by Jen Blood
I nodded. “Yeah,” I said to Juarez. “Okay, fine. I’ll wait until tomorrow.”
“Good. Thank you.”
We got back to the game, but from that point on every time I looked up, Rainier was watching me. Juarez was clearly aware, but he seemed dead set on questioning him on his own Feeb timeline. I was a good girl, though, and minded my own business through the entire game. Sure, there may have been the occasional furtive glance, but otherwise I showed remarkable restraint. We surrendered the pool table to the natives at a little after ten and stopped to refuel. Rosie chose a booth for us at the back, in front of a wall of photos with the words Never Forget written in red, white, and blue above them.
Juarez slid in beside me, Diggs across from us. As the night progressed, the music had gotten louder, the patrons considerably rowdier. A knot of women in skin-tight jeans and tank tops were on the dance floor gyrating to Lynyrd Skynyrd, but Will Rainier still only had eyes for me. Luke Saucier took off at some point, and then the former sheriff, Red Grivois, showed up and took the stool beside Rainier. The two exchanged a manly nod, but otherwise I didn’t see them speak to one another. Mostly, Red drank steadily with his eyes on the bar while Rainier drank steadily with his eyes on me. And still, I stayed away.
When Rosie returned from fetching refreshments for the gang, she nodded toward the wall of photos beside us.
“I thought you might be interested in this.”
It took me a minute to understand what she meant. Most of the pictures were of fallen soldiers with painfully young grins and buzz cuts, dating as far back as WWI. Two of the pictures were set apart from the others, however. Below them was an inscription written in calligraphy on a faded piece of blue construction paper:
Taken by the devil
Returned to the angels
Now safe with Jesus
Erin Lincoln and Ashley Gendreau smiled back at us.
“I see what you mean about the resemblance,” Rosie said to Diggs, looking from me to the photo of Erin Lincoln and back again.
“So, you know the story, too—you’ve heard of both girls?” I asked.
“Oui,” she said. “They were a little before my time, but everyone’s heard their stories.”
“Rosie’s grandma is kind of the local historian; Rosie’s following in her footsteps,” Diggs explained. She downed half her beer and turned a pretty pink at Diggs’ attention. “So, I was hoping maybe you could answer something for us,” he continued, his focus entirely on her. “Lincoln isn’t exactly a common name around here, and we didn’t see anyone dating farther back than Wallace Lincoln in the graveyard out by the Sauciers’ place. Do you know where he came from?”
“Non,” Rosie said. “There was talk—a lot of rumors over the years. But my memere said Wallace Lincoln had no family when he came here. Just the wife and kids.”
Another mystery. Wonderful.
“Sarah Saucier said Wallace Lincoln was a bigwig in town,” I said. “Do you know what he did?”
“He bought one of the local lumber mills,” she said. “Came from away, moved in, and hired half the town. Fired half the town, too. Nobody liked him too much. People here have long memories—most anyone would say the same. Everybody liked the girl, though.”
Rosie gave us a little more background info from there, sprinkled in with the occasional juicy tidbit and a lot of sexy innuendo directed at Diggs. Eventually, her spiel devolved into a rant about the boys in town and how little they knew about the ways of the world. According to her, other men—presumably scruffy tow-headed reporters of a certain age—were much more her speed.
“We should probably talk about what’s happening tomorrow,” Diggs interrupted, heading that particular topic off at the pass. “The big trek across the border.”
“I have a meeting in Montreal at eleven a.m.,” Juarez said. “There’s a pilot meeting us at a private airstrip at seven-thirty.”
“What about Einstein?” I asked. “Can he fly on your fancy government charter?”
Juarez didn’t look over the moon about that idea.
“Rosie dog-sits,” Diggs said. “Don’t you, Rose? You think you could handle Einstein for a few hours?
She nodded eagerly, but I was already hedging. “I don’t know… He can be kind of high maintenance.”
“What are you talking about?” Diggs asked. “I’ve never met a lower maintenance dog in my life. He’ll be fine.”
