by Paul Moomaw
It was a cold night, and a stiff wind came up, blowing the flimsy tarp around and making it hard for him to stay comfortable. He managed to sleep off and on, but he was glad when the gray light of morning began to glimmer through the trees. He finished off the cheese, and washed it down with water straight from the lake. He rolled the tarp up, and stuffed it and the sleeping bag between two small lodgepole pines. Then he tossed the water bottle into the day pack, slipped it on, and started walking up the trail that led from the lake to the heights above.
Arceneaux could still remember his first hike to Summit Lake. At one point, the trail began to switch back and forth up a sheer, rock wall, and he had been frightened, especially after he looked down and saw the skeleton of a horse lying a hundred feet below. But his father had assured him he would be safe, and he had always trusted his father. As he trudged up those same switchbacks now, he realized that the trust had never died.
“There’s just times when a boy needs his dad,” he said to the air. Just like Josh needs me, the thought came involuntarily to his mind.
Dale Arceneaux’s body was buried in the church cemetery in St. Ignatius, but he was not there. Arceneaux was sure of that. His father had told him, on that first trip, that Summit Lake was his spiritual home. He had gone there as a boy, alone, to find himself. He had been afraid then, he told his son; but the lake took care of him, and made a place for him.
“I got a little scared again when it started to get dark,” his father had told him, “but then Quas-quee, Blue Jay, came and wrapped his wings around me to keep me warm, and I went to sleep just fine. I had a dream then, that I was trying to climb a big, steep mountain, and I kept falling back down, all the way, and while I was lying there thinking if I should try again, E-wheh-whoot’-ken, Badger Sharp Claws, came down the path and told me I didn’t belong on the mountain top, that my true place was in the valley, guarding the waters and keeping everything green. When I woke up, I knew that was a true dream.”
“How did you know?” Arceneaux the boy had asked.
“First, because Quas-quee sent it to me, and he has watched over the people since the first day. And when I woke up, there was a big old badger, just sitting there a couple of feet away, looking at me; and when it left, it took the path down to the valley, just like the dream said.”
Later on, as they sat at the edge of the water, watching the sun fade from the peaks that reared straight up from the lake’s far side, Dale Arceneaux had put his arm around his son’s shoulder. “Some day I’m going to die,” he had said “They’ll stick my body in a hole in the ground. But I won’t be in that hole. I’ll be here. Any time you need to talk with me, you come here.”
Arceneaux reached the top of the switchbacks, where the trail leveled out somewhat, passing through grassy areas that were still lush even this late in the year. Patches of snow, remnants of the previous winter, still lay tucked into sheltered spots. He followed the trail over one last hummock, and the lake was there, beckoning him. Here, the jagged peaks that seemed so high and far away from the valley were close and intimate, reflected in water that was as still as glass as he approached. He walked to the water’s edge, picked up a pebble, and tossed it in. Then he found a flat rock, and sat down, facing the lake.
“Hey, Dad,” he half-whispered. “You around?” He closed his eyes for a long minute, half expecting a response. Then he opened his eyes again and stared at his hands, which were massaging each other without his volition.
“I’ve got a bone to pick,” he said. “And I need some help, but I don’t know exactly what.” As he said the words, he realized that asking for help was something he found almost impossible to do, and that this had been true since childhood. When he had faced problems, he had almost always kept them to himself. It had not been a conscious thing then, but looking back now he could see that he had not wanted to burden his father with his troubles. It wasn’t anything the old man had said or done. He had always been there for his son when asked. It was just that the son had almost never asked. Partly, Arceneaux thought, it was that he had worried that a single father with a difficult job had enough on his plate. But as he let his memories go back, he realized that it was also true that his father had never opened up himself, and that he had modeled that behavior.
