Death of a Wandering Wolf

by Julia Buckley

  Even at this late date there were still a throng of people milling through the aisles, and some young people who wore red shirts emblazoned with “SPP” walked up and down, answering questions and wheeling pumpkins to cars.

  I knew Kodaly’s son right away because he had his father’s head of wavy hair and his dark eyes. “That’s got to be him,” I whispered to Erik, indicating the young man with a tip of my head.

  “I think you’re right. Hang on a sec.” Erik walked toward John Kodaly Banner and spoke to him in a low voice, then shook his hand. John turned to say something to a woman in a PCC T-shirt, then walked with Erik to the tree under which I was standing.

  “Hana, this is John Banner. John, this is Hana Keller. She was actually the last person to—meet with your father.”

  Kodaly’s son turned his dark gaze on me; his eyes were sad. “You talked to my dad—on that day? What was he—how was he doing?”

  I understood what he felt; the pain of picturing his father’s last moments, knowing his father had no idea of his limited time on earth. The bitter disappointment that he hadn’t been able to talk to Kodaly himself; the misery of not having said good-bye. “He was fine. Relaxed, smiling. Just selling some things to raise money for art supplies, he said.”

  John nodded. “He was always painting. It’s like the brushes were an extension of his body. He was teaching me, too.”

  “Oh? Are you an artist?”

  “I didn’t think so. But he did. He said he saw it in me. Now I—it’s something I want to pursue. My dad said it’s in my genes. It’s my legacy, he said.”

  I thought instantly of Natalia, and the gift she passed down to us all . . .

  “How does your mother feel about that?” Erik asked.

  John turned to him. “Huh? My mom? She’s cool with it. She always liked my art. She saved all those little baby pictures kids paint in grade school. She thought I had talent, too. My dad introduced me to all these artists in Riverwood that he was friends with. After he—” He turned away for a moment and wiped his eyes. Then he turned back. “Anyway, they’ve all been really cool to me. One of them offered to continue my painting classes for free. A couple of them, actually. I might take them both up on it—get two artistic perspectives.”

  “That’s very kind of them,” I said. “It also shows how much your father was loved and respected. That must make you feel good.”

  “I guess,” he said. “It will. Right now it just feels bad.”

  Erik stepped closer. “How did you hear about your father?”

  John’s mouth tightened. “The last way anyone would want to hear. On the news. Normally they notify the family first, but no one knew my dad had family in the area. So I found out just like everyone else. It was like a punch in the stomach.”

  I touched his arm and understood: he was telling the truth. He felt pain. “I’m sorry,” I said.

  He shrugged. “I think even my mom is sad. She hasn’t really talked to him in years, but she didn’t hate him or anything.”

  “No—he seems not to have burned any bridges behind him,” Erik said. “Do you mind if I ask—had your father said anything recently about a conflict he may have had, or someone he was in a dispute with?”

  John thought about this, then shook his head. “Not that I remember. We always had fun when we got together. We would make lunch and watch YouTube videos and stuff. I showed him Bob Ross—he got a kick out of that—and he showed me this town he grew up in.”

  “Keszthely,” I said.

  “Yeah—wow, you said it just right.”

  “And what did he say about his town?”

  John glanced at his watch. “It was kind of sad, really. He told me it was beautiful and charming and stuff. And he said he had fond memories of it, but that he went back a few years ago, and he met up with a woman there and fell in love with her. He said she was his one true love.”

  We all paused for a moment. A child sitting on an enormous pumpkin giggled and cried out for her father to take her picture. Birds chattered in the trees around us. “So if she was his one true love,” Erik said, “where is she now? Were they together?”

  John nodded. “Yeah, they were. Or they were about to be. I guess they had been lying low, but rumors were starting to spread, so they were going to go public. I think he was going to propose.”

  I thought of the Herend wolf, sitting in a bag in Erik’s car. “Did your father ever show you a small wolf figurine? Or mention that somebody had given him one?”

