He showered and left his clothes in a pile on the bathroom floor, and slipped into bed naked. He set his alarm for 3:30 A.M. and called the front desk and requested a wake-up call for the same time.
He knew he wouldn’t sleep. Couldn’t. The things Larry had told him swirled around the dark ceiling, darting in and out of his consciousness. He hoped strands of what he knew would somehow miraculously connect and he’d sit bolt upright with an epiphany and suddenly know the connections as well as the answers.
Didn’t happen.
What did happen, two hours later, was the slight creak of old flooring outside in the hallway. He turned his head in bed and glanced at the digital clock that showed 2:23 A.M. glowing in red.
When he smelled a sharp odor he thought it must be his breath. Then he recognized it as lighter fluid.
Cody propped up on an elbow and stared at the yellow bar of light beneath the door to his room. He rubbed his eyes and tried to convince himself what was happening was not his imagination. Two shadows of feet were evenly spaced within the bar. Someone was standing just outside. And there was a growing pool of liquid that streamed from under it across the tile floor, rivulets reaching out toward his bed like grasping fingers.
Then the distinct sound of a match being struck.
18
Jed McCarthy liked the way the situation was shaping up. He considered himself a kind of master of managing group dynamics, and he had once again proved himself right. He tried not to act too smug or vainglorious about it, although it wasn’t easy.
It had started out with an hour or so of stories after dinner, after Ted Sullivan had come back from the tents. After he’d had some kind of scene with the youngest daughter. Sullivan had settled back on the log next to Rachel Mina and they shared a long, sad look that told Jed as much as he needed to know about them. Sullivan sat with his head down and his arms hanging between his legs, as if he’d received a slip of paper in a game of charades that said
From that moment on, Jed knew he had Sullivan on his side. A gesture was all it took with weak men like Sullivan who weren’t used to them from men who weren’t weak, like Jed. It elevated Sullivan in the eyes of the others that Jed had sought him out like that. The only person who didn’t appear impressed was Rachel Mina, who eyed Jed with caution. Jed pretended not to notice.
He returned to the cooking station and monitored the progress of the bottle as it made its way around the campfire, and soon there were other bottles as well.
Inhibitions lowered as voices rose, and Jed made it a point to keep the fire going but not too brightly. Just bright enough he could see their faces and expressions and confirm they were all on the tracks he wanted them to be on.
He felt Dakota’s eyes on him. She was standing beside him at the cooking station, washing dishes and the pots and pans.
Finally, he glanced over at her and mouthed,
She whispered, “What in the hell are you thinking?”
He grinned and looked away.
“Why are you doing this?” she asked. “You’ve always told me to keep our alcohol packed away for later, in the tent. You’ve never brought it out before, and you sure as hell haven’t passed it around.”
He thought her whisper was getting loud enough to be overheard, so he did a quick survey of his guests to see if anyone was looking up. Nope.
“I know what I’m doing,” he said. “Don’t question me with the guests present.”
She grunted her assent.
He said, sotto voce, “And don’t forget you’ve got a mission tonight.”
“Which tent is his?” she asked softly. That meant she was still with him, even though she was angry. But she still wouldn’t meet his eyes.
“The blue and green Mountain Hardwear.”
“The one with the stain on the side of it?”
“That’s the one.”
She nodded that she understood.
He again reached out for her and she jerked away again and he left her there fuming.
“Hope you don’t mind if I join you,” Jed said to his guests, taking the sitting log used earlier by the Sullivan girls and Walt’s soon-to-be stepson.
“Cool,” James Knox said, “please do.”
“And to what do we owe this pleasure?” Tristan Glode asked.
“I’ve got a proposition for you folks a little later,” Jed said. “But first I’d like to have a drink.”
“Try this,” Walt Franck said, offering the single malt.
Jed raised his eyebrows in false trepidation, getting a couple of laughs, then sipped the smooth liquor. It burned nicely on the way down. He said, “It’s not Jim Beam, but it’s pretty good,” to more laughs.
Jed let them ask him to expound about Yellowstone, wildlife, horses, and outfitting. He did, but not at great length. He wanted them wanting more.
He did a quick inventory. The Sullivan girls and Walt’s stepson Justin had gone to their tents. Perfect, he thought. He didn’t want the young ones to weigh in. Sullivan Senior sat by Rachel, Sullivan still moping over whatever it was his daughter was worked up about, but coming out of it. The alcohol helped. Rachel looked on at Sullivan as if sizing him up, as if unsure of her conclusion. Women only
The three Wall Streeters sat on the ground on a tarp with their backs to a downed log and their feet splayed before the fire. They passed their bottles back and forth. They were tired and getting pleasantly drunk. He doubted they’d make a late night of it, but he didn’t want things to get too wild before he made his proposition. Drey Russell had been quiet a long time and wasn’t as boisterous as Knox or D’Amato. Jed wondered if Russell was having a good time, or doing his best to pretend he was. Russell seemed introspective. Jed wondered if Russell had camped much in his youth, or been in the mountains in such a raw state before.
Tristan and Donna Glode sat on separate stumps to the left of the Wall Streeters. Tristan did take a sip of the single malt but declined the Jim Beam, which didn’t surprise Jed. Donna gulped both, to hoots from D’Amato and Knox, and Jed stifled a smile. This woman was a
Jed focused on Tristan, and thought he had the man figured out. He seemed uncomfortable, but not because of Donna. Jed got the impression Tristan was a man used to being catered to and he fancied himself an outdoorsman but he didn’t necessarily enjoy being with other clients not in his social stratum. The joshing and passing of the bottles didn’t amuse him but he knew enough about human nature to know if he got up and left he’d be talked about and made the butt of jokes. So he stayed and endured and simply hoped the night would break up early. Tristan had made it clear to Jed he’d studied their route in advance and was as familiar with it as anyone could
