The William Kent Krueger Collection #4

by William Kent Krueger

  “No. In the end they divorced, but it was amicable, more or less.”

  Mal said, “And the point of your story?”

  Anne said, “I was just thinking that I’m afraid for Jenny, but if there’s any good thing about her situation, it’s that Dad’s with her.”

  Rose smiled and put her hand on Anne’s arm in a gesture of understanding and agreement. But she didn’t say what she herself was thinking. Which was that, even though Cork was a good, reliable man, if bad weather blew in across the big water, everyone in that little boat was in trouble.

  They heard the launch coming. Mal went to the window. “It’s Seth,” he said.

  Bascombe arrived and stood in the doorway with his arms crossed, eyeing them sternly. “Well?”

  “They got off,” Mal said.

  “Anyone see them?”

  “I’m pretty sure not,” Rose said.

  Bascombe nodded grimly. “I’ll feel better once we get the call that they’ve made it safe.”

  He’d given Kretsch the GPS coordinates for a cabin on the south shore of Lake of the Woods, northwest of Zippel Bay. The cabin was empty, he knew, because the man who’d owned it was in prison for smuggling cigarettes into Canada. The land was now forfeited property of the U.S. government, but nothing had been done with it, and the cabin sat abandoned. Bascombe had used the place himself for a weekend fishing rendezvous with a couple of his old pals from ATF. It had a good dock and was isolated and ought to work well for getting the baby onto the mainland without anyone seeing.

  The plan was for Aaron to drive his truck to the cabin, along with Stephen, pick up Jenny and the baby, and all of them head to Tamarack County and the safety they hoped Henry Meloux would offer. Kretsch and Cork would return across the big water and begin the hunt for Noah Smalldog.

  Bascombe plopped his big body down at the table. “That coffee smells good, Rose. Any left?”

  “Let me pour you a cup, then I’ll make a fresh pot,” she said.

  “How’s our baby?” Bascombe said, nodding toward the basket where the swaddled towel lay. “Did you show that guy plenty of affection out there on the dock?”

  “Don’t worry. She played her part well,” Mal answered. “Did anybody follow you to Windigo Island?”

  “Yep. Had a tail all the way.” Bascombe sounded quite pleased. “He kept his boat pretty far back, so I didn’t get a good look at him. But Indian I’d say.”

  “Smalldog?”

  Bascombe shook his head. “One of his cohorts, I figure.”

  Rose put a cup full of coffee down on the table in front of him. “What about Stephen and Aaron?”

  “Didn’t see anyone take off after them, so I think they’re in the clear. I’m guessing I was followed because I’ve got the best boat. Tom was right about that. I just hope to God he doesn’t run into any heavy weather in that little Tyee of his. The open water on that south section of the lake is so huge it generates its own unpredictable weather systems. Squalls can come up out of nowhere.”

  That put a damper on conversation for a little while. Rose busied herself making another pot of coffee. Mal stood up and limped to the wall where a map of the Lake of the Woods and the Angle hung. He studied it a moment.

  “I’ve been trying to figure out the Northwest Angle,” he said. “To get here, you’ve got to cross the border and drive through sixty miles of Canadian wilderness, or else cut across forty miles of open water on Lake of the Woods. What’s a piece of U.S. territory doing this far north?”

  “Northernmost point in the forty-eight contiguous states,” Bascombe said, with a note of pride. “The result of a misunderstanding during the negotiations for the treaty that set the border between us and Canada.”

  “What kind of misunderstanding?” Anne asked.

  Bascombe slurped his coffee, closed his eyes, and let the good brew trickle down his throat. “Where exactly the headwaters of the Mississippi River lay. Everybody thought they were much farther east than they ended up being. The result was a little northern jut of territory that cut across Lake of the Woods and included the Angle. Up here we call it ‘the chimney.’ ”

  Mal hobbled back to join the others at the table. “How long have you been on the Angle, Seth?”