  John thought about this. “I don’t know if he mentioned it, but I saw a wolf at his house. It was kind of weird, covered with diamonds, like it was caught in a net. It was actually pretty cool. I asked him where he got it a couple of weeks ago. I was joking around, asking if it was from one of his hundred girlfriends. That was a joke we had, because he always seemed to be dating someone new. Until this last lady, of course. Anyway, he got kind of irritated. He said supposedly it was from a girlfriend, but he didn’t believe it. And he didn’t want it, either. He said something like ‘Never accept a wolf from a jackass.’ I thought it was a Hungarian saying.”

  The miserable feeling had crept into my gut, and my eyes met Erik’s. Whatever he saw there made him say, “Thank you very much, John, for all this information. If you think of anything . . .” and then Erik was giving Kodaly’s son his card, and the boy returned to his pumpkins while Erik piloted me back down the rutted driveway to our car, parked against some cornstalks. The air was fragrant with the smells of grass, soil, and musty corn. The cold air and earthy smells rejuvenated me, and when we got to the car, I was feeling better.

  “What’s up?” Erik said.

  “I just had a very strong feeling that the man who gave him the wolf is the man who killed him. Or at least the man who hated him.”

  “Let’s not forget the man gave him a wolf with a tracker on it. Seems more likely he sent someone to kill Kodaly.”

  “So he had someone do his dirty work. But he’s the murderer. He’s the one behind it all.”

  Erik opened my door. “Possibly.”

  I climbed in, thinking. When he got in on his side, I said, “John told us that Will said supposedly the wolf was from a former girlfriend. But that means that the girlfriend didn’t give it to him directly, right? Otherwise he would know who it was from.”

  He thought about this. “So someone gave him the wolf, saying that a woman had asked him to deliver it.”

  “Which might be the only reason he took it at all. Especially if he thought the man was a ‘jackass.’”

  I could tell that the logic of this bothered Erik. “It’s convoluted,” he said. “And risky. Why not just come there and shoot him? Why have this whole weird plot that could go wrong?”

  I shrugged. “Maybe we’re missing something. Or maybe the wolf isn’t important at all. Maybe Will Kodaly put the tracker there for some reason.”

  “Hmm,” Erik said.

  I sighed and stretched. “So who’s my babysitter this evening?”

  His green eyes met mine. “I am.”

  I smiled, but he shook his head. “No, not in a fun way. I have to go over my notes. But we’ll be safely installed in your apartment, you won’t have to worry about a stalker, and I won’t have to worry about you.”

  “Unless my stalker poses as a trick-or-treater,” I said lightly.

  Detective Wolf frowned; I don’t think this had occurred to him. “I’ll be the one answering the door, then.”

  “What, with your gun out? Maybe we should just put a bowl of candy outside the building.”

  He nodded. “I think that’s what we’ll do. Iris might give me a hard time, but she’ll be out getting candy herself, right?”

  “If last year is any indicator, she will cover Riverwood from one edge to the other. She’s a woman who wants her fair share.”

  He laughe
d, and I rolled down my window to breathe the fragrant air as our tires crunched down the long driveway.

  Chapter 14

  A Distant Rumbling

  When we arrived at my place, I flipped on my cozy orange lights; put out a little bowl of candy for my boyfriend, who sat at the kitchen table with his notes and his phone; and took my yellow legal pad into the living room. I lay on the floor and started making my own notes, trying to capture the latest information.

  Someone got Kodaly to take the wolf by saying it was from one of his girlfriends.

  Why would Kodaly believe that? Why not just tell him the wolf was a gift?

  Why was Kodaly even talking to someone he disliked?

  Someone told Grandma that Kodaly “fell in love” in Keszthely, and Will Kodaly’s son said that the woman was his one true love. Who was this woman? Was she still in Hungary? Was he still in love with her, or was he a person who fell out of love easily? If he still loved her, did someone else resent it?

