Hannah's waist and they started walking toward the road. I did the same with Renee.
'That ain't something to be proud of,' the rifleman yelled after us-probably meaning Renee's relation to Astrid. We kept going and there was no more sound from him.
But Christ, did my skin crawl from imagining those rifle sights on our backs.
As we drove away, Hannah said, 'I've heard about that guy. He's just got a little place but he acts like he owns everything around it, and he's obsessed with keeping strangers away. He's threatened Forest Service workers on federal land. He parked a backhoe across a county road to block it off.'
We talked for a few more minutes about him and the sad condition of the cabin. Then we fell quiet, with Madbird unusually so. That happened when he was seriously pissed.
Like my father, he'd never told me much about his military experiences. I knew he'd been a Marine forward observer in Vietnam-one of those men who slipped far behind enemy lines, alone, to radio back firsthand reports on the accuracy of artillery and air strikes. A lot of Native Americans had gravitated to that sort of particularly hazardous role; it fit with the skills that many had grown up with and the temperament that many possessed, including an unconcern for danger and even an enjoyment of it. That wasn't a trait I shared with them.
But once in a while, usually in the context of hard drinking, Madbird would let something out. Tonight's encounter made me recall one of those incidents, on the troop ship carrying his unit overseas. A couple of Merchant Marine officers had also been aboard. On a single occasion, he had thoughtlessly failed to salute one of them-not out of insolence, he just hadn't been paying attention, and the merchant seaman's appearance hadn't punched the same automatic buttons as a regular military officer's always did.
Maybe the guy was a martinet or just a prick; maybe bigoted; maybe he'd had a hard-on about being surrounded by combat Marines on their way to war. He'd gotten Madbird thrown in the brig for the duration of the voyage-eight days in a tiny stifling cell, where he'd been chained around the waist and forced to stand at attention sixteen hours out of twenty-four.
'Few years after I got back, I heard that guy was living in San Diego,' Madbird had said.
That was the end of the story.
21
We arrived back at Renee's around eight o'clock, although it felt later. She invited everybody in for a thrown- together dinner, but Madbird and Hannah wanted to get on home and I figured I should do the same. They took off, leaving Renee and me standing in front of her house. I reminded her that she should check into a motel, and offered to help her find a room and escort her there.
'I've been thinking about that,' she said. 'Why don't you just stay here?'
There wasn't any pressing need for me to get back to my place. The tomcat was fine on his own; he foraged for himself, and I always left an open sack of dry food where he could get at it. I'd be spared the long drive there and back to town next morning.
'Well, if you're sure,' I said.
'I'm glad for the company.'
I was, too. Especially after seeing Astrid's cabin, the thought of a solitary night in my own was not appealing.
'Hang on a second,' I said. I went to my truck, got my.45, and slipped it into my coat pocket. I'd intended to go inside with Renee anyway and look around to make sure nothing was amiss, and I figured I might as well have the pistol with me. Like with the bobcat, I felt slightly melodramatic. But between the Ackermans and the rifleman up in Phosphor, I was well reminded that criminals and sociopaths weren't all that hard to find.
When we walked through the house, she didn't notice anything out of place and the rooms and closets all seemed clear. But the signs of Ward's tenancy were painful to see-cracked plaster from objects being swung or thrown, scars on the floors, bathroom linoleum buckling from a sink that must have leaked for years. All the bedding and upholstered furniture was ruined; she'd had to buy a new mattress for her stay here, and had found a used Hide-A-Bed couch and armchair just so the living room wouldn't be too bleak.
We finished our tour and ended up back in the kitchen. 'I'm starving, and you must be, too,' she said. 'I'll see what I can rustle up. Let me just see who called.'
I poured us drinks while she checked the anwering machine-which she'd also had to replace, along with the phones, since Ward and his buddies had ripped off or destroyed the originals.
'Hi, Renee, it's Travis Paulson,' a man's voice said briskly. 'You know, we really didn't get to talk much, and I feel like we've got a lot of catching up to do. I'd love to take you to dinner.' He left three phone numbers, starting with his cell.
Her face showed her distaste. 'He must be kidding,' she murmured.
The machine's beep signaled a second message.
'Hi, sweetie. Are you there?' a different man said. He paused, as if expecting her to pick up. 'Okay-it's six- fifteen here. Give me a call.' This voice wasn't pushy, but it carried a quiet authority. I didn't have to wonder who it was.
'I'd better return that one,' Renee said apologetically. 'It might take a few minutes.'
'Actually, I'd appreciate a shower.' It wasn't that I'd gotten dirty working today, but freshening up sounded good, and it would get me out of the way while she talked to her fiance.
'Of course,' she said. 'Use the upstairs bathroom, it's decent. There are towels in the cupboard.'
I'd only glanced into the bathroom on our walk-through, just the same quick once-over I'd given the rest of the place. But when I stepped in this time I was hit on all sides by feminine presence, charming and intimate-the fragrance of soap and perfume, a melange of cosmetics and lotions, an aqua-colored razor on the bathtub's rim.
I hadn't lived with a woman since my divorce, just about ten years ago.
The hot water felt wonderful, reaching deep into my flesh to ease the chill that lingered in this kind of weather. I gave it plenty of time.
Walking back downstairs, I inhaled the aroma of frying beef and onions. Renee must have started cooking while she was on the phone, but she was done with the call, just adding a jar of store-bought spaghetti sauce to the ground beef. A pot of pasta was boiling beside it and rolls were warming in a toaster oven.
'It's nothing much, I'm afraid,' she said.
'It's a feast. And you're right, I'm starving.'
I'd noticed a small stash of firewood out back that the human rodents apparently had been too lazy to burn. I brought in an armload and got a blaze going in the living room fireplace. Then we dished up; Renee sat cross- legged in the living room armchair with her plate in her lap and I settled on the couch. It was so homey I was slightly embarrassed.
Except for the proverbial elephant that took up most of the room-Astrid's murder and the specters that had raised. Coming up with light conversation was tough.
But Renee gave it a brave try. 'Are you glad you came back here, after California?'
I didn't even have to think about it. 'This is where I belong.'
'The reason I'm asking is, it's been on my mind. Moving back into this place instead of selling.'
That stopped me with a bite poised on my fork. 'The hell. I thought you were-you know, had things pretty well planned out.'
'Yes and no. Ian-my fiance-and I do fine together. He's an internist, I've got a great job, it's a life most people would kill for. But-I know this sounds crazy, but it almost seems too sensible.'
'There's a lot to be said for a sensible life,' I said, although my own efforts at it had failed roundly. 'I suppose, uh, Ian, could find work here without any trouble.'
She lowered her gaze. 'If that was what we decided.' The words hung there for a few heartbeats before she sighed in exasperation. 'Dammit, I feel like I haven't talked about anything but my own problems.'
I finally got a notion of something to say that might be helpful.
'You don't need to entertain me, Renee. Go off by yourself whenever you're ready.'
She set her plate aside, and I saw that her eyes were damp. So much for helpful.
