He sipped his wine and thought it over. “They’ve identified the man they believe was responsible for the shooting on the reservation.”
“I know that. Lydell Cramer. He was burned during the meth lab bust a few weeks ago.”
“Seems they were wrong in suspecting him. They’re pretty sure now that it was a man named Stone.”
“Stone? You mean Byron St. Onge?”
“I believe that’s his name.”
“Why? Why in the world would Stone want to shoot Cork?”
“As I understand it, that’s still unclear.”
“They could have told me that. There must be more.”
“There is. When this Stone realized they were onto him, he ran, disappeared into the woods with the woman they suspect in Eddie’s murder.”
“Lizzie Fineday?”
“That’s right. Your husband’s gone into the woods after them.”
“Alone?”
“No, the girl’s father went with him. Also an old man who’s a guide of some kind, and one deputy.”
“Oh, Jesus. No wonder they wouldn’t tell me. Goddamn him.” She looked away a moment. “You know, he loves this. He’s in his glory.”
“Dina indicated she was going to try to accompany them, officially or otherwise. If it’s any consolation, if I had to go after a man like Stone, I’d want Dina there with me. She’s very good at what she does.”
“Tell me about what she does.”
“We use her as a consultant on all kinds of security issues. Protective services, investigations. She’s a crack shot, holds a black belt in some kind of martial art, has significant law enforcement experience. Really, Cork couldn’t ask for better backup.”
“So Stone ambushed Cork. And Lizzie may have killed Eddie.”
“And once they’re caught, it’s all over.” He held up his hands as if it were as simple as two plus two.
They heard coughing in the dining room, and a few moments later Phillip walked in. He wore a black terry cloth bathrobe and sandals and carried a big white towel. He seemed surprised to find Jo and Ben in the kitchen.
“Hello, Phillip,” Jo said.
He glanced from her to his father, and a dark, knowing look came into his eyes. “Don’t let me interrupt,” he said. “Just passing through on my way to swim.”
“Have you eaten?” Ben asked.
“Lasagna. Mrs. McGruder made a shitload. It’s in the refrigerator if you’re hungry. Nice seeing you again,” he said to Jo as he slid a glass door open and went outside.
“Isn’t it cold for swimming?” she asked Ben.
“I keep the pool filled and heated until the end of October. I swim every morning, and prefer to do it outside. The first of November I start swimming at my health club.”
The light in the sky was thinning, and the kitchen had grown dark, but Jacoby made no move to turn on a lamp. He swirled the wine slowly in his glass.
“Rae told me she had a good long talk with you this morning.”
“Did she tell you what she gave me?”
“No.”
“A painting that you’d asked her to do twenty years ago.”
“Grant Park? White dress?”
“That would be the one.”
“I thought she got rid of that. God, I’d love to see it.”
“I considered bringing it.”
He looked genuinely disappointed. “There’s something you ought to see, something I feel a little guilty about.”
He led her from the kitchen through the house, down a long hallway past big empty rooms. The thick carpet seemed to suck all the sound from their feet as they walked.
“You and Phillip, you’re here by yourselves?”
“When Phillip’s gone, it’s just me.”
She followed him to a study that smelled faintly of cigars. He turned on a light switch and revealed a study with shelves of books, an enormous polished desk, an antique couch upholstered in leather, a fireplace. He went to the desk and, beckoning her to look, turned a framed photograph so that she could see the image. It was Jo, standing on the shore of Iron Lake, the water at her back shiny and blue as new steel. Jenny had taken the snapshot a year before for her high school photography class. She had framed it and given it to Jo as a Christmas present.
“That was in my office in Aurora,” Jo said. “I couldn’t imagine what had happened to it.”
He lifted the frame and cradled it in his hands. “Eddie snatched it on one of his visits. I should have returned it, but I couldn’t bring myself to do that.”
“Did you ask him to take it?”
“No. He thought of it as a gift to me.” His face turned pensive. “Jo, I have a confession. When I found out someone had tried to kill Cork, I thought for a while Eddie might have been behind it. For God knows what reason, Eddie wanted desperately for us to be as close as true brothers. I wondered if, in his thinking, killing Cork would open the way for me to have you. A kind of gift from him to me. I know it sounds crazy, but that’s exactly the kind of guy Eddie was.”
“What would you have done if that had been the case?”
“Honestly, I don’t know.”
He held out the photograph toward her reluctantly, and she saw the sense of loss in his eyes as she took it.
“I’d like you to have Rae’s painting, Ben.”
He looked stunned.
“If you’d like it.”
“It was meant for you, Jo.”
“Twenty years ago it was meant for me. My life is different now. Honestly, Ben, I wouldn’t feel comfortable with it hanging in my home in Aurora. Do you understand?”
“I suppose.”
“Would you like it?”
“Very much.”
“Would you accept it?”
“I’m sure it’s a valuable painting. What if I paid you for it?”
“I’d rather it remained a gift.”
“Thank you, Jo,” he said.
“What if I brought it by tomorrow? About the same time? Say, six?”
“I could pick it up at your sister’s place on my way home from the office.”
“I’m not sure what will be happening there tomorrow night. I’d rather the kids didn’t ask a lot of questions. It would be best for me to come here.”
“All right, then. Six.”
There was a splash outside and Ben drifted to the window. Jo could see Phillip swimming laps with strong, even strokes, his body a long, lean silhouette against the glaring lights in the pool.
“He loves to swim,” Ben said. “He says when he’s swimming, all his problems go away for a while.”
“Problems?”
“He has more than his share. His mother’s dead, he hates his father.”
“How do you know?”
“Because I was the kind of father my father was.”
“And you hate Lou?”
“Why wouldn’t I? He’s arrogant, rude, demanding. He cheated on my mother, disinherited my sister, loved
