“Yes, Willie. But I want to tell them the whole truth.”
“The whole truth?”
“Rhiannon,” Cork said.
Willie didn’t look at all surprised, but he said nothing.
“When I asked you about the name Rhiannon, you lied. You knew all of Winona’s secrets, and Rhiannon was one. I want the truth.”
Willie sagged, as if what Cork asked had drained him of any strength that remained. “There was a child,” he said at last.
“Winona and Jubal?”
“Yes.”
“When?”
“A dozen years ago. Nona became pregnant just before Jubal left for his first term as a congressman.”
“Did Jubal know?”
“Not at first. Nona didn’t want him to. She said he had enough to worry about.”
“They’d been lovers for years without a pregnancy. How did it happen?”
“Nona had always been careful in her timing. She knew her body. But Jubal didn’t plan on coming back to Aurora for a very long time. He wanted to solidify his position in Washington, and she was sad and desperate and a little careless before he left. When she realized she was pregnant, she thought about aborting the child but couldn’t bring herself to do it. She went full term.”
“I don’t remember any word of this on the rez.”
“As soon as she began to show, she went into seclusion at my cabin. She was always disappearing, so no one thought anything of it.”
“And she had the baby?”
“She delivered, yes.”
“Where?”
“In my bedroom.”
“What happened?”
“She didn’t want a doctor. She didn’t want anything official to be known about the child. So she planned on doing it on her own. She read everything she could and took care of herself. I don’t think I ever saw her so happy. She had a name for the baby. Rhiannon.” Willie smiled sadly. “She loved Stevie Nicks, and she loved that song.”
“What happened to Rhiannon?”
“Before her time, Nona began to experience a lot of pain. She was almost forty, and I thought maybe it was because she was older than most women with their first pregnancy. I wanted her to see a doctor. She refused. I was worried. I finally called Jubal in Washington. He dropped everything and came out immediately. She went into labor before he got here. I was with her. I’d read the books, too. But things weren’t going like in the books. By the time Jubal arrived it was over.”
“She’d delivered Rhiannon?”
“Yes. But the baby was stillborn. I don’t know why.”
“Oh, Willie. I’m sorry.”
“They grieved together. Hell, I grieved, too. Then we buried her.”
“Where?”
“Out there.” Willie again gestured toward the forests that ran to Canada. “In a beautiful spot where no one would ever find her. Three nights ago, I laid Nona beside her.”
“Who else knew about Rhiannon?”
“No one. It was a well-kept secret, Cork. I don’t know who else could know.”
“Someone knows, Willie. He threatened me, anonymously.”
“I swear, Cork, I don’t know.”
Cork felt the weight of that particular concern settle once more on his tired shoulders. “Okay, will you do me a favor? For the time being, when the sheriff’s people question you, don’t say anything about Rhiannon.”
“All right, Cork. But will you do me a favor in return?”
“What is it?”
“Give me a little time before you turn me in. I need to get things in order.”
“I can do that, Willie.”
Cork took one final look around the house where Winona Crane had lived her life according to a purpose she’d accepted long ago but, judging from the evidence she’d left behind, had never fully understood, a life she had made sacrifices for that hadn’t, as far as Cork could see, brought her any happiness. He’d loved her once, loved her with all the ardor and ache of a young man’s heart, and because of that, he had, in a sense, loved her always. Yet, as he drove off, leaving Willie to mourn her alone, Cork was very glad his own life had gone a different way and without her.
CHAPTER 40
A mile after he left Winona’s house, the headlights appeared in Cork’s rearview mirror. He noted them, then went back to his thinking.
He considered Jubal Little. He’d loved Jubal once, loved him as a brother, but it had, in actuality, been so brief a time. Had he really known Jubal then? He thought not, because Jubal hadn’t known himself, any more than Cork understood who he was. Their roads had diverged, and they’d gone in different directions, become different kinds of men. Cork had created a family. Jubal had created a following. Cork had lived pretty much in anonymity in the small world of Tamarack County, and had been happy there. Jubal had lived in the spotlight, but had he been happy? All the evidence indicated no. Jubal had spent a good deal of his life chasing greatness, that mountaintop Winona had seen in her vision so very long ago. And what had it brought him in the end except regret? When they were children, Cork had envied Jubal. But he envied him no more.
The headlights behind him had approached, coming dangerously near, casting a blinding glare in Cork’s mirrors. The road was empty. It was never heavily trafficked and at night it was particularly abandoned. But it was winding, and Cork kept his speed steady, thinking the vehicle would pass on the next straightaway. When the opportunity came, the vehicle shot around his Land Rover, and Cork saw the Escalade that belonged to Kenny Yates pass in a blur of shiny silver metal. It pulled ahead and swerved back into the right-hand lane directly in front of Cork, way too close. The taillights immediately bloomed red, and the Escalade began to slow, forcing Cork to slow with it. What the hell was Yates up to? Cork had no idea, but he didn’t like this aggressiveness. It felt threatening. Felt, he realized, much like the call he’d received from the voice of the Devil on that same stretch of road, a manufactured voice meant as disguise. Low, gravelly, male. It could easily have been Yates.
The Escalade slowed to a stop on the empty highway, and Cork brought the Land Rover to a halt behind it. A moment passed. The door of the Escalade opened, and Yates stepped out. He wore a black leather jacket. His hands were in his pockets. He stood still, as if waiting for Cork to meet him.
Cork thought, Ah, hell, and got out. He approached the big man, the football player turned bodyguard, and kept his eyes on the pockets that hid Yates’s hands. He stopped ten feet away.
“What’s with the road rage, Kenny?” he asked.
“Road rage?” In the glare of Cork’s headlights, the big man’s eyes were white orbs drilled at the centers with fathomless holes. “I just wanted a word with you before this whole thing goes any further.”
“A word? You could have called me on my cell phone.”
“Tried. Got nothing.”
Which could have been true, because during his talk with Willie Crane, Cork had turned his cell phone off.
“How’d you know I was out here?”
“Tailed you from town.”
“You wanted to talk to me, why didn’t you do it before this?”
