother’s mouth. She wanted to run from the table, but she was rooted to the spot.
“I am and have always been a driven person. I wanted to be a geologist like my father from the time I was a child. I never knew my mother, so I don’t know how many of my traits came from her. I planned out my life, my degrees, my work at the university, and it went exactly as I envisioned until I met your father.” She sighed softly. “He was doing construction on the college where I was a professor. We were totally wrong for each other, complete opposites, and I loved him instantly.”
Heather nodded. Her father had said as much in the rare moments when he shared at all, but it was strange listening to her mother talking about something as intimate as their love story.
“We married with the understanding that we would never have children, because I didn’t want any.”
Heather winced, afraid to look her mother in the eye. “But I came along.”
“Yes, and I had a stroke shortly before delivering you. I am not sure which was more overwhelming to me, the stroke or being a mother. Both seemed to me like punishments.”
“Punishments?” Heather wanted to sweep the plates from the table. “I was a punishment to you? Most people love their children, think of them as blessings.”
Margot held up a hand. “The only thing you have always been able to count on from me is honesty. That is how I felt. I was overwhelmed and underequipped to deal with both situations. The stroke left me unable to do my work at the university, so when you were six your father brought us here. He thought the environment, being away, would help. It didn’t. I felt more isolated, further removed from myself and my goals than I ever had before.”
Heather felt the tears flow, in spite of her effort to control them. “I couldn’t help being born. God didn’t send me here to punish you.”
Margot’s voice grew soft. “I know that now, but I had no idea how to be a mother. In the end, I decided that I had no business continuing in a role I was unable to fill. I was sure you’d be fine without me.”
The words dropped like bombs in the quiet of the kitchen. “Fine?” She almost choked on the words. “I’m not fine. I’m a recovering alcoholic, Mother. Did you know that? No, I guess you didn’t. You never bothered to check in.”
“Actually, I did. Several years ago I contacted your father and asked him about you. He told me about your struggles. I asked him not to tell you I called.”
Heather ignored her own surprise. “You must have been so disappointed to find out about me. I used to be a respected writer until I messed up so badly I got fired.”
Margot shifted, and for a moment Heather thought she was going to touch her, but her hand remained suspended in the air. “No, your father told me how you picked yourself up and faced it, how your God helped you get through it.” Her eyes flickered. “That was more than I ever had the courage to do.”
A myriad of thoughts and memories swept through Heather until she found herself unable to speak at all.
Her mother got to her feet. “I don’t know if I’ve made things better or worse between us, but I hope I have not added to your pain. Good night, Heather.” She shuffled down the hall and quietly closed the bedroom door.
Heather let the emotions shudder through her until she found herself on her knees, Choo Choo licking her face.
God, show me how I’m supposed to feel.
She’d been a punishment to her mother, a crippling weight around her neck, yet there was a hint of something else in the words. Pride? A shadow of love?
You picked yourself up and faced it, her mother had said.
And she’d cared enough to keep tabs on Heather’s recovery.
But not enough to come back.
That was the excruciating truth of the matter. Her mother had never felt enough for her daughter to come back.
Heather cried until there were no more tears left. Unable to sleep yet unwilling to continue brooding on her relationship with the woman in the next room, Heather wiped her eyes and sat again at her laptop. Her gaze fastened on the calendar hanging on the wall.
September first loomed just a scant five days away.
There must be something, anything she could do to help catch Oscar before he killed Bill. Fingers cold, she pulled up the Blaze website, relieved to find that the hideous obituary was gone and no more rants from Oscar added in its place. The passwords had been changed, security shored up, she imagined, as much as the run-down, cash-strapped newspaper could manage.
She should be researching the uranium angle. It was the most serious topic her editor had allowed her to cover. Mr. Brown believed his well was contaminated by a nearby uranium pit, but the man was known to complain about everything, from kids hanging out on his sprawling property to cars on the once-empty streets since the DUSEL had moved in. In spite of the time, she risked placing a call to him, leaving a message that she would be there the following morning. She went to pull up her notes, but a sense of urgency took her in another direction as the clock chimed ten.
It was almost Saturday. If Oscar was serious about his deadline, Bill had only four more days to live. Controlling the tremor that rolled down her spine, Heather typed Oscar’s name in the search box and began to sift through the bits and pieces of his life.
There was not much to learn. Oscar, Autie and Hazel, a former Eagle Rock resident, lived in a small place outside town. Oscar kept to himself, according to the few people who came into contact with him. One report from a shop owner said he noticed bruises on Hazel Birch when she came into the store to buy groceries. Hazel’s explanation was that she’d tripped and fallen.
Autie was homeschooled, apparently. He and his father would venture into town infrequently, once arriving to enter and win a shooting contest. Oscar’s quote to the paper after winning was “My shooting speaks for itself.”