“I met an old friend of yours the other day,” Arceneaux said. “Helen Quick Badger, from the school at Twin Bridges. I never even knew you went to that school. I think there’s a lot of parts of you I didn’t get to know. That Helen, she said you were one proud Indian rebel at school. She said you never would let those white people get you down. I wish you had let me see that part of you. It’s like you didn’t teach me how to be Indian, and you couldn’t teach me how to be white, and now I have to try to be both, and help your grandson with that, and I don’t know how.”
Arceneaux stared across the water, not really seeing anything. “I don’t know what you can do about it now,” he said. “Maybe just listen. You told me you would always be here. I hope that’s true. And maybe you can figure out a way to give me a good whack on the butt when I need one.”
A breeze kicked up, and the surface of the lake, that had been so still, suddenly wrinkled. The wind ruffled its way across the water and curled itself around him. This high, this time of year, it should have been cold, but it had no temperature at all, just a softness that wrapped him up.
Arceneaux sat for a long time, not thinking about anything. A hawk wheeled overhead and called, its voice high and piercing. As it circled, its mate appeared, and the two flew together, catching the last updrafts of warmth from the sun, looking for a meal. Arceneaux watched them silently until they flew out of sight. Then, just behind his right shoulder, he heard wings fluttering. He sat as still as he could, and then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw a Stellers Jay. The big, blue and black bird chattered softly, then flew off. It landed on a rock about ten feet from Arceneaux, and chattered again. Then it sailed off the rock and landed right in front of Arceneaux’s feet. It cocked its head and began to strut and hop, as if it were dancing. Arceneaux watched, fascinated, as the bird moved closer and then hopped onto his hiking shoe. It cocked its head again, chattered once more, and flew away. Arceneaux exhaled sharply. He had not realized that he had been holding his breath. The bird flew to a tree, and then rose again and sailed across the lake and out of sight.
Arceneaux sat quietly for several more minutes. Then he got to his feet, picked up a fist-sized rock, and tossed it as far as he could over the water. He watched it through its arc until it struck the surface of the lake with a soft splash.
He folded his arms across his chest and massaged his biceps. “Thanks, old man,” he said. Then he turned and headed down.
Chapter 15
Anna Mae Preston had red hair, sea green eyes and legs that ended just below her knees. She looked up from her wheelchair and smiled, then backed the chair away from the open door.
“You must be Sam Arceneaux,” she said. “Come on in before the door slams on you. It’s automatic.” She swiveled the chair around and began rolling into the living room, without bothering to see if Arceneaux followed. “Sit anywhere that looks comfortable,” she said. “Would you like something to drink? I don’t have anything alcoholic, but there’s juice, and buttermilk, or I could make some coffee.”
Arceneaux lowered himself onto a pale gray sofa that sat under the picture window at the front of the room. “Nothing, thanks,” he said.
Anna Mae Preston swiveled around to face him, and began rolling the wheelchair in his direction. “I’m really very capable,” she said.
“I expect you are.”
“I probably have more skills today than I did before this happened,” she said, and waved vaguely towards her legs. “Funny kind of a growth opportunity.” She laughed and rolled forward again until she could reach out and touch Arceneaux. “Actually, I was a sort of a hippie wannabe,” she said. “Even after I got my degree and started working in the schools here, I still smoked my sh
are of dope, and drove around in a Volkswagen bus with daisies painted all over it, at least when I could get it to run.” She smiled and looked at her stumps again. “I guess I got it started once too often,” she said. “That’s how this happened. I was on Highway Twelve, heading up to Jerry Johnson Hot Springs for a little winter skinny dipping. A logging truck lost control and slammed into me head-on. Like they say, your legs are the bumper when that happens in a VW bus.”
“I’m sorry,” Arceneaux began, but she waved his sympathy away.
“Don’t be. That was years ago. Life goes on. I did have to stop teaching, though.” A shadow of sadness crossed her face briefly. “They didn’t have wheelchair access at the school then, so I had to retire. Now they have the access, but I don’t have the interest any more.” She smiled a little wistfully, then slapped her hands together. “Anyway, this isn’t why I wanted to talk to you.” She leaned forward, her face serious again. “You’re investigating Samantha’s murder?”
