by Glenn Meade
She felt drained, emotionally and physically.
She knew part of it had to do with being pregnant.
Morning sickness greeted her each day now when she climbed out of bed, a nauseous feeling in the pit of her stomach.
Fatigue washed over her again.
She felt she needed to rest.
As she turned back into the bedroom, she saw Josh in the wheelchair down on the dock, staring up at her through the patio window.
He gave her a shy wave.
She waved back.
The boy turned away and she went toward the bed.
Lying there, she placed a hand on her stomach. She imagined she felt a slight swell. It felt such a comfort.
A joy to counter all the heartbreak.
At least she had that.
At least she had Jan’s baby growing inside her.
31
* * *
She woke to the sound of knocking on her cabin door.
The knocking ceased, then started again. “I’m coming. Hold your horses.”
Carla dragged on a pair of Levi’s and a T-shirt and ran a hand through her tousled hair. As she opened the door she was still buttoning her jeans.
The man who stood there was in his mid-forties. Tall and reasonably attractive, with the kind of self-assured look that most women would find instantly appealing.
His dark hair had a touch of gray at the sides and he wore jeans, cowboy boots, and a Stetson cowboy hat, his shirt open at the neck. A pair of worn buck leather gloves was tucked into the silver buckle on his jean’s belt.
His handshake was firm. “Carla. It’s sure been a while. I’m guessing you must have been no more than sixteen the last time we met.”
His voice was deep and masculine, a southern hint to it. Brown eyes and high cheekbones suggested a hint of Native American somewhere in his genes. She guessed he didn’t miss much, either, for his eyes seemed to take her in with a single look.
“It’s good to see you again, Ronnie.”
He smiled. “And you. Regan said you wanted to see me.”
Carla noticed a dark-colored Ram pickup parked outside her cabin, the truck bed laden with packing crates and dock provisions. A hunting rifle hung from a pair of hooks in back of the vehicle’s cabin. “Is there somewhere we could talk in private?”
“Has this got something to do with Dan?”
“No. It hasn’t.”
Ronnie pushed back his hat. “I guess the dock’s as good a place as any. How about we meet down there in thirty minutes? That’ll give me time to unload my truck and have a shower.”
• • •
She was standing on the dock, admiring the sunset, when she heard the footsteps on the wooden boards.
He had showered, his hair glistening wet, and changed into a fresh short-sleeve shirt and jeans. “You ever been in this part of the country before, Carla?”
“No, I haven’t.”
“How’d you find me?”
“I found a letter you wrote to Baize after my grandfather’s death.”
“You mind me asking what exactly brings you here?”
She took a deep breath, not knowing where to start, and then she plunged in. She gave him just the bare facts he needed to know.
He looked at her before he spoke.
“I’m sorry to hear about your husband. He seemed like a very gifted man.”
“You heard about Jan?”
“I watched a TV news report about his death. But I guess I’m still at a loss as to why you wanted to meet with me.”
“I need your help, Ronnie.”
He didn’t speak.
“I got the impression you and my grandfather were close friends.”
He stayed silent, waiting for her to carry on.
“I’m not quite sure what exactly you both did while serving in the special forces. I can only imagine.”
“Imagine what?”
“Maybe it sounds as if I’ve seen too many movies. But I’m guessing my grandfather served with the kind of special forces units you hear about being used to hunt down wanted terrorists.”
“Dan told you that?”
“No, he never spoke about his work. But I’m not stupid. I can put two and two together.”
“Meaning?”
“Maybe he even killed people. Except I could never see him as a coldhearted killer. To me he was always a decent, caring human being.”
“Yes, he was.”
“But did he kill people?”
“Heck of a question. Dan was a soldier. He did what he had to do.”
“Which was?”
“He did his duty. I still don’t see where this is going.”
“I’m here to ask you to help me hunt down two men.”
“Why?”
“They’re dangerous war criminals. They murdered my husband. Maybe the rest of my family, too.”
She tried to explain as best she could.
It took a while, and Ronnie listened.
“Dan mentioned you were in one of those rape camps. Is that right?”
“Yes. Why would he tell you that?”
“I know that what happened to his family tore his heart out, just as much as losing David did. And never knowing where his only son was buried only made it worse. It left him a haunted man. Lost, broken. He needed to talk.”
“What else did he tell you?”
“That you were traumatized and needed therapy.”
Ronnie fell quiet, the silence like a dead weight, until he said, “Assuming you could find these men, then what?”
“I want information from them.”
“And if you got it?”
“Then I want to see these scum handed over to the law and punished.”
“You’re deadly serious, aren’t you? You mean to hunt them down. All by yourself if need be.”
“I want justice. And yes, I had therapy a long time ago but I’m not just out for revenge like some crazy woman, in case you think that.”
“Dan always spoke highly of you. He never gave me that impression.”
“So, will you help me?”
“Carla, the police and federal agencies are paid to deal with the kind of criminals you’re talking about.”
“Don’t you think I know that?”
“Then tell them and let justice take its course.”