  Who stole the painting from the library? Why?

  Did the person who stole the painting somehow hear Cassandra Stone say that I was researching the painting and psychic things?

  Did Cassandra Stone herself steal the painting? She had access, and if she hired someone to shoot at me, it was clear where she got the information about my “abilities.”

  At the dance we learned about the “interconnectedness” of the Riverwood dating life. The people at the center of one particular circle were Will Kodaly, Sofia Kálmar, her escort, Zane someone. Amber Derrien and her husband, Brad. Cassandra Stone and Richard Crenshaw. Were there more? If one of those men had become jealous of Kodaly’s attentions to someone, had that man killed Kodaly?

  If the man who shot at me was worried about my potential psychic ability, what did he think I could “read” that would expose him?

  I sighed and put my pen down. Antony and Cleopatra, who both wore elastic Shakespearean ruffs for the evening, and who had been sitting on either side of me like jailers, began to play with the pen, batting it back and forth to each other.

  “Thanks for your help,” I said to them. “I think it’s dinnertime.” I crept into the kitchen with my pad and set it down in front of Erik, who was on the phone.

  “Yes,” he said to the unknown caller. “I’ll be here all night if you have questions.”

  When I had first met Detective Wolf, I’d been impressed by his tallness and his air of authority. I remained impressed, and now—the fact that he was seated at my kitchen table, that he had driven me here in his car, that he had slept with me the night before—made me feel something between smugness and euphoria.

  Wolf clicked off his phone. “Can I help you?” he asked, trying not to smile.

  “No. I just thought I’d share my notes. And ask what you’d like for dinner. And if you needed anyone to sit in your lap.”

  His sudden smile made him look ten years younger. “I absolutely need that. Let me just jot some things down before I forget.”

  “Okay. I’ll feed my Shakespearean friends.” I went to the sink, at the foot of which sat matching food bowls. I lifted the dishes and filled them with food. The cats had entered silently, dramatically (the ruffs made every movement seem an intentional thespian-like choice), and now they sat waiting for their meal.

  I set the food down and filled their water bowls from my tap. I could hear voices murmuring in the parking lot; Paige’s husband, Paul Gonzalez, had volunteered to sit outside the building and give candy to any children who wandered by. I think he saw it as a prime opportunity to smoke a rare cigar. Paige despised smoking, and Paul was too thoughtful to subject her to smoke, especially when she was pregnant. But sometimes, perhaps once a month or so, he liked to stand at the edge of the parking lot and watch the Riverwood grasses sway in the wind—and smoke a cigar.

  I set the water down and stood up, so dizzy that I had to lean against the counter so that I didn’t fall down. Something was wrong, wrong. I could hear the voices, getting louder, but I couldn’t see.

  I ran to the living room, still unsteady on my feet, and looked out the larger picture window. I could just see Paul’s head; he was talking with a man whose voice was unfamiliar to me. I saw no children around this man. He was there alone, and now he was leaving. I caught a quick glimpse of his face before he turned toward his car.

  “Erik,” I called. He heard the weirdness in my voice and was at my side two seconds later. “That man with Paul—” I pointed, and Erik ran across the room and out my front door.

  “Hurry, hurry,” I said, but the car was already moving out of the lot. I tried to make out the license plate, but there seemed to be a glare on the spot where it should have been. I saw nothing.

  But one thing had been very clear: the man in the parking lot was the man in Kodaly’s painting Dark Intentions. And, in a chilling example of life imitating art, he had looked up at my window before he turned away.

  * * *

  We sat in Paul’s kitchen: Erik, Paul, and me. Paige and Iris, Paul assured me, would be home soon. He had texted Paige and said he didn’t want her out on the sidewalks while this potential murderer went free.

  “What exactly did he tell you?” Erik asked.

  “He said he needed to get in; he forgot his key. I told him I knew everyone in the building, and I didn’t know him. He said he was dating someone in the building, but he couldn’t say who—it was a secret.”