Arceneaux nodded.
“Elizabeth told me. I caught her outside and pinned her down. She was really in a bind, not wanting to snub a poor cripple, but scared to death to talk about it.” She shook her head. “She’s lost so much of herself over the years.” She reached out and pressed an index finger against Arceneaux’s knee. “So you don’t think Arden Marks did it,” she said.
“I’m getting paid to think he didn’t,” Arceneaux said.
“Good,” Anna Mae said, “because they have the wrong man. If you want to know who killed Samantha, just look next door.” She fell silent, nodding her head up and down, pinning Arceneaux’s eyes with a fierce gaze.
“Is there more?” Arceneaux asked. “Or do I get left hanging?”
“Oh, there’s more,” Anna Mae said. “How much do you know about David Crisp?”
“He teaches martial arts, and doesn’t approve of my nosing around.”
“He wouldn’t,” Anna Mae said. “You’re a man.” She tilted her head to one side and gave him a look. “Pretty damn sexy, too. And even though David has that poor Elizabeth so cowed she’s afraid to fart without his permission, he’s still convinced that she’s ready to cheat on him any chance she gets.” She paused again. “I suppose you know he isn’t Samantha’s father.”
“I understand he adopted her.”
“And despised her, and abused her and generally treated her like a piece of crap. It started the minute he moved in, and never got any better, especially after Bryce was born.”
“Sometimes that happens,” Arceneaux said. “A biological child comes along, and the adopted kid gets the short end of things.”
Anna Mae shook her head emphatically. “He never wanted Samantha. He adopted her to get on Elizabeth’s good side, and as far as I’m concerned, he only married Elizabeth to get the settlement that came out of Dirk’s death. It was a lot of money, and now it’s just about all gone. David started spending it as fast as he could, once he and Elizabeth got married. First he bought a big piece of land down by Florence and tried to set himself up as a gentleman farmer. God knows how much he blew on tractors, and irrigation equipment, and stock, before that venture failed. Then he decided to be a horse breeder, but he didn’t know any more about horses than he did about farming. Of course, you can’t learn much about those things when you spend as much time in the bars and casinos as David Crisp does.” She frowned. “Now he’s a martial artist.” She leaned back in the wheel chair and gazed at the ceiling. “I expect the settlement money is pretty much gone, but he’s still spending big time. He just got himself a huge honkin’ truck, a big F-350 with a diesel engine.”
“I saw it in front of his dojo,” Arceneaux said.
Anna Mae nodded. “I expect he got something that big so he can squat in front of people in traffic and all they can see is that tacky license plate. He’s big on having the right image. Even takes the family to church every Sunday, not that he could possibly believe in God. If he did, he’d have to be scared to death of what’s going to happen to him when he dies.” She paused. “Their house was Elizabeth’s, from her parents, and all paid off; but David got the title transferred into his name, and now it’s mortgaged up to the hilt. Elizabeth told me that back when we were still friends.” Anna Mae sighed. “And we really were friends, the very best, before David came along. I was her maid of honor when she and Dirk got married. But all the joy’s been beaten out of her, and I mean that literally. I’ve seen bruises on her face more than once. Of course, if I asked her about them, she’d just make up some story about walking into a tree. She started hiding out in her house more and more, especially after Bryce came along. To tell you the truth, I’m surprised she even let you in the door the other day.”
“Having Bryce didn’t cheer her up?” Arceneaux said.
Anna Mae gave him a scornful look. “You don’t think that boy is Elizabeth’s do you?” She rested her hand on Arceneaux’s knee. “You’ve seen her. She’s a narrow-hipped little thing, the kind that looks nine months pregnant at three months, because the baby’s got no where to go except straight into the belly button. Even with the way David walled her off, I still saw her now and then. If she had been pregnant, I would have known.” She shook her head again. “No,” she said. “I’ll tell you something, and you can draw your own conclusions. Things had been getting worse and worse between Samantha and David. I remember once they had a yelling match out in the front yard, and he knocked her down, right in front of God and everybody. I called the cops that time, but nothing came of it. Samantha and Elizabeth were too scared to press charges. Anyway, a couple of months after that, Samantha wasn’t there any more. And then David packed up and moved out. I asked Elizabeth what was going on, but she wouldn’t talk about it. That was in the fall. In the early spring, Samantha was back, and all of a sudden there was a baby in the house. A few weeks later, David showed up again.”