“I worked at the vet’s up the road for a couple years in high school, until I realized how much more I could make working here. I can handle it.”
“It would actually be better if I didn’t show up in Montreal with two reporters and a dog,” Juarez said. “Two reporters is hard enough to explain.”
“One reporter, actually,” Diggs said. I started to protest, but he held up his hand. “I’ve got a lead I want to check out in Quebec City. And Juarez said it himself—two reporters will be hard to get through the front door. This way, you can check out the hallowed inner sanctum at le Laboratoire, and I can do my thing without freaking my sources out by showing up with the Feebs.”
“Shouldn’t I be with you when you’re checking out these leads, though?” I asked.
“A few of those leads have to do with my own stories, actually,” he said. “Contrary to popular belief, we can’t all spend every waking minute trying to track down your dad. There is one guy I’d like you to talk to, though. I was thinking maybe we could rendezvous in the city after you two finish up with the bones in Montreal. If Juarez can entertain himself for an hour or two, we can run through those interviews together.”
With the logistics set for the day to come, I waited until Diggs, Juarez, and Rosie were deep in conversation before I politely excused myself to take a powder. The moment I said, it, Diggs’ eyes were on me. I waited, holding my breath to see if he’d say anything. He stayed quiet, but it was clear that he knew exactly what I was up to.
In all fairness, I did actually go to the restroom. I just took a little bit of a detour on the way back. Wonder of wonders, I wound up right beside Will Rainier.
I took the stool beside him, ordered myself a fresh beer, and leaned past him to talk to Red Grivois, seated on the next stool over.
“Hey, Red,” I said. “Great place you’ve got here.”
Red looked at me like he expected me to singlehandedly infect the entire establishment with a nasty case of feminine itching.
“It’s late,” he said. “You should probably get on home.”
“That’s all right,” I said. I took a slug of ice cold Molson Golden and set it down a little too hard on the bar. “I’m kind of a night owl.” I looked at Rainier. “What about you… Will, isn’t it? You a man of the night?”
He sipped at his own beer. His mouth twitched. This close up, I realized that I’d underestimated his size—he was monstrous. Monstrous and bearded and dark-eyed and drunk. Just the kind of man you don’t want to bother when he’s drinking alone on a Saturday night.
“Depends on the company,” he said.
I let that slide. “I think you knew my father. Jeff Lincoln?”
He took another drink and nodded meditatively. “That I did.”
“And you knew his sister—Erin Lincoln?”
Red started to get up, clearly intending to intervene. Rainier slapped his hand over the old man’s arm before he could stand. He did it so quickly I barely saw him move. Red stayed where he was.
“Yeah. I knew Erin, too. What’s it to you?”
“What about Ashley Gendreau?” I asked. “Did you know Ashley Gendreau?”
That sly little half-smile never left his lips. He kept looking straight ahead, sipping at his beer. “Yeah,” he said. “I knew Ashley Gendreau. You plan on going through the whole phone book this way? It’s a small town—not a lot of people, but I know all of ‘em.”
“I think it would be best if you moved along, Ms. Solomon,” Red said to me.
Rainier smiled more widely. “Solomon, huh? That’s
nice. Got a nice ring to it. You don’t have to go on my account, Miz Solomon. Stay right here, no skin off my balls.”
Lovely.
He turned to face me. His eyes had a feverish quality common to those with a serious drug problem or some very dark demons. My guess was that Will Rainier had probably battled both in his day.
“You come on back to my place, little girl, and I’ll tell you all about who I know and how I know ‘em.”
I heard someone clear his throat behind me. When I turned, Juarez was standing there with his arms crossed over his chest and a colossally unamused look on his face.
“We missed you over there,” he said. “Why don’t you come back to the table?” Technically, it was a question. He didn’t make it sound like I had much choice, though.
“Why don’t you leave her alone, Pablo?” Rainier said. “Girl wants to talk to me, there’s not much you can do about it, is there?” He turned to Red. “When’d we start letting wetbacks in here, anyway? This still America, or did I miss a memo?”