“It’s been over twenty years. These people are never going to face justice.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Because they’re cowards, and cowards always run and hide. Do you know what percentage of wanted killers who committed genocide have been caught in the last twenty years?”
“No.”
“A conservative estimate would be less than thirty percent. Why should I put my faith in a justice system that’s flawed?”
“You really believe that?”
“You’re talking to a lawyer.”
“Then you’re the first honest one I’ve met.”
“If there’s a threat of being found out, these men will simply do what they’ve done before—flee and invent new identities.”
“That’s what you think?”
“I guarantee it. They’re probably working on it right now, after killing Jan. It could be another twenty years before they’re found. Or maybe never. That’s why I have to find them, and very soon.”
Ronnie didn’t speak.
“One of the two men is Mila Shavik. I believe he may be responsible for my parents’ deaths, and for Jan’s. The other man is Boris Arkov, but really he’s just a lackey. Shavik was in charge of the camp. I want to see them punished.”
He stood still, not moving, his eyes never leaving her face.
“Do me a favor?” he said.
“What?”
“Let me think about it. Regan tells me you’re staying tonight.”
“Yes.”
“You’re welcome to join us for supper.”
“I got the feeling Regan wasn’t too keen on me.”
&nb
sp; He laughed. “She’s a kitty cat behind it all, so pay her no need. She always acts a little gruff at first with Yankee visitors.”
“You make it sound like the Civil War’s still going on down south.”
He tipped his hat, added a smile. “Some might say you never spoke a truer word.”
32
* * *
Regan’s place was one of the older cabins facing the lake.
Carla showered and changed clothes, and dabbed on some perfume.
The cabin interior had a homely feel, the table already set with pitchers of iced tea and water. When Carla knocked and Ronnie led her in, Regan was coming out of the kitchen carrying a steaming casserole dish.
“It’s nothing fancy—chicken and dumplings, collard greens and mashed potatoes, and if you’re good company, afterward pecan pie and ice cream.”
“Can I help?”
“It’s all done, honey, just grab yourself a seat and put on a nosebag.”
Ronnie brought in some more serving dishes. “In case you two haven’t been formerly introduced, say hello to Miss Carla, Josh.”
“Ma’am.” The boy pushed himself away from an electronic keyboard in a corner, wheeled over to the table, and politely offered a handshake.
“Pleased to meet you, Josh.”
Ronnie began passing around a dish of mashed potatoes as they all sat. “Josh wants to be a musician. He plays the keyboard, like his mom used to. He writes some songs, too. He’s pretty good.”
“I’ll have to hear you play, Josh,” Carla offered.
The boy blushed. “Naw, I’m really not that good.”
Ronnie took a forkful of dumpling. “Yeah, and my boy’s modest, too.”
“Dad . . .”
“Listen to this, boy. Tell him, Carla.”
“My husband was a concert pianist. He played all over the world.”
Josh perked up. “Yeah? Is he famous?”
“I guess you could say he was.”
Ronnie said, “New York, London, Paris, Rome. You name it. He recorded CDs too, Josh.”
The boy whistled. “Yeah? That’s really cool.”
Regan said, “Got any good advice for this boy here?”
“Jan always said you could succeed at anything so long as you wanted it badly enough. You just had to be prepared to work at it day and night. I guess that means lots of practice, Josh.”
Regan shook her head in mock despair. “Josh never stops playing that darned electronic piano. I hear some of the neighbors are thinking of getting a court order against him for noise disturbance.”
Josh blushed. “Very funny . . .”
“I’ve got one even funnier. Maybe I ought to become an organ donor and give that keyboard to charity?”
Carla winked playfully at Josh. “Another piece of advice is never to pay attention to the critics.”
“Does your husband still play, Miss Carla?”
“No, Josh. He died a few weeks ago.”
There was an awkward silence around the table, Regan and Josh looking at Ronnie, who touched Carla’s arm. “I guess I should have explained.”
“No, please. I didn’t mean to put a damper on things.”
“You didn’t, honey.” Regan patted her hand.
When it came time for dessert, Ronnie wiped his mouth with his napkin and rose. “Would you all excuse me awhile?”
He peered out at the evening sky, and grabbed a flashlight from the hall table.
“Is everything okay?”
He smiled back at Carla. “Sure, but a storm’s due later tonight and I need to check everything’s well anchored. Besides, it’ll give you and Regan a chance to do some girl talk over dessert.”
• • •
After dessert, Carla helped Regan wash the dishes.
They left Josh playing the keyboard in the front room and moved out to the veranda. Crickets sounded, and fireflies sparked in the balmy twilight, like exploding stars in some distant universe.
Down by the lake Carla saw Ronnie wielding a powerful flashlight as he eased himself down into a motorboat. She heard the motor sputter as he headed toward some houseboats.
The noise was drowned by Josh playing a soft rock number.
“You sure impressed Josh.”
“You think?”
“Anything to do with music gets him fired up.”
Carla saw a firefly burst into light a few feet away, and then fade. “How much did Ronnie tell you about me?”
