A concept I could sometimes relate to. “Have no fear, John Carl, Mother will not let you forget such a thing while you’re here.” I decided to enter a touchy area. “You said Emily couldn’t make it—what’s up?” Emily was the sister-in-law I had seen a mere three times in five years, including at their wedding.
“She couldn’t get the weekend off work. No one would trade with her.”
“Didn’t she put in for days off months ago? This is an annual event,” I countered.
“Just drop it, Corky.” Okay. I tried to make eye contact with my brother in an attempt to figure out what he wasn’t telling us, but John Carl turned to his rental car, popped open the trunk, and pulled out his suitcase.
It had been months since the three of us—Mother, John Carl and I—had sat down for dinner together. Mom had made a favorite meal: spaghetti, garlic bread, and a romaine lettuce salad tossed with marinated artichoke hearts and black olives and topped with Caesar dressing.
Mother set her fork down and leaned closer to my brother. “John Carl, tell us how everything is going. You never talk about yourself.”
John Carl swirled his bread around in the spaghetti sauce on his plate, then leaned back in his chair. He glanced at his food before looking at Mom. “Emily and I are having some problems.”
“What kind of problems?” she asked.
He crossed his arms on his chest. “She’s been staying away from home more and more. She says I work too much.”
“We all know you put in a lot of hours at work, then you go home and work some more,” I said.
John Carl’s shoulders raised in a shrug. “I won’t argue with that. I like to work.” His fingers began tapping on his elbows. “But there’s more to it than that. You know her schedule. She works every other weekend and has days off during the week. I work during the week. Emily’s doing stuff with her friends more and more all the time. She’d rather be with her friends than with me.” His arms dropped to the table.
“How can you say that?” My mother always tried to give others the benefit of the doubt.
“She told me. Actually, she said she has more fun with her friends than she has with me.”
The stunned look on Mother’s face must have been a mirror to my own. Mother reached over, laying her hand on his. “Have you talked to your pastor, or a marriage counselor?”
John Carl flicked a glance my way. He had confessed to me he had seen a psychologist a while back, but hadn’t mentioned any marital problems, or seeing one recently.
“I did talk to a shrink, but Emily wouldn’t go with me. She said I’m the one with the problems, not her.”
I lost a lot of respect for my sister-in-law in that one sentence.
He frowned. “Can we talk about something else?”
“Nice weather we’re having,” I joked.
John Carl’s forehead furrowed deeper, and he looked at me the same way my mother did nearly every day of my life—with care and concern. “Corky, are you all healed up after your near-death experience last month? I don’t see any battle scars.”
None that showed.
I swallowed my food. “Um, honestly? I’m still working through a few things.” My mother’s surprised expression made me pause. “And now I have something else to deal with—Alvie Eisner wants to see me, about something personal, no less.”
“That awful woman tried to kill you.” Mother blurted out.
“Yes, Mother. And I wish people would quit reminding me of that. I was there. Trust me, I remember every detail of that night.”
My brother leaned forward. “Did you tell her to kiss off, that you wouldn’t see her?”
“John Carl!”
John Carl and I shared a smile at our mother’s reprimand.
“I said I’d see her after her trial, which, by the way, starts week after next.” I licked my fork and laid it on my plate.
Mother’s voice grew soft. “I just keep thinking of that poor little granddaughter of hers. She’s in my prayers every night. I hope she can find a good home, good people to love her.”
Ten-year-old Rebecca Eisner: daughter of a felon, granddaughter of a murderer.
I nodded. “Rebecca’s future weighs on my heart, too. I’ve been advised not to see her until after the trial, but at least I hear she’s doing pretty well with her foster family.”
We thought in silence for a while.
John Carl grabbed another piece of bread. “Tell me more about the famous case you got going on now.”
Infamous case was a better description.
“Nothing much to add to what I wrote in the e-mails. Except we did have a debriefing yesterday.”
“That help?” John Carl asked between chews.