  “Been coming here all my life. My aunt and uncle ran this little resort. When they passed, they left the property to me. I was working ATF then, so I couldn’t really do anything with it. I’d come here occasionally, try to see to things, but the old place pretty much went downhill. Finally, when I’d had one day too many of wearing a Kevlar vest at work, I retired, and moved here for good to reopen the place, try to make a go of it. Discovered real fast that I didn’t have the temperament for that kind of enterprise. I live here alone now. Suits me fine.”

  Rose finished putting the new pot of coffee together and turned back to the table, where Bascombe sat sprawled, looking worn.

  “How long before we hear from them?” she asked.

  Bascombe thought it over. “If they don’t run afoul of the weather, and if Tom has no engine problems, and if Smalldog didn’t somehow get wind of our ruse and is waiting for them out on the big water, I’d say three hours.”

  “Three hours of waiting,” Anne said.

  In her niece’s tone, Rose heard what they all probably felt: Three hours would seem like forever.

  “Mal, Seth,” she said, putting all the robustness she could muster into her voice, “you two should get back out on the dock and show a presence here. Annie, let’s bake some cookies.”

  THIRTY-SIX

  Cork had never been on water so huge. He was more than uncomfortable. He was seasick.

  The big water, as the folks on the Angle called it, was well named. It stretched away to the horizon in every direction, dazzling blue under the vast sky, shot with diamonds of reflected sunlight, alive with swells. Kretsch was intent at the helm, fighting to keep the Tyee on course against the sweep of waves and shove of wind. Jenny sat with the ice chest at her feet, her eyes darting between the baby nestled inside and the vast expanse of water on which they were the only human presence.

  Cork understood that it was going to be the longest and most miserable boat ride of his life.

  He’d always believed that particular distinction would belong to the dinner excursion he’d made on Lake Michigan the night he proposed to Jo. It should have been romantic but turned out to be comic tragedy. Although they were never out of sight of land, the wind had been strong and the cruise a little rough and Cork hadn’t been able to eat much. He’d managed near the end of dinner to pop his question. And then he promptly threw up.

  It had been a funny story to tell across the years. He was pretty sure that after this boat trip there would be nothing funny to tell.

  He moved to the seat next to the helm and spoke to Kretsch, mostly to take his mind off his rolling stomach.

  “How’re we doing, Tom?”

  Kretsch glanced at the GPS display on the unit attached to the dash. “On target,” he said.

  Cork eyed the great empty water around them. “No sign of any other boat. That’s good.”

  “Most other boats wouldn’t be out here on a day like this.”

  Cork leaned close to the deputy. “You’ll get us there, right?”

  Kretsch gave him a look of consummate confidence. “I’ll get us there.”

  Cork sat back, relieved. “You know Lake of the Woods pretty well?”

  “There are a lot of folks who know it better, folks who’ve lived here all their lives. But I know it pretty well.”

  “How long have you been here?”

  “I started coming up to fish walleye with my father and brothers when I was a kid. In college, I spent summers on the Angle, helping with one or another of the resorts. Started guiding eventually. Finally moved up here for good.”

  “What’s your law enforcement background?”

  Kretsch shook his head. “Don’t have any. I took the job because the sheriff couldn’t find anyone el
se willing. Everything I know is from experience.”

  The relief that Cork had felt in all of Kretsch’s assurances vanished in an instant. “No law enforcement training whatsoever?”

  “Ride-alongs with the deputies out of Baudette, and a bunch of seminars over time, but that’s about it. Up here, there’s not much breach of the law to worry about. It’s only a part-time job. The rest of the time I work for a barge company in Angle Inlet, helping deliver big items to the islands.”

  Jesus Christ, Cork wanted to say. He’d always thought of Tamarack County as a rural operation. This topped everything.

  “What if something really big happened?”

  “The sheriff comes up himself or sends one of his regular deputies to give a hand. I usually just hold down the fort until they arrive.”

  The name Barney Fife came to mind, but Cork said nothing. He moved back to the seat next to Jenny.

  “How’re you doing, kiddo?” he asked.

  She looked at his face and said, “Better than you, I think. You’re pretty green.”

  “I’ll be all right. And your boyo?”