“Other than you’re related to an old army buddy, nothing. But I’m sure sorry to hear about your husband. I guess it hasn’t been easy.”
Carla looked out at the lake and mountains tinted dark orange by the dying sunset. She hadn’t felt such a sense of peace in quite a while.
“How long have you lived here?”
“All my life. Daddy owned the dock since I was a kid.”
“You and Ronnie took it over?”
She nodded. “After Daddy passed away. For Ronnie it’s a full-time job. Me, I only help out in summer and holidays. In real life I’m a teacher at the local middle school.”
“It seems idyllic. A special place.”
“Hey, don’t think it’s all dreamy sunsets. In peak season you’ll work your fanny ragged. Then there’s the local entertainment.”
“What about it?”
“There ain’t none, honey. It’s a choice between a few local bars, boating on the lake, fishing on the lake, or shooting yourself in the foot for something to do—probably down by the lake. Oh, and did I mention the lake?”
Carla smiled. “Still, there’s almost something spiritual about this place.”’
“All this land used to be a haunt of the Cherokee and Shawnee nations. A lot of locals have Indian blood—I guess there was more fraternizing with the natives than the history books would have you believe.”
Regan jerked her head. “Over that way Daniel Boone blazed the settler trail into the Appalachian Mountains in the 1700s.”
“Really?”
“Sometimes when I need to clear my head I like to put on my hiking boots and walk some of those mountain trails.”
“What’s up there?”
“All kinds of wildlife. Eagles, snakes, bears.”
“Isn’t that dangerous?”
Regan lifted her blouse, revealing a small silvered .38 revolver tucked into a black leather holster on the belt of her jeans. “A shot in the air and most wild animals will run scared.”
“Some guys, too, I bet?”
She gave an easy laugh. “Pretty much everyone around here carries a gun, honey. It’s the southern settler mentality—you cut your teeth on firearms from the cradle. The principle being that the best person to take care of you is likely to be yourself.”
“Your husband doesn’t worry about you hiking dangerous trails on your own?”
“Worry? All Dwayne worries about is if he’s got enough beer money. I got sense and left that idiot years ago.”
“Dwayne . . . ?”
Regan laughed out loud, and put a hand to her mouth. “Oh, I get it. You thought Ronnie and me? No, Ronnie’s my brother.”
“And Josh’s mom?”
“Annie was just a simple country girl, and a loving mother, even if she did have a truckload of problems.”
“What problems were those?”
“She was always kind of a lost soul. She could never handle Ronnie’s long periods away when he got deployed. No more than she could handle her drinking when his absence drove her to it.”
“What happened?”
“She was over the limit one night and smashed her car into a wall. Josh’s spine and legs were broken. By the time they cut his momma out she was gone.”
“That—that must have been terrible.”
“It ripped Ronnie’s heart to shreds. I guess he still feels to blame for Annie’s death, and for Josh being the way he is. It’s a pretty big cross to bear when a man loves his son like crazy.”
Josh’s music carried on the a
ir, this time a soft ballad.
Regan said, “Annie used to play some nights when Ronnie was deployed abroad; that’s how Josh started playing. Annie would get bored, so she bought the keyboard at a pawnshop in Harrogate and tried to teach herself. I always used to think it was kind of sad, her cooped in up here, just playing that thing for company.”
“How’s Josh coping?”
“It’s been five years since his momma passed. Sometimes he sits up in bed like he’s still waiting for her footsteps to come up the cabin steps, the way she used to. I’ve known nights when he wakes, crying out for her.”
“And Ronnie?”
“I don’t think he’s ever looked at a woman since. He sure hasn’t gone out with one.”
“He seems like a solid guy.”
“Here’s the weird thing. Ronnie may look like a redneck with that pickup and those cowboy boots. But he graduated in psychology, top of his class.”
“From where?”
“Vanderbilt. Never think it, would you? Broke Daddy’s heart when Ronnie upped and joined the military after graduating from one of the South’s top colleges. Ronnie never even wanted to be an officer. I could never figure it out.”
“He quit the army?”
“Resigned to look after Josh. He did the right thing, but if you ask me he’s still carrying a lot of guilt around for what happened.”
Regan rose, dusted her jeans. “Well, I’ve got some ironing to finish before I turn in.”
“Thanks for dinner.”
“You’re still leaving tomorrow?”
“I guess so. I’ve got a flight to catch in the evening.”
“Where to?”
“Europe.”
“Lucky for some. You need anyone to carry your luggage, you let me know. Well, it’s been nice meeting you, Carla.”
“And you.”
Regan smiled, offered her hand. “I’ll make a point of listening to your husband’s music. It’ll make a change.”
“From what?”
“Listening to Josh. And the country and western cry-in-your-beer stuff I’m used to in the local bar most Friday nights.”
33
* * *
Carla showered before bed.
She toweled herself dry, dragged on her nightgown, then looked at the phone number for Angel she had copied down from Jan’s briefcase. She called it again.