  Erik’s eyes grew a darker shade of green. “Unbelievable.”

  “Yeah. I got out my phone and told him I was calling the cops, and he acted all bashful and said, ‘Okay, I’ll come clean. It’s Hana Keller.’”

  I gasped. “He said he was dating me?”

  “Yeah. He wanted in the building real bad.”

  “Oh God. He knows where I live.”

  “You’re going to be relocating,” Erik said.

  Paul looked regretful. “I tried to get his plate, but as you saw, he didn’t have one. Like he purposely wanted to be under the radar.”

  Erik nodded. “We can still do a lot with make, model, and color. I’ve already called that in. Assuming he hasn’t borrowed or stolen it, we might have a chance of finding him.”

  “Do I need to be worried—for Paige and Iris?” Paul asked.

  “I don’t think so,” Erik said. “This guy is convinced Hana knows something about him. But every time he takes a stupid chance like this he brings us closer to him. We’ll get him soon. Meanwhile, just lock things up tightly. Tell all the neighbors—admit no one.”

  Paul nodded. “I will.”

  Erik stuck out his hand, and Paul shook it. “Thanks for being there, Paul. We’re going to pack up Hana and get her out of the building, so you don’t need to stay on guard duty anymore.”

  Paul nodded. “I’ll just finish my cigar,” he said.

  * * *

  By seven o’clock we were piloting through the dark streets to Erik Wolf’s apartment. I told him, once we were stowed in the car with my overnight bag, a litter box, and two Shakespearean cats in carriers, that the man in the parking lot was the man in the painting.

  Erik was thinking hard about this, and he liked to think in silence. Finally, he said, “So Kodaly painted this image of a real man, watching a woman in her house, and titled it Dark Intentions. Who was he sending a message to with this piece? The woman? The man? Or was it an unconscious connection—maybe he didn’t realize he had borrowed that face?”

  I shook my head. “Too coincidental. This man is trouble. I felt it before I even went to the window. And he looked up at me; he saw me. There was—badness there. I think he fired the shot, Erik.”

  He shook his head as though he were shaking off water. “I don’t know what to do when I’m trying to be a methodical policeman but I’ve got a psychic Hungarian girlfrien
d telling me to believe in her instincts.”

  I blinked at him. “Obviously, you should listen to me.”

  He barked out a laugh and pulled into a well-lit parking lot that I recognized as his. “Okay. Tonight you’re here, and we’ll work out a roster so that you always have somewhere to stay, and this jerk won’t know where you are. Your parents might be too obvious, but we can use your brother’s place, and Margie’s, and Runa and Thyra’s places.”

  “I’ll just leave the cats with you, though. I don’t want to disrupt their lives.” I peeked back at Antony, who stared out of his carrier like a stern and wounded Hamlet. This reminded me of Amber Derrien asking me to cite a Shakespearean line. I had said, “‘Something is rotten in the state of Denmark.’” It was true: something was rotten in this town, and, like Hamlet, I was able to smell the foul stench better than the people around me.

  I reached through the bars of the carrier to touch Antony’s nose. “You’ll be out in a minute, buddy.”

  Erik parked the car and looked around his lot. “Okay. I’ll let you in first, then I’ll come back for your cats and your things.”

  I took a deep breath, and he put a warm hand on my arm. “Are you all right?”

  “Yeah. I am. I feel safe right now. I think if he were here, I’d feel kind of sick. That’s how it’s been so far. I get this nauseated feeling, and then I realize it’s not physical.”

  Even in the dim car his eyes were discernibly green. “Really, they should study you—all of the women in your family. To see just what you can do.”

  “That sounds horrifying.”

  He grinned. “Let’s go.” He opened his door, jumped out, and jogged around to my side. I climbed out and he walked me to the entrance of his building, covering me with his tall frame. I thought of what Runa had said about eagles protecting a chick.