TWELVE
Cork watched a flock of Canada geese wing their way north above Iron Lake. They flew in a shifting V, dark and purposeful against the butter yellow sky where the sun was setting. Along the lakeshore, the poplar and birch were already leafed out. It had been a mild winter; actually, it had not been much of a winter at all. There’d been hardly any snow, the lakes had frozen late, and the ice had gone out early. The resorts, usually buzzing with the activity of snowmobilers and ice fishermen, were empty. April, which folks in the North Country called “mud season,” had been dry as well. There was common agreement that the seasons weren’t what they used to be. Global warming, everyone said, and shook their heads helplessly.
Cork should have spent the day getting Sam’s Place ready for the summer. Sam’s Place was an old Quonset hut on the shore of Iron Lake just outside the official limits of Aurora. Long ago, an Ojibwe named Sam Winter Moon had converted it to a burger and shake joint that had become popular with both locals and summer visitors. When Winter Moon died, he’d passed the place to Cork, who’d been like a son. Normally, Cork opened in May, on the day of the fishing opener, and didn’t close until mid-November. In that time, he grilled thousands of burgers and hot dogs and served up a sea of shakes and soft drinks. His children worked with him, and that was the aspect of the operation he loved most. This year Annie would be there from the beginning-working on weekends and around her school softball schedule-with some of her friends hired to help. Come June, Jenny would be home from college for the summer and she’d work, too. Stevie often helped out as well, though much of his time was spent hanging out on the old dock with Trixie, fishing for bluegills and sunnies.
At the moment, Cork’s mind wasn’t on Sam’s Place. It was working in the old mode, the cop mode, asking questions and probing dark corners for answers.
He passed the Buzz Saw and didn’t see Buck Reinhardt’s truck in the parking lot. He didn’t see it at Tanner’s or at the casino. When he came to the turnoff to Skinner Lake, he took it and headed toward Reinhardt’s home.
Elise answered the door. She looked different from the night before. Not happy exactly, but less aggressively angry. She was wearing makeup again. From behind her came the sound of music. Soft jazz. She had a drink in her hand. From the smell and the lime wedge among the ice cubes, Cork guessed it was a gin and tonic.
“Still looking for Buck?” she asked.
“Yeah.”
“Not much point in it now, is there? Kingbird’s dead. Doesn’t matter anyway. Buck’s not here. Check the bars.”
“I passed the Buzz Saw. Didn’t see him there, either.”
“He told me they kicked him out last night. Buck’s a grudge holder. It’ll be a while before he gives them his business again.”
“What time did he get home last night?”
She stiffened up and her face seemed to prepare itself for anger. “The sheriff’s people asked the same question. Look, Buck got home maybe fifteen minutes after you left. He came straight home from the Buzz Saw. After that he was here with me all night. So if you’re thinking he killed the Kingbirds, think again.” She took a drink from the glass in her hand.
Cork said, “You know that it wasn’t Alex Kingbird who sold the stuff that got Kristi high.”
“He wasn’t just an innocent bystander, either.”
“Rayette was.”
“She chose her man.”
“As did you.” They stared at each other. Cork said, “Suppose the Red Boyz go hunting for a little justice of their own now, Elise. You want to be right there beside your husband when the bullets start flying?”
“I can handle a rifle.”
“Let’s hope your hands aren’t taped and your back isn’t turned.” He knew it was over the top, and he reined himself in. “Sorry. That was uncalled for.”
“You bet it was.”
The door banged shut in his face, and he turned to leave. Before he reached his Bronco, another vehicle came up the road and pulled into the drive. Cork waited while it came to a stop beside his own. Dave Reinhardt killed the engine and stepped out. The vehicle was a police cruiser from Yellow Lake, where Dave was the chief.
David Reinhardt was Buck’s youngest child from his first marriage. The other children from that marriage had scattered, and Cork couldn’t recall the last time he’d seen any of them back in Tamarack County. Alone among them, Dave Reinhardt had elected to stay. He’d attended the University of Minnesota at Duluth, then done his police training in Minneapolis, where he’d served for four years before coming home. Cork had hired him as a deputy in the Tamarack County Sheriff’s Department. Although Reinhardt proved to be a good officer, coming back to Aurora might not have been the best choice for him. It put him close to his father, and Dave Reinhardt found himself caught in the sweep of Buck’s relentless ambitions.
Cork always figured it was Buck who was ultimately responsible for Dave Reinhardt leaving the department. When Cork resigned as sheriff and a special election was held to fill the position, Buck boasted that his son would be the next man to wear that badge. Then Marsha Dross threw her hat into the ring. Buck had a field day with that. A week before the election, he took out an ad in the Aurora Sentinel that read, “Dave Reinhardt for sheriff. He’s the only one with the balls for the job.” It got a good laugh in town, but at the polls it had a different effect. Dave Reinhardt lost by a landslide, a result that most people understood was less about his qualifications and ability than it was a backlash against his father. Dave resigned as deputy and took the job as chief of police in Yellow Lake.
“Cork. What are you doing here?” Dave accepted the hand Cork offered and gave it an agreeable shake. He was taller than his father and softer in his features.
“Looking for Buck,” Cork said. “Have you talked to him today?”
“I was here earlier when Ed Larson and the BCA agent questioned him and Elise.”
“What do you think?”
“I think he didn’t kill the Kingbirds, if that’s what you’re getting at. When the shootings went down, he was home with Elise.”
“That’s what they both say, all right.”
Reinhardt squinted at him. “What aren’t you telling me?”
“Dave, I drove out here last night. Buck wasn’t around.”
“I know. He got home after you left. You just missed him.”
“See, that’s the thing. There’s only one way into Skinner Lake and one way out. If Buck got home just after I left, I’d have seen him coming down that road. And I didn’t.”
“You reached the highway before he turned off.”
“Maybe. But I headed directly to the Buzz Saw, where Buck had just got himself thrown out. If he went straight home from there, as he and Elise claim, one way or another I’d have passed him.”
“Could be a lot of explanations.”
“Let me hear one.”
“He’d been drinking. He pulled off the road to piss.”
“You were there when he was questioned this morning. Did he mention that?” When Cork didn’t get an answer-which was answer in itself-he went on. “You’re Buck’s son, but you’re also a cop, Dave. Think like one.”
Reinhardt crossed his arms and leaned back against his vehicle. “Elise said Kingbird sent you here last night. Kingbird’s out of the picture, so what’s your interest now?”
“Aren’t you worried about her safety and Buck’s? With Kingbird gone, it’s hard to know what the Red Boyz might do.”
“Buck can take care of himself.”
“He’s gone a lot. That leaves Elise here alone. I’m thinking it might be best if she went to visit her family for a while.”
“She’s like Buck in a lot of ways,” Reinhardt said. “You couldn’t run her off if you tried. She’s pretty handy with firearms. I’ll suggest she keep one of Buck’s rifles loaded and within reach.”