“Erin,” Juarez said quietly.
That unconcerned half-smile Rainier had been smiling before had gotten harder. I stayed where I was regardless.
“That weekend Jeff and Erin Lincoln went missing in 1970, where were you?” I asked. Juarez looked like he was about to physically eject me from the conversation. And possibly the planet.
Rainier pretended to think about it for a minute. “1970, huh? That was a long time ago, you’re gonna have to refresh my memory. Which weekend was that, now?”
“They found the boat Saturday, September 27th,” I said patiently.
He thought some more. “September 27… Yeah, I think old Hank Gendreau and me were up in Quebec that weekend. Had a little rite of passage that Saturday night, if you know what I mean. Pretty little thing, too.” He winked at me, then licked his lips. “Come to think of it, she looked a little like you.”
The words had enough meaning behind them to push me back for a second. Before I could respond, Juarez took my arm, clearly intent on getting me out of there. Rainier got off his stool with surprising speed and pushed Juarez back. He was big enough that just about anyone but Juarez would have probably hit the floor; Juarez barely budged. Red Grivois got up off his stool, as did half the bar. At our table in the back, Diggs had his hand wrapped tight around Einstein’s collar to keep him from jumping into the fray.
I stayed seated for the moment, uncertain what the best move might be. Red tried to steer Rainier toward the door.
“Come on, Will. I’ll give you a ride home—you can go sleep this off before things get ugly.”
Rainier shook his head. “You go on. The day I let a spic and a Jew girl chase me out of my own bar’s the day I retire from this whole fuckin’ planet. I told you,” he said to Juarez. “Back the hell off. We’re having a conversation.”
Juarez ignored him completely, his attention focused on me instead. Daughtry was playing in the background, but nobody was dancing anymore.
“Are you ready?” he asked.
“Yeah, fine,” I agreed reluctantly. “Let’s go.”
I hopped down from my stool, but I’d gotten no more than a step before a big, meaty hand closed around my upper arm. Before I felt so much as a gram of pressure, Juarez whirled. He struck once with the heel of his hand, and Rainier went down like a sack of Aroostook’s finest russets, blood pouring from his nose.
Rainier held one hand over his face. With the other, he started to push himself back up off the floor.
“Don’t,” Juarez said quietly, his eyes steady on Rainier’s. Rainier thought about it for a second, then sat back down. It was a very Eastwood moment. Juarez looked at Red. “See that he gets home safe?”
Red nodded. “Will do.”
Juarez started to walk away, but I didn’t move until he returned and physically herded me back to the table like a willful little lamb. He didn’t say a word, and he definitely didn’t look happy. He wasn’t the only one, though. The second we were back to the table, I pulled my arm away.
“I had it under control,” I said when he sat down. Einstein greeted me with wagging tail and an anxious whimper. I crouched to reassure the dog, too pissed to even look at the Fed.
“Not for long, you wouldn’t have. And I told you that I’d talk to him tomorrow,” Juarez said evenly.
I looked at Diggs, who was very determinedly not looking back. “It’s a room full of people. What’s he gonna do, attack me here?” I demanded. “The worst that happens in that situation is that he maybe gets one pop in before somebody takes him down and he goes straight to jail for a few days. You think I can’t take a punch here and there?”
Juarez just shook his head, like I was too crazy to even argue with.
“I bet you could take a punch,” Rosie volunteered. Juarez might have thought my most recent stunt made me certifiable, but I’d clearly gained some street cred in the eyes of our chesty young barkeep.
“Damn straight I can. And I can throw a punch, too, so it’s not like I can’t defend myself in a pinch.”
“She does throw a mean right hook,” Diggs said. He touched his jaw. “Trust a man who’s been on the receiving end before.”
“Exactly,” I agreed. “I can handle myself just fine.”
“I’m not going to fight with you,” Juarez said. “I’m in the middle of an investigation—I can’t just have you interrogating my suspects. It doesn’t work that way. Particularly if I believe it’s putting you in danger.”