  She smiled down at the baby, who despite the wild rock of the boat and the whip of the wind and the noise of the hull against rough water, was sleeping. “He’s doing great,” she said.

  “This is the most tolerant kid I’ve ever seen.”

  A darkness came over Jenny’s face. “I wonder about that. I wonder if his ordeal has affected him somehow. Tempered his natural inclinations, maybe. He doesn’t cry much, not like the babies I’ve been around in the nursery down in Iowa City, anyway.”

  “He’s only a few weeks old,” Cork said. “He’s malleable, right? And resilient. He’ll bounce back.”

  “I hope so,” she said.

  Cork leaned back and closed his eyes and concentrated on keeping what was kicking inside his stomach corralled there.

  The clouds came up fast, black horses galloping wildly out of the west across the sky. Because his eyes had been closed for a long time, Cork didn’t see them. It was Jenny who alerted her father to the danger.

  “Dad?”

  When he heard the urgency in her voice, his eyes popped wide, and he looked where her finger pointed.

  “Tom!” he called.

  “I see it,” Kretsch said. “Nothing we can do now but ride it out. You better cover the baby. Looks like the rain’ll be heavy for a bit.”

  Jenny had brought a windbreaker, and she draped it over the open ice chest, then peeked inside.

  “What’s the verdict?” Cork called to her above the wind.

  She shook her head in amazement. “Dead to the world, thank God.”

  “Brace yourselves,” Kretsch said. “Here it comes.”

  It was as if a dam had split open and everything held in the reservoir behind spilled out. The wind, already strong, became a rage, and the rain struck Cork’s face hard as bullets. Jenny had angled the lid of the ice chest to keep as much water off the windbreaker as possible, and she hunched protectively over the makeshift cradle. Kretsch turned the bow of the boat directly into the storm and held the wheel steady against the full force of all that came at them. The sky above was black and boiling, but Cork could see the edges of the storm system a few miles off. Beyond it was blue sky. They just had to hang tough for a while.

  The squall passed, and as quickly as the sky had turned threatening, it cleared again.

  Kretsch turned back to them from the helm and patted the dash of his boat. “Tough old girl. Knew she’d get us through.”

  Jenny pulled the windbreaker from the ice chest, and the sun hit the baby’s face. He began to wake and make fussing noises.

  “Want me to put together a bottle?” Cork asked.

  Jenny had brought a clean bottle and formula. Rose had heated water and put it in a thermos.

  Jenny shook her head. “He shouldn’t be hungry yet. Just needs a little reassurance, I think.”

  She picked him up from the bedding in the ice chest, cradled him in her arms, and began talking to him softly. His eyes fastened on her face, and he seemed mesmerized.

  Cork returned to the seat beside the deputy.

  Kretsch smiled at him, clearly pleased. “I’ll have us there in no time.”

  * * *

  And he did. As soon as they came in sight of land, Cork felt the weight of worry lift from him. He could have hugged Tom Kretsch.

  It was evening by then. The sun was low in the western sky. The wind had relaxed just a little, and although the lake was still restless, the whitecaps had all but disappeared. Kretsch kept an eye on the GPS display and guided the boat to a tiny cove lined with poplars where a cabin with a small dock stood. The trees looked beaten and ragged; a number of them lay on their sides with the roots torn from the ground, the result of the derecho two days earlier.

  “There they are,” Jenny said, her voice a song of relief.

  At the end of the dock, Stephen and Aaron stood waving. Kretsch motored up, eased back on the throttle, and drifted in. Cork went forward and picked up the bow line. He tossed it to Stephen, who secured the rope to a cleat. Aaron tied off the stern line. Jenny lifted the ice chest with the baby inside and delivered it into his waiting hands.

  “You two okay?” he asked.

  “He did great,” Jenny replied.

  Aaron peered inside the chest and said with surprise, “My God, he’s smiling.”

  “Took to it like a duck to water,” Cork said. “Where are you parked?”

  “In front of the cabin,” Aaron replied. “It was a little hairy getting here. Trees still down over the roads everywhere. Looks like a nuclear blast in some places. I understand why the sheriff couldn’t spare any help up on the Angle. Major highways are clear, though.”

