'Are you sure it was the reporter?'
Marybeth held up her palms. 'It had to be.'
Joe earned the saddles to the saddle trees and folded the warm, moist horse blankets over a crossbar to dry.
'Did he sound like Stewie?' Joe asked.
Marybeth let a chuckle creep into her voice. 'I haven't talked to Stewie Woods in years. It kind of sounded like him, but it didn't sound right. It was sort of as if someone were trying to imitate his
voice.'
Joe stopped and thought. He gripped his chin in his hand in a pose that made the girls whisper, 'Dad's thinking!'
'It was weird,' she said. 'I just hung up on him.'
'Next time,' Joe said, 'Don't hang up. Keep him talking until you can figure out who it is. And if I'm here, let me know so I can get on the other line.' Marybeth agreed, and they walked back to the house together. Before they opened the door, Joe reached out for her hand and squeezed it.
***
THAT NIGHT, in bed, Joe lay awake with his hands clasped behind his head on the pillow and one knee propped up outside the sheets. It had been the first warm evening of the early summer and it hadn't cooled off yet. The bedroom window was open and a breeze ruffled the curtains.
'Are you awake?' he whispered to Marybeth.
Marybeth purred, and turned to look at him.
'Sometimes I wish I were smarter,' he said.
'Why do you say that?' Her voice was hoarse--she had been sleeping. Marybeth was a light sleeper, a carryover from when the children were younger.
'You're one of the smartest guys I know,' she said, putting her warm hand on his chest. 'That's why I married you.'
'I'm not smart enough, though.'
'Why?'
Joe exhaled loudly. 'There's something big going on all around us, but I can't connect the dots. I know it's out there, and I keep trying to look at things from a different angle or perspective, thinking maybe then I'll see it. But It's just not coming clear.'
'What are you talking about, Joe?'
He raised his hand and counted off: 'Stewie Woods, Jim Finotta, Ginger Finotta, that Raga character and his friends, the reporter, Hayden Powell, Jim Finotta--'
'You already said Jim Finotta,' she murmured.
'Well, he really pisses me off.'
'Anyway--' she prompted.
'Anyway, I think that if I were smarter I could see how they all connect. And there is some kind of connection. That I'm sure of.'
'How can you be sure of that?'
He thought, rubbed his eyes. The breeze was filling the room, taking the temperature down to comfortable sleeping conditions.
'I just am,' he said.
She laughed softly 'You're smarter than you think.'
'You're shining me on, darling.'
'Good night.' She hugged him and rolled over.
'That was fun this afternoon,' he said. 'Thank you.'
'No, thank you. Now, good night.'
Joe remained awake for a while longer. He recalled Raga saying the 'people who did this will come back.' He wondered if he would recognize them if they did.
15
Choteau, Montana
June 29
Charlie Tibbs and the OLD MAN were parked behind a chain link fence bordering an airstrip near Choteau, Montana. To the west were the broad shoulders of the Flathead range under a bleached denim sky. A morning rain--one of those odd ones where the bank of clouds had already passed out of view before the rain finally made it to earth--had dampened the concrete of the two old runways and beaded the black hood of the pickup.
Three-quarters of a mile away, a door opened on the second of four small private airplane hangars. Charlie Tibbs raised binoculars to his eyes. He would provide the commentary.
'They opened the door.'