Anna Mae sat back and sighed. “Don’t try to tell me that Bryce is Samantha’s little brother,” she said. “And if you want to know what I believe about her murder, I think David killed her, just to keep her from getting what little money he hasn’t managed to spend yet.” She pause, looking at nothing in particular for a moment, then added, “But I surely would love to know where he came up with the money for that truck. Those things cost a fortune.” She nodded slowly at Arceneaux. “I happen to know that he was in deep financial trouble not all that long ago.” She nodded again. “The bank was on the edge of foreclosing on that little building of his.”
“How do you know that?”
Anna Mae gave Arceneaux a knowing look. “It’s a small town, and people talk.”
“Talk is cheap, they say.”
“This talk came from a very close friend who also happens to be a loan officer at the bank. She told me the whole story.”
“I thought bank officers were paid to keep their mouths shut.”
“Mostly. But my friend, her name’s Sarah Jackson, hates David Crisp more than anything in the world. He nearly killed her son. That’s Danny, who’s grown and gone now, or just barely. But when he was about thirteen, he was taking karate from Crisp, and Crisp totally humiliated him. He was on his back from day one. Only God knows why, but he was. He shamed him in front of the other kids, constantly. Called him a coward, and a sissy. And of course the other kids followed Crisp’s example and started hounding Danny, and then one day Danny went home and tried to kill himself. He grabbed every pill he could find and swallowed them down. It didn’t kill him, thank God, but it had to leave scars. Sarah got herself a lawyer, and Crisp’s insurance settled for forty thousand. That’s supposed to be a secret, too, but Sara told me. They had to accept the insurance settlement, because, from what her lawyer told her, Crisp didn’t have any assets worth going after.”
Anna Mae took a deep breath and let it out. “Anyway, like I said, David Crisp was practically bankrupt. Then, all of a sudden, he has money. Buys that huge truck. Has a bunch of stuff done to the building. And yet I don’t get the impres
sion that his little karate school is doing any better than it ever did.” She threw her hands up, and then wheeled herself around and across the room. “All that talking made me thirsty,” she said. “You sure you don’t want anything?”
Arceneaux stood up. “No thanks,” he said. “I guess I had better head out. I appreciate your talking to me.”
“I just hope you can take what I told you and do something with it,” Anna Mae said. “And there’s someone else you can talk to. Her name’s Laura Hooters.” She rolled her eyes. “You can imagine what the kids used to call her with a last name like that, especially because she was living up to the name by the time she was thirteen. I’m surprised she hasn’t gotten married just to change it. Anyway, she was probably the closest friend Samantha had in the whole world, and she’s a good kid. Tell her I sent you.”
“Thanks, I will,” Arceneaux said. He headed toward the door. “I can let myself out.”
“No need,” Anna Mae said. She grabbed a small, plastic remote from the counter. “I’m totally up to date.” She pressed a button, and the front door opened with a soft wheeze. “It closes kind of fast,” she said. “Don’t let it hit you in the butt.”
Arcenaux passed quickly through the door, unthinkingly putting his hands behind him to protect his rear end, the way he had when he was a kid about to get a spanking. He stepped off the front porch, then stopped and looked at the Crisp house next door. I ought to try to talk to her again, he thought, and began walking toward the house, wondering what to say when Elizabeth Crisp opened the door, if she did. Hi, I understand your husband beats you up? Hello there, I thought I’d extend my sympathies to Bryce for losing his mother. Hey, after David killed your daughter, did he come straight home?