  “Good. Let’s get you guys gone.”

  They left the dock and skirted the cabin, a small and unremarkable affair that had lost shingles in the storm and sustained a couple of broken windows. Aaron’s truck, a new-looking black Dodge Dakota with a crew cab, was parked on the dirt road in front, which dead-ended at the cove. They put the baby in the rear seat, and before she climbed in beside him, Jenny turned to her father. “You’re going back in the dark?”

  “Tom says he can navigate by the stars.”

  Kretsch shook his head and grinned. “GPS, actually. It’s much more reliable.”

  Jenny took the deputy’s hand. “Thank you. For everything.”

  Kretsch looked down, as if embarrassed, and Cork thought he was going to say, “Ah, shucks.” Instead, he said, “I’m just glad I could help.”

  “You get yourself and my father back to Oak Island in one piece,” she said seriously.

  “We’ll be fine, sweetheart,” Cork told her. “You just get safely to Henry. I’ll feel a lot better when I know you’re there. And give a call to Bascombe’s place, let everyone know you’re safe.”

  Cork gave her a long hug, then turned to Stephen. “Tell Henry boozhoo for me, and thank him. And take care of your sister and the boyo, okay?”

  “I’m on it, Dad.”

  Stephen tolerated Cork’s hug, even gave him a quick squeeze of his own in return.

  He turned to Aaron and shook his hand earnestly. “When this is all over, we’ll sit down with a couple of beers and really get to know each other.”

  “I’d like that.”

  Cork nodded toward the truck that held his daughter and the baby. “Thank you.”

  “I’ll make sure we get to your friend’s place safely,” Aaron promised.

  Cork stood back and watched them climb into the cab. Aaron kicked the engine over and turned the truck around. As they headed into the waning light of evening, they gave him a last wave of good-bye.

  “They’ll be fine,” Kretsch said.

  “From your mouth to God’s ear.” Cork turned back toward the cove. “Let’s get ourselves on that lake before I lose my nerve.”

  “We’ll be home before midnight,” Kretsch said.

  “I don’t
think so,” Cork replied.

  “No? Why not?”

  “Because we’re going to make a stop before we get there.”

  “Where?”

  “I’ll tell you on the way,” Cork said.

  THIRTY-SEVEN

  For a good long while, they drove in silence. The baby slept. Aaron had the radio turned low, listening to Minnesota Public Radio broadcast out of Roseau. Stephen stared out the window at the passing landscape, a mosaic of dark evening colors. Jenny was thinking. She thought about all that had happened in only two days, a kind of frenzy that was difficult to put together in a way that felt believable, though she’d been there through it all. She thought about the people she loved whom she’d left behind on the Angle, still in danger, perhaps, and she worried. She thought about the roads ahead: the one that led to Henry Meloux, which she knew well, and the more difficult road she would have to navigate at some point that led through a bureaucratic minefield to a place where the fate of the baby would be decided. Of all the unknowns ahead, that was the one that made her feel most helpless.

  They had dinner in International Falls. Jenny left the ice chest in the truck and carried the baby in her arms. She changed his diaper in the restroom and prepared a bottle, which she handed to the waitress and asked her to heat. When the woman saw the baby’s cleft lip, she didn’t look horrified at all. She was thin, maybe fifty, with hair that was drugstore blond, and too much eye shadow, and ruby-colored nails, and an empty ring finger. She smiled with a genuineness that made Jenny love her instantly.

  “I’ll have them put a pan of water on the stove and heat it up for you, hon. What’s his name?”

  Jenny hesitated, awkwardly.

  It was Stephen who replied. “Waaboozoons.”

  “Waaboozoons? Never heard that one before. Is it foreign?”

  “It’s Ojibwe,” Stephen said. “It means ‘little rabbit.’ We call him Waaboo for short.”

  “Don’t that beat all,” she said. “Well, I’ll have the little rabbit’s bottle for you in two shakes.”

  “Where’d that come from?” Jenny asked her brother when the waitress had gone.