by Mary Logue
16
The sun drifted down through the shaking branches and spread over her legs. Meg had her feet stretched out in front of her. The warmth felt good. Only one more month of school, then she got to play all summer long.
From her fort halfway up the bluff, Meg could see the valley and watch everyone come and go on the tarred roads by her house. She saw the red car pull up in her driveway and Bruce get out. He hadn’t come over in a long time. Her mom spent too much time alone. Maybe Bruce would make her feel better. Meg liked Bruce because he was from the time of her life before her dad died. He knew her dad, and he always made a point to talk to her. And her mom liked him. Meg ducked under the lookout branch and snuggled down into the old leaves with her dolls.
Mom didn’t know she had brought her two dolls up here. Mom didn’t know about the fort. No one did. Meg knew inside of herself that she needed this to be a secret. If you had a secret, it gave you power. Her two dolls were a boy and a girl. They were pioneers and very brave. Every day they had new adventures, most of them involved with being lost in the woods and having to survive. Meg gathered mushrooms for them, and berries. Twigs served as utensils, the cap of an acorn was a cup, and the acorn itself was a very good source of food. Meg had read that the Indians pounded it into flour and made pancakes out of it. She had tasted an acorn once, and it was very bitter. It made her mouth pucker up.
Sometimes she pretended that the boy doll was her dad. She would be the girl doll, and they would simply go for a walk in the woods. Nothing scary would happen. It was quiet, and she could be with her dad for a while, tell him about school.
Today, she was playing that the boy doll was his usual self. His name was Jared. She liked that name. It sounded tough. The girl doll’s name was Felicity. Such a pretty name. It had loops in the sound of it. Jared and Felicity had gone on a hike and had gotten lost. A snowstorm was coming. They were making a shelter in the trunk of an oak tree; out of the leaves, they formed a nest. Landers had told her mom that oak leaves were the best for insulation because they didn’t mush down. They kept their shape and held in pockets of warmth.
The thought of Landers popped into her mind again. She could see him stretched out on the ground. Sometimes, at school, the kids asked her where her dad was. She simply said he was gone. That usually did the trick. Quite a few kids didn’t have dads. Their parents were divorced. She poked her head and looked back down at the car. Bruce was walking toward the house. She wondered if she’d ever have a dad again.
CLAIRE LOOKED OUT the window and saw Bruce pull up. He leaned out of the car and then stood up. He looked big down here. Out of context. His suitcoat flapped in the wind. He buttoned it like he was on official business and headed toward the house. She wiped her hands off. He had caught her doing the dishes. She tapped the window, and he looked up. She waved and then headed to the door to greet him.
“Hey, good looking.” He smiled and patted her shoulder, but kept his distance.
“Hey, big guy. What’s the score?” Funny how the old patter came back automatically. During the years they had worked together, she had spent much more time with him than her husband. Pity, that.
“I’m afraid ten to nothing, and the bad guys are winning.”
Claire backed up and invited him in. “So I gather. I hate to hear it. Down here in this part of the country, a speeding ticket is nearly as bad as it gets.”
“You did just have a murder across the street. You need to fill me in on that. Haven’t heard how it’s going.”
“You off duty?”
“Way off duty.”
That, at least, was a good sign. As he unbuttoned his suitcoat, she asked, “Can I offer you a beer?”
“If you didn’t, I’d have to root around in your fridge until I found one.”
She laughed as she opened the refrigerator door. “Then you might stumble on some pretty creepy things in there. Long-forgotten casserole.” She handed him a Leinenkugel and pulled one out for herself.
“Where’s Meg?” he asked.
“She’s out playing.”
“Alone?”
She heard the sharp tone in his voice. He was a city cop; he didn’t know how easy life could be in a small town. “Yes, Bruce, this is the country. She’s perfectly safe. She plays close by. I told her she can’t go out of voice range.”
“And with your holler, that could stretch pretty far.” He gave her a quick smile, and they clinked beer bottles.
They sat down at the table in the kitchen, and Bruce shrugged out of his suitcoat. Underneath, his sleeves were already rolled up. He looked tired to Claire. Working too hard and not having much fun. Poor guy. Claire liked seeing him sitting there. Felt good to have a man in the house. End of the day. Talking over what happened. She missed the check-in, she missed having an adult in her life.
His brown eyes looked over at her, and his face broke into a smile. “I’m glad to see you.”
“Yeah, you haven’t been down here since the end of last summer, when you helped me move in.”
“Not because of me.”
“No, I know.” Claire sipped her beer and then shook her head as if a fly were bothering her. “So what do we need to talk about?”
“Well, I’ve been thinking about what you told me about Meg seeing this guy. And aside from wondering why I didn’t hear this nine months ago, which I kind of know why I didn’t, I’m wondering, what do we do with this information now?”
Claire let her head fall forward. She didn’t know what to tell him.