“Yes, it really does. The chief deputy is a very good facilitator.”
Mother’s eyes moved from John Carl to me and back again.
“You have a debriefing after the Eisner incident?” he wondered.
“Not exactly. Sara and I met with a psychologist. I was supposed to go back, but my schedule has been kinda crazy.”
He shook his bread at me. “Face your demon.”
Which one? There were so many demons in my line of work.
15
When the sheriff had reached his saturation point with media requests, he handed them over to Smoke as the lead investigator. It was the top regional news story for three consecutive nights. We expanded our investigation to encompass a broader base of area residents to query and question. People called in with leads, reporting sightings of lone riders on horses in Lake Pearl State Park and around the area. The riders’ descriptions ranged from teenage boys to middle-aged women to older men.
None of the reported riders were seen toting bags large enough to hold body parts. No surprises there. If I had killed and dismembered another human being, I would take great pains to avoid getting caught with the evidence of my demented crime.
After an exhausting week of dealing with all the aspects of such a horrendous crime, everyone in the sheriff’s department was weary. I looked forward to an evening of socializing and semi-relaxation at my mother’s party.
Her excited tone brought me out of my reverie. “John Carl, Corinne. Will you carry the rest of the food out?”
Mother had cooked and baked for days, apparently for an army. We set cold dishes in bowls of ice and hot dishes on warmers. Mother’s barn began to fill with people at five that evening, carrying in potluck dishes to add to the food-laden tables. It was an impressive feast. The five-piece old-time band was ready to entertain us with waltzes, polkas, and country tunes until nine that night.
“You kids can help me keep track of guests when they arrive, in case I miss someone. Tell them to help themselves to food and drinks.”
John Carl’s face dropped slightly, and he looked like he was being sent into battle. He was not a make-small-talk social butterfly kind of guy.
“Will do, Mom,” I promised.
Sheriff Twardy walked through the door and glanced around. He was wearing jeans and a plaid shirt and carrying a bottle of wine. I tried to recall a time I had seen him out of uniform and couldn’t.
“Mother, what is the sheriff doing here?” I whispered.
“I invited him. It’s been a bad week—he needs to have a little fun, too.” Mother patted my arm and smiled.
“Why didn’t you tell me my boss was coming?”
“Didn’t I mention it, dear?” She left to greet the sheriff.
I looked at John Carl. “Okay, that is odd. Our mother has some major explaining to do.”
John Carl shook his head in dismissal. “Corky, you’re always so suspicious of everything.”
“Mother could have warned me. Look at that.” I nudged John Carl when Mom gave the sheriff a small hug. “You don’t think that’s odd? Our mother hugging the Winnebago County Sheriff? I didn’t know she knew him that well.”
He shrugged. “Apparently she does.”
Smoke showed up right behind the sheriff, shook
his hand, and gave my mother a one-arm hug. I walked over to greet both men. The sheriff’s smile was easy and genuine and caught me slightly off guard. Mother passed the bottle of wine from the sheriff to me, and I held out my free hand to take Smoke’s plate of venison summer sausage slices.
“I got it, thanks. Just show me where you want it.” He followed me to the food table.
“Smoke, did you know the sheriff was coming?”
“Yeah, he mentioned it.”
I slid a platter over to make room for Smoke’s dish. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“This being your mother’s party, I thought you knew.” He plopped down the plate.
“She expects to know every detail of my life, but she keeps her own pretty private.”
His eyebrows moved together. “Yeah, I noticed she likes to talk about just about anything except herself. Always seemed like self-protection to me.”
“What do you mean?”
“You can’t get hurt if you don’t let anyone in.”
“Oh.” John Carl was the same way.
Maybe I was too, a little.
I was still talking to Smoke when Nick Bradshaw, the man I was dating, arrived with his daughter and two of her friends. I waved them over.
“Sergeant Corky, hi. Thanks for inviting us. Dad, can we go play?” Faith said, her friends in tow.
