'What are you doing with it?' Astrid retorted, shrilly, without her usual cool. 'How dare you go through my things.'
'That's a brat's answer. You're acting like a little girl; you think you're playing a game.'
'Oh, I know it's real-you're the one who does nothing but talk.'
Then they lowered their voices and moved farther into the house; maybe they'd realized they might wake Renee. She only caught a few more words at the brief argument's end. As the Professor's footsteps stomped across the floor, Astrid called bitingly after him:
'Go ahead! I'll just get another set.'
Renee heard the back door close, and went to a window. Her father was striding across the yard to his study in the carriage house, carrying a scroll or tube that looked like a rolled-up poster. A minute later, sparks rose from the woodstove chimney; at a guess, he was burning it. She watched for some time longer, but he didn't come out again.
Renee had thought hard about the incident, trying to reconstruct it in detail, and had connected some dots. First, she was almost certain that in Astrid's final taunt to Callister-that she would 'just get another'-she had used the word 'set.' That was a term commonly used for blueprints, site maps, and general construction plans-which were usually carried in longish rolled-up scrolls.
Second, Astrid's lover, the one who had been murdered with her, was a manager in the Dodd Company-the backers of the silver mine that she had fought.
Third, Astrid had been involved with a group of radical environmentalists, and she had talked seriously about blowing up the mine.
Not much had ever been done with this aspect of the crime. While it was conceivable that her lover was the intended target rather than Astrid, nobody gave that much credence. There was a ton of hostility toward her but none toward him, at least that had ever surfaced. He'd just been unlucky enough to be there. The affair itself didn't seem to have any particular significance; it was assumed to be a case of sleeping with the enemy, with attraction prevailing over antagonism-if not exactly time-honored, certainly not unknown. He was close to Astrid's age, was more appealing physically than her twenty-years-older husband, and the forbidden-fruit aspect would have added spice.
But maybe lust and kicks hadn't been the only impetus for the affair. What if she had really seduced him to get information-such as a set of construction plans-to help her pinpoint sabotage targets? That was the kind of intrigue she had delighted in, and he wouldn't necessarily have known her real object.
Callister's fury at finding the blueprint-like scroll, and the fierce words that Renee had overheard, did lend credence to that scenario. And that opened up yet another labyrinth of possibilities, one even murkier than what we'd encountered so far.
Needless to say, Renee was determined to explore it.
I went back into the cabin to make breakfast-bacon, eggs scrambled with cheddar cheese in a little of the bacon grease, sourdough bread toasted in an iron skillet, and more of that rich coffee.
My gaze kept straying to the sight of the sleeping woman in my bed-her cloud of dark mussed-up hair, a glimpse of bare nape, the sweet curve of her hips under the quilt. It had taken some maneuvering last night to keep my ribs comfortable, but we'd managed quite well. My condition was definitely improving.
The tomcat had settled in behind her knees and was purring quietly, waiting for me to serve the meal. I was happy to oblige.
40
Renee ate sitting up in bed, wearing one of my T-shirts-we'd never gotten around to unpacking her car last night-with the cat and me flanking her on opposite sides. He could put away bacon like a black hole sucking down a galaxy, and she was a soft touch; he beat her out of damned near every other bite.
'I've decided to sell the house,' she said.
I nodded, although that gave me a little pang. But it made all the sense in the world, and it didn't necessarily mean she wouldn't stay in Helena.
'What about the repairs?' I said.
'I'll get somebody to finish cleaning up-not you; don't even think about it. Otherwise, it goes on the market as is. I know that's a mistake, but I just can't deal with it anymore.'
'That's not a mistake.'
'Well, this probably is-I'm going to let Evvie Jessup handle the sale. She called me in Seattle when she heard about the shooting. All gushy about how glad she was that I was okay, but really, she was keeping her foot in the door.'
'I don't see why it should matter,' I said. 'She's a professional. You might want to make sure she discloses the rat problem.'
'It's just that I'm uncomfortable with her. But she knows the place, I don't have to hassle finding somebody else and showing them around, all that.'
'You're dodging a bullet, too,' I said. 'If you went with somebody else, she'd never forgive you.'
'Amen,' Renee said solemnly.
I stood up and reached for her empty plate, but she caught my hand and held it.
'I've already dragged you into such a mess,' she said. 'Are you sure you want to keep going?'
I'd said much the same thing to Madbird once; he'd answered much the way I felt now, and those words came to my mind. But they were a notch too colorful for this situation, so I toned them down.
'Ever hear an old song called 'Riot in Cell Block Number Nine'?' I said.
'No. It must have been before my time.'
'There's a line that goes something like, 'Scarface Jones said it's too late to quit-pass the dymamite, 'cause the fuse is lit.''
She smiled and gave my hand a grateful squeeze.
It wasn't yet eight o'clock, too early for Evvie Jessup's office to be open, so Renee called her at home. Evvie was surprised to hear that Renee was back in town, and thrilled to get the news about the house sale. She said she'd hurry in to her office and be there by the time we got to town.
I cleaned up the dishes and made the round of morning chores while Renee showered-I'd have lobbied to get in there with her but the space was small, and while usually that would be a wet soapy delight, an elbow to my ribs was inevitable-then took my own turn.
When that was all done, I tried Tom Dierdorff's phone. He answered with Monday morning grumpiness.
'Sounds like you're getting ready to sweet-talk a jury,' I said.
'Sorry. I like to drink kerosene to get me going, but the doctor made me switch to coffee. Just doesn't have the same bite.'
'Yeah, but you can start smoking again.'
'Goddamn, I never thought of that. You're a fucking Pollyanna, Huey.'
'It's a mick thing. Hey, I'll stop wasting your valuable pissed-off time. Any chance I can talk to that tree- spiker you defended in the Dead Silver deal? Some new twists have come along.'
There came one of his considered pauses.
'I'll ask him, if I can find him. He was living in Missoula, but we haven't been in touch for quite a while.'
'I'd really appreciate it, Tom. This is important.'
'I'll get right on it. You still healing okay?' He was one of the friends who'd called to check on me after I'd been shot.
'Never better,' I said, glancing at Renee.
I gave him Renee's cell phone number in case he got the information while we went to town to deal with Evvie. Then Renee and I packed overnight bags to take with us so we could head straight to Missoula without having to come back here.
Missoula was a hundred-plus miles west of Helena, on the other side of the Rockies and the Continental Divide. The division between here and there wasn't just geographical; it aptly symbolized a deep social and political