“This could get us to reopen the case in a big way.”
Claire felt the hair on the back of her neck climbing into her scalp. “What if we just say that someone saw the guy and hint that it was a neighbor?”
“Might work.”
“I don’t want Meg involved in this. I don’t want anyone to know she knows anything. Understood?”
“Of course. Do you think we could get her to talk to an artist and describe the guy so we could circulate something?”
“Yeah, maybe that would work.”
Bruce slammed down his bottle of beer. “You can’t have it both ways, Claire. You can’t completely protect your daughter and still get the guys who did this.”
Claire stood up and yelled down at him. She found it helped to be taller than Bruce once in a while. “Why not? Why can’t I be both a cop and a mom?”
“Okay, all right. We can try to keep a lid on this. But if you want anything to move forward on this case, you’ve got to give us something.”
“Let me think about.”
Bruce set down his beer bottle and shoved back his chair. “Fine, think. But the trail is mighty old and cold. Don’t think too long.”
Claire sat still for a moment and then asked Bruce, “Do you think these guys are still around?”
“We hear tell of them. I think that drug gang is still operating; whether this particular guy is still with them, I haven’t a clue. Although I did get a call about a guy killing a dog in North Minneapolis, and the kid said that he thought the guy was dealing. He might have connections to the gang we’re looking for.”
“You got somebody watching him?”
“Yeah, they’re checking the license plates of the cars that visit him.”
“Sounds good. Is that what you came down to tell me?”
“Yeah, I feel like this is heating up again, and I still want you to stay way clear of the case. So say yes, I promise to stay out of it.”
Claire squirmed in her chair. “Come on. I promise. That good enough?”
“For me, yes.”
Meg came running into the house, then slowed down to a walk when she saw Bruce. She came up to the table and leaned against her mother, watching Bruce, tugging at her lower lip. Claire pressed her lips together and shook her head, signaling Bruce to keep his mouth shut.
“Hi, Meg.” Bruce lifted a big hand and gave her a small wave. He bent his head down to be closer to the girl.
Claire pulled Meg’s ha
nd away from her mouth and said, “Say hi to Bruce.”
“Hi to Bruce,” Meg said and burst into giggles.
Claire tousled her hair. “You goof.” She pulled a leaf out of her hair. ‘Where have you been, my dear? Rolling around on the ground?”
“You’ve grown about three inches since I last saw you.” Bruce looked at her admiringly.
“Four,” Meg stated.
Claire nodded over her head and said, “She’s in that correcting phase. She never goes along with anything.”
“That’s not true, Mom. Sometimes I agree with you.”
“See what I mean?”
“How is school?” Bruce leaned down as if to hear her answer.
Meg cupped her hands around her mouth and shouted as if he were deaf. “School’s fine. I like it.”
“Meg, stop being a jerk. Say something nice to Bruce.”
“So are you going to stay and have dinner with us?” Meg put her hands on her hips and flirted with Bruce.
Bruce shrugged. “I don’t know. Haven’t been asked.”
Claire hugged her daughter and said, “That’d be nice. Why don’t you stay? I don’t think it will be anything fancy. Pasta and salad. That might be kinda hard on your digestion—doesn’t it require at least a hamburger a day?”
“I already ate it for lunch. I’d love to have dinner with you two charming ladies. I can’t stay too late. I’ve got a busy day tomorrow. Hey, Meg, did you see anything that day that your dad was killed?”
Meg didn’t say anything but turned her head up to look at her mom.
“You have any homework to do, Meg?”
“Just math. It’s a cinch.”
“Well, go do it.” Claire shooed her out of the room, then turned and glared at Bruce. She found she was having trouble breathing, both from fear and from anger. “Don’t push it, Bruce. Let me decide this in my own way. You know better than that.”
THE WOODS SHELTERED him, cool and quiet, the way his mother’s hand had felt on his forehead when he was sick as a child. Rotting leaves smelled rich to him, like most wonderful pleasures: cigars, chocolate, a good cognac. They all had that fermenting thick taste. Rich bent and searched and found what he was looking for again and again on the forest floor. The dark sponges, like alien creatures, poked their heads up through the leaves. When his eyes became attuned to them, they appeared under logs and in low places, under his foot as he was about to put it down.
This was his treasure in the early spring; no money could buy such a luxury. He cut their stems neatly, hoping not to injure the living spore beneath them. The morels were one of the many reasons he didn’t want any more development coming in down here. Big houses, long driveways, people cutting down trees, mowing their lawns with riding lawn mowers; and with each acre they took, more of the wildness was gone.
When his bag was full, he turned back toward the road and tried not to watch the ground as carefully. He could take no more. He would come back tomorrow and gather them again.