Mother had bean bag toss, horseshoes, volleyball, and badminton set up on the lawn for both kids and adults.
“That’s fine, but don’t wander off.” He smiled at the girls.
“Okay Dad, thanks.” And off they ran.
“Corky, you look terrific, as always.” Nick turned to me, slid an arm around my waist, and pecked my lips with his. “What did you do to your hair?” He ran his fingers over some strands.
“Um, brushed it.”
Smoke chuckled. I flushed.
“I mean, you know, I usually pull it back in a ponytail or a bun. I just brushed it down tonight.” Why did I need to explain?
“Very becoming.” He bent to whisper in my ear, “Very sexy. You are so incredibly gorgeous.”
“Thanks, same to you,” I said out loud, uncomfortable whispering in front of Smoke.
Nick’s muscled physique worked well in a suit, shorts, or the jeans and light denim shirt he was wearing that night.
“Nick, I’d like you to meet Detective Elton Dawes, Smoke.” I turned to Smoke and caught him studying Nick the same way he eyed suspects.
“Good to finally meet you, Detective. Corky sings your praises.” Nick offered his hand, which Smoke accepted and shook.
“Really? So I must be doing something right.” Smoke’s voice was flat.
Nick glanced at me, then back to Smoke. “Apparently. I understand you were her mentor in the department.”
Smoke focused on me when he answered. “Corinne was a little wet behind the ears when she came on board, but what with her being a fast learner and good judge of character—” he paused and stared at Nick, “—she was one of my easier trainees.”
Oh, for heaven’s sake.
Nick shifted, adjusted his belt buckle, then reached around my shoulder and patted the top of my arm.
“Shall we dance?”
“You know how to polka?”
“I’m a fast learner, too.” Nick grabbed my hand. “Excuse us,” he told Smoke as he pulled me onto the dance floor.
“Why are you acting so nervous?” I asked, as if I didn’t know.
Nick slipped his right hand on my waist and his left hand onto mine as we began to one-two-three around the room.
“Your Smoke made me feel like he was about to haul me off to an interrogation room.”
“What?” I looked in his eyes.
“To find a reason you shouldn’t be dating me.”
“Smoke’s in the habit of looking out for me. He was my father’s friend, and we’ve been through a lot together in my seven years with the department.”
“I can understand that, but look at the way he is staring at us. He is more than looking out for you,” Nick said.
I casually glanced around, spotting Smoke seconds later. He attempted a little grin, enough to show his dimples, but the smile didn’t reach his eyes.
“Well, we’ve got this big case going, as you know. He’s been very preoccupied with that.”
When John Carl sided over to Smoke, he finally looked away from us.
“So you’ve done some polkaing before,” I said to change the subject.
“My mother’s heritage is German, and that’s what we did at my cousins’ wedding dances—polkas and waltzes. Lots of polka bands where I come from. We even have Polka Mass at church a few times a year,” Nick explained.
“What exactly is a polka mass?”
“Instead of traditional hymns, you sing polka music hymns. It’s actually a lot of fun—I’ll take you sometime. There are quite a few in Carver County. I took Faith to two of them this summer.” Carver was the county south of Winnebago.
“I’d like that.”
Nick guided me to the outer edge of the dancers when the next song, “Leichtensteiner Polka,” began. He moved beside me and took my left hand in his. I reached my right hand up to grasp his right hand at shoulder level.
“You know the Domino? Right cross, right kick, step, step, step?” Nick asked.
“Sure do.”
Once we began, other couples joined us and we danced in a circular motion around the room.
Nick’s baritone voice sang out a line of the German polka until I spoiled the moment by laughing.
“Don’t stop. You have a wonderful, deep voice.”
“You weren’t laughing at me, you were laughing with me?” He grinned.
“Neither. It just surprised me to hear you sing. In German, no less.”
“I have my high school German teacher to thank for almost every German beer-drinking song I know.”
I laughed again, trying to imagine Nick sitting in a classroom singing German songs.