She bit her lip. Is that how it would end for Bill? One quick shot out of nowhere? No, Oscar had made it clear in his last message. Oscar would be face-to-face with Bill at that awful moment. She remembered the coldness in Bill’s eyes that belied his warm embrace.
Now I’ve only got anger left, he’d said.
She was a part of it. If she hadn’t run, would he have been able to hang on to some tender emotions?
She pushed away the thoughts and pulled up another article describing what authorities believed had happened to Hazel. It had occurred in mid-September, and although Heather had been in Rockvale at the time, she’d been far too preoccupied with trying to hide her own addiction from Bill to remember the details.
Hazel’s body was found on the Eagle Rock reservation, not far from Aunt Jean’s place. She was shot with a gun later found in Oscar’s possession. Her abandoned car was di
scovered by Al Crow in a nearby ditch with the keys in the ignition, leading police to believe that she’d been driven off the road. In a panic she’d tried to flee on foot when Oscar caught up with her. There was a picture of the abandoned car, door open, a tube of lipstick lying on the ground.
Heather tried to imagine what Hazel’s frantic flight must have been like. Something made her fear for her life, so she ran, grabbing a few dollars maybe and her phone if Oscar allowed her to have one. What would it be like to leave behind any kind of safety, any means of support? Heather had done something similar when she’d fled to Miami, but she’d had the love of her father and a small amount of money to keep body and soul together.
After the murder, Oscar fled, escaping capture until he was cornered by Bill and Johnny a month later, just after Heather left town. Finally captured by the FBI, Oscar was remanded to jail, pending his trial at the federal courthouse.
But the jail hadn’t held him, Heather thought. Not after his son was killed.
She glanced at the clock, now showing almost 1:00 a.m. Her eyes burned with fatigue. What had she learned that might help Bill? Nothing.
The relentless ticking of the clock followed her down the hallway as she made her way to bed.
TEN
Bill drove to Heather’s before the sun came up. The house was still and dark, the land around it showing no sign of life except for the rustling of creatures in search of their last feed before the dawn.
Tank cracked a bleary eye from the passenger seat.
“I know it’s early. You can nap later.”
With a grumble, Tank rolled over and went to sleep.
Bill turned the situation over again in his mind. There was some way to locate Oscar and he would find it, before the man unleashed any more violence against the people in Bill’s life. Heather’s stark expression rose in his mind again and he remembered the feel of her in his arms. He’d felt a stirring of the old emotions, the old Bill, the one who had loved and laughed and lived. It hurt too much, reminded him of too many emotions that had begun to wither when Leanne was killed and ended when he’d let Johnny die.
He pictured Leanne, the pride on her face when she announced she’d finished her drug rehab program.
I’m going to do it this time, Billy. I’m going to show my girls that I can be a mom to them.
Then it was Johnny’s voice echoing in his memory, his laughter, his enthusiastic “Morning, boss.”
When the pain reached an unbearable level he muttered only one word.
“Lord …” he began. The word startled him and he clamped his mouth closed.
No.
He would not go there ever again.
The Lord had been blown out of his life by the same explosion that killed Johnny, the same tidal wave of addiction that took his big sister.
He was startled at the beep of his phone.
Crow’s voice boomed across the line. “Hey. Figured you’d be up. Where are you?”
“Outside Heather’s place. She’s bent on working a story about that uranium pit mine. I’m keeping tabs on her.”
“On old man Brown’s property? He’s got fangs. I’ll come along in case you need backup.”
Bill knew it wasn’t old man Brown Crow was thinking about. “It’s your day off, isn’t it?”
“No days off until Oscar is brought down. Anyway, Rudley is bringing in people and making sure we Tribal Rangers have nothing to do but write parking tickets.”
Bill sighed, familiar with the conflict between the Feds and local cops. He was about to ask a question when Crow answered it.
“Your aunt Jean is visiting the Tribal Council this morning to lobby for her preschool idea. She’ll be in a crowd all day and we’ve got people looking in on her.”
Bill felt a surge of relief. “Any new tips coming in from all those wanted posters?”
“Nothing. All’s quiet.”
“Too quiet.” He disconnected, watching the first blush of sun top the massive cliffs. Where was Oscar? He had to be somewhere close, somewhere with access to the internet in order to have hacked the Blaze website.
Fifteen minutes later, Crow pulled up next to Bill’s truck. He was dressed in jeans and a faded T-shirt. “Good thing I’m a morning person.”
“Thought you’d bring your Falcon.”
Crow looked away. “Loaned it out.”
Bill raised an eyebrow. Crow’s old Ford Falcon was a source of pride. He started to comment when the front door opened and Heather stepped onto the porch, her hair pulled back into a neat ponytail.
“Are you guys going to come in for coffee or sit there talking to the dog?” she called to Bill.
Crow grinned. “She’s got your number, all right.”