After his long walk in the woods, Rich decided to swing by Claire’s house on his way home. He would present her with some of his bounty. A good way to begin to woo her. He would take Stuart’s advice. He would take it slow. He would simply be friendly and stop in from time to time. The same way he had tamed the little sparrow hawk he had caught one spring when he was thirteen. Consistent and calm, he worked on that bird, bringing it food. He laughed when he thought of that. Yes, he would feed Claire. Goodies from the woods. Veggies from his garden—the asparagus would be pushing up soon. Pheasants when they were mature. Then, one night, he would invite her for a meal. He was a good cook. He would ply her with delicacies. She would fall into his arms.
He turned up her road and saw that a red Taurus was in the driveway. Maybe a friend from town. Rich thought of just driving by, but he forced himself to stop. If he put it off, there might never be a good time. Plus, he had more morels than he could possibly eat himself. He wasn’t ready to dry any; they would be plentiful for another week or two if the rain fell as it should.
He pulled his truck up behind the fiery red car and jumped out, grabbing his basket He walked around to the back and knocked on the door. A young girl answered it “Another man, Mom.”
“Hi,” Rich said.
The girl stood one foot on top of the other and said, “Hi. I’ve seen you.”
“You have?”
“We drive by your house on the way to school. You have all those birds.”
‘That’s right. My name is Rich. What’s your name?” He reached down to shake her hand.
She looked at his hand, then gently placed hers inside of it. “My full name is Margaret But no one calls me that, except Mom when she’s mad.”
“What should I call you?”
“You can call me Felicity. I like that name.”
“Meg.” Claire walked up behind the small girl and dropped her hands on the thin shoulders. “Hi, Rich. What have you got there?”
Rich held up his basket. His offering didn’t look as luscious as it had in the woods. When he looked back up to explain to Claire what was in his basket, he saw a man in dress pants walk up behind her and stare down at the basket. “Morels.”
“Oh, great.”
Rich could tell from her voice that she didn’t know what they were. “Do you like mushrooms?”
“Yes, sure I do.” Claire reached down and picked one up. “They look like a confection.”
The big man looked at them and said, “They look like larvae.”
Meg poked at them. “I’ve seen them before. I feed them to my dolls.”
“So you’re already a morel hunter?” Rich wished he could disappear. Why had he stopped by? It seemed obvious to him now that Claire already had someone in her life. Some big lug. “Well, I just thought you might like a few.”
“I’d love some.” Claire motioned back to the man. “Bruce, this is Rich. He’s a neighbor. Rich, this is Bruce. He and I worked together in the cities.”
“Can human beings eat them?” Meg asked, holding one up.
“Yes, if they wash them and cook them in garlic and butter.”
“I’m making pasta. Would they go with that?”
“Perfect. Do clean them well and cut them in half.” He handed her the basketful. “I hope you enjoy them.”
Claire nodded. “I’ll drop the basket by in the next day or two.”
“No hurry.” He looked at the mother and daughter standing in the doorway, with the man in shadow behind them. Oh, what did he have to lose? “I’ll put the coffee on for you. Bye, Felicity.”
HE COULD HEAR Claire upstairs, talking quietly to Meg. She had been up there a long time already, putting her to bed. It was quite a ritual: the pajama selection, the bedtime story, arranging the covers on the bed, the kisses and last wishes of the day. He had even been included, asked to bring Meg a small glass of water.
By the time Claire came down from upstairs, Bruce had finished up the dishes for her. She didn’t even have a dishwasher down here, had to wash her dishes by hand. What was she doing living in the country? Tonight, he was going to leave as soon as she came down. He wouldn’t outstay his welcome. They had had a nice time tonight. She seemed more relaxed around him, like old times.
“Oh, thanks, Bruce, you didn’t have to do the dishes.” But the smile on her fece told him how pleased she was that he had thought of it.
“Good way to get your hands clean.” He didn’t want that mushroomy smell left on his fingers. He had eaten several of the morels just to please Claire. She had seemed to like them tremendously. He couldn’t quite see it himself. They tasted funky to him, like they’d been left out of the refrigerator too long.
“I suppose there’s quite a few gays down here,” he remarked, thinking of the guy who had come to the door.
“Sure, this is kind of a haven for them.” Claire tossed her hair back.
“That explains Rich and his mushrooms, huh?” Bruce laughed.
Claire stopped and
tilted her head back. “No, I think he just likes good food.”
He was putting his foot in his mouth. Time to go. “Well, Claire, I should head out.” Bruce picked up his suitcoat and started to put it on. Claire was watching him, then moved toward him. Gently, she wrapped her arms around his waist and laid her head on his chest. He held his breath and held her shoulders in his hands as if they were breakable. He didn’t want to squeeze too hard. He didn’t want the moment to end.
Her voice was muffled in his shirt when she said, “You are a rock, Bruce. I know I can always count on you. Thanks.” Then she stepped back, and he let her go. He needed to let her call the shots, or he would get noplace.