“Which reminds me, I am suddenly very thirsty. Need a drink?” he asked.
“Thanks, you go ahead. I better mingle for a little bit.”
I gazed up at the barn loft area. A few of my friends—Sara, Brian Carlson, Todd Mason, and his wife Kayla, were sitting at a table, eating and talking. Sara waved. I lifted my head in acknowledgement and smiled back. There were couples, some holding children, dancing between the tables, oblivious to the people eating around them.
The main floor was more crowded. People tended to stay near the food, beverages, and band. I said my hellos as I walked by the guests. Some hovered close to the food tables; others sipped drinks while they conversed, laughed, and relaxed. Mother would be pleased with the turnout and the good time her guests were having. John Carl had not ventured from Smoke’s side.
“Lose your partner?” Smoke asked when I joined them.
I spotted Nick talking to a small group by the drink table. “Temporarily, I guess. You two having any fun?”
“This isn’t quite my scene,” my brother complained.
I threw an arm around his shoulder and gave it a mild shake. “John Carl, for Mother’s sake, try to find some enjoyment here. Pretend you are not such a serious workaholic for one night.”
“Ouch,” Smoke said.
“I’m sorry. John Carl, let me put it this way—kick back a little, talk to people, dance.”
The worried, serious expression he wore so well appeared in force. “Corky, I hardly know most of these people. And who am I supposed to dance with?”
Right on cue, Sara stepped in beside me and gave me a half-hug. Her jade-green eyes were luminous, and her strawberry blonde hair hung in soft waves halfway to her elbows.
“I am so glad I didn’t go home this weekend. Why fight Labor Day weekend traffic when I can have such a great time here?” Sara turned to the men. “Hi, Detective. And you are John Carl, I presume?” Sara asked my brother, extending her hand.
He clasped her hand and nodded
. “It’s John to everyone outside my family.”
“John Carl.” I sounded like my mother.
He held up his hands in protest. “I didn’t mean it like that. I only meant my family are the only ones who call me John Carl.”
“Because of your father, Carl, I guess?” Sara surmised and smiled. “I’m Sara Speiss. I can’t believe we’ve never met before.”
“Oh my gosh. I should have introduced you earlier,” I apologized. “When John Carl comes home for a visit, you always seem to be in Brainerd.”
“I guess that’s true.”
“It’s nice to finally meet you. Corky talks about you all the time.” John Carl actually smiled.
“She talks about you all the time.” Sara reached over and pushed his arm.
“John Carl was just saying he didn’t have anyone to dance with. Sara, you don’t mind having your feet tromped on by a big guy, do you?”
“Very funny.” John Carl smiled. Again.
“I’d love to.”
I leaned closer to Smoke. “I can’t believe it. I don’t remember the last time I saw John Carl dance—probably at his wedding.”
“John Carl looks just like your father—both six feet tall, about one eighty, broad shoulders, trim. But way more serious than Carl.”
“Really?” I asked, watching them dance. “You know, if John Carl wasn’t married, I’d say he and Sara would make a cute couple.”
“Sara is very pretty and likable too, as long as you don’t cross her, that is. I’ve seen her get downright angry at some of her probationers in court. She’s almost had me trembling with fear when those green eyes of hers go three shades darker because some guy has broken his probation.”
I laughed. “Yeah, right.”
The band’s next number was “The Tennessee Waltz.”
“Hey, they’re playing our song,” Smoke noticed. Years before, he had taught me to waltz at the first of my mother’s parties he attended.
“For old-times’ sake?” I offered my hand.
His grip was firm, and when he captured me in his arms, he held me too closely and too securely for a casual dance. I inhaled his clean, woodsy scent and flashed back to the last time I was in his arms—the night I thought I was going to die. Smoke had held me for a long time that night, and thereafter, whenever I awoke with night terrors of being suffocated by Alvie Eisner, I would remember Smoke’s solid arms around me and the way he smelled. It would relax me, lull me back to sleep.
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