Bill climbed out and went into the house. Tank trotted off to give Choo Choo a thorough sniffing. Both men accepted mugs of steaming coffee and Crow walked to the far window, gazing out as he sipped.
Shadows smudged Heather’s eyes, marking a poor sleep. Bill noticed some paper on the table, printouts of articles about Oscar. “I told you—”
She cut him off. “I know what you told me, but first, I’m a journalist, research is my life, and second, I’ll never be able to make a living with a police detail following me, so I figured I could try to help out.”
Was there a third reason? Did the strange flicker in her eyes mean she was afraid for him? He took a gulp of coffee and burned his tongue in the process. He looked around for Margot, lowering his voice. “How did things go last night?”
She flushed, leaving two high spots of color on her cheeks. “She was … honest. Having a baby, having me, was a punishment of sorts.”
He did not know what to say. No words would ease the terrible sting of that revelation.
She fiddled with the pitcher of cream. “But she kept tabs on me, which I didn’t know. And I think …” She shook her head suddenly, setting the ponytail bobbing. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
Crow rejoined them for a refill. Egan arrived at the same time Margot emerged from the bedroom, dressed and wearing a brimmed hat. She had a small pack strapped around her waist.
“Good morning, everyone,” she said. “I hope I didn’t keep you waiting. I must have been more tired than I realized.”
Bill could see the fatigue in her lined face and wondered if she’d regretted sharing so honestly with her daughter. Heather busied herself throwing items into her own bag. “I need to talk to Mr. Brown and get his side of the story, shoot some photos of the abandoned uranium pit and his well.”
Margot nodded. “I can take water and soil samples.”
Egan held up a box. “Got the supplies right here. I’ll have the lab run the tests, if you’d like.”
Margot nodded. “Thank you. Are you sure it isn’t an imposition?”
Egan sighed. “Frankly, weekends are pretty wide open for me and I can’t think of anything more interesting than doing a little fieldwork.”
Margot laughed. “Spoken like a true geologist.”
They made arrangements to split up into two cars. Bill felt Heather’s hand clutch at his arm. She didn’t speak, but he read the anxiety in her face.
“Heather can come with me. Dr. Egan and Margot, you can ride with Crow,” Bill said.
Heather gave him a thankful squeeze that sent tingles up his arm.
As they headed for the door, she stopped short. “In going over the old clippings, I thought of something. What about the purse?”
Bill nearly plowed into her. “What?”
“Hazel’s.”
Crow stepped closer, forehead creased. “Hazel Birch? Oscar’s wife?”
“Yes. If she was planning to leave town, she’d have brought her purse. I thought of it when I saw the picture of the abandoned car. There was a lipstick there on the ground. Most women carry that kind of thing in a purse.” She turned to Crow. “Was there a purse with the body?”
“No, no purse. Nothing like that.”
“That’s strange,�
� Heather said.
Crow’s face darkened. “Are you saying I didn’t do my job? That I missed finding a purse? You don’t think some dumb Indian can do sophisticated police work?”
Bill put his hand up. “Hey. She didn’t say anything like that. She’s asking a question, that’s all.”
Crow’s gaze shifted from Heather to Bill and back again. “Yeah, okay. Sorry. I guess I’m feeling the heat, with the Feds calling all the shots around here.” He shrugged apologetically and headed for the car.
Heather’s eyes were round with surprise. “I didn’t mean to suggest he wasn’t doing his job.”
“I know. He’s just wound up. We’re all wound up, which is why I still think—”
“I’m going to get my story. Don’t even try to talk me out of it.” She bent to pat the dog. “You stay here, Choo. Mama will be back soon.” Shouldering her purse, she walked out.
With a deep sigh, Bill followed her.
The drive to the old uranium mine took them over ten miles of twisted, dusty road that climbed gently until they reached a wide prairie studded with stretches of scrubby grass and odd-shaped clusters of bleached rock. As they traveled upward past the gullied ridges and eroded hills, Heather was reminded of a moonscape. Here and there were some wild buckwheat, clinging in wiry tufts to the rock, growing ever sparser until they arrived at the pit, a sprawling crater that shone silver in the morning sunlight.
Margot shaded her eyes with her good hand as she peered in. She pointed to the west. “If I’ve figured it right, this pit lies above the far edge of Charlie Moon’s property, doesn’t it?”
Heather frowned. “True.”
“Has Charlie ever voiced a concern about his water quality?”
Dr. Egan started. “As a matter of fact, he hasn’t, but the water was tested anyway. I don’t know why I didn’t remember it. Shortly after I came here, the lab was making plans to buy a parcel of land to build some employee housing. Charlie was interested in having his property considered, so a team of USGS guys went to do some sampling and map the area. I was asked to consult.”
Bill gestured for him to continue. “So what was the outcome?”