“I’m in the middle of an investigation too, you know,” I said. I wasn’t doing the whole unflappable thing nearly as well as he was. “You act like I called you out here and now I’m working for you or something.”
“I apologize if it upset you,” Juarez said. “But it doesn’t mean I won’t do exactly the same thing again if I have to.”
“It’s not that big a deal,” Rosie assured us both, trying to smooth things over. “Will goes off the reservation about once a month, anyway. Trust me, this isn’t the first time a little blood was spilled sous le rouge blanc pis bleu.”
Rosie continued chattering, primarily about the number of brawls the Black Falls VFW saw on your typical Saturday night. Juarez was notably quiet, and Diggs was still not-so-subtly watching me to see what I might do next. Red Grivois had taken Will home, just as Juarez had advised, but otherwise the bar showed no signs of slowing down. In all the chaos, it took a good five minutes before the comment Rosie had made finally sank in.
“The French you used a few minutes ago—sue la rouge. What does that mean?”
She gestured toward the American flag hanging above the front door. “Sous le rouge blanc pis bleu—Under the red, white, and blue… The flag over there, you know? Why?”
Suddenly, I was back in Max Richards’s filthy kitchen. What had Bonnie said? When he smells blood sous le rouge blanc pis bleu—il est fait.
“It was just something Bonnie Saucier said to me the other day,” I explained. All eyes were on me. I expected Diggs to make fun of me, but he remained quiet. “You get that she’s crazy though, right?” I insisted. “I mean… I didn’t really take her seriously.”
Rosie didn’t look convinced. “She’s un taweille. She sees things.”
“Sarah used that word the other day,” Diggs said. “It’s a witch?”
“Oui. Her memere—her grandma, oui?—was from the tribe in Madawaska. Very powerful. She’s predicted all sorts of things over the years. What did she say to you?”
I shrugged. “Forget it, it’s nothing. And most of it was in French, so… Even if it was something, it was lost on me.”
On the other side of the booth, our nubile friend had migrated closer to Diggs. Much closer. She wasn’t actually in his lap, but I had a feeling it wouldn’t take much to get her there—maybe another whiskey shooter. Or a stiff breeze. It was nearly midnight, and I was starting to feel the effects of a series of emotionally draining days and not enough sleep.
“We should probably ge
t going,” I said. “We’ve got an early morning tomorrow.”
Rosie made a face. “Do you have to?” She tucked her hand through Diggs’ arm, her big, wet brown eyes on his. “You promised me a dance.”
Diggs got up eagerly, trying in vain to disentangle himself. “She’s right, actually. We do have an early morning. Raincheck?”
She wasn’t happy about it, but short of tying him to the booth it wasn’t like she had much choice. “D’accord.” I noticed that she hadn’t actually loosed her grip on him, though. “Maybe I could take you to see the old Lincoln place before you go. You can’t leave Black Falls without seeing it, oui?”
That was all it took for me to get my second wind. Diggs had finally extricated himself and was putting on his jacket, but I held up my hand for him to wait.
“You know where the old Lincoln place is?”
“Oui. Everybody who grew up here does.” A flash of inspiration crossed her face. “We could go now, non? This is the best time to see them.”
“The best time to see who, exactly?” Juarez asked for me. He didn’t look that sure he wanted the answer.
Rosie got serious for the first time all night. “Erin Lincoln,” she said. “And her maman. They walk at night, in the field by their house. Out near where Mrs. Lincoln died.”
Chapter Ten
“Erin Lincoln and her mother still walk the fields outside their old house,” Diggs said when no one else spoke. “And you’ve seen them, I suppose?”
“Make fun if you want—anyone around here will tell you,” Rosie said. She looked at me knowingly. “You want to see, oui?”
I really, really did. I looked at the guys. Diggs had been around me long enough to know what was coming next, but Juarez was still in the dark.
“Is it far from here?” I asked.
She grinned. “Non. Just a few miles. I’ll get my coat.”
“What happened to having an early morning tomorrow?” Juarez asked. He looked genuinely pained at the turn of events.