While his mother and Mr. Johnson went back and forth, nobody else said anything. They were old friends, Ren knew, whose relationship went all the way back to when they were kids. He’d seen his mother tear into the man on many occasions when they disagreed over local issues. This was different. This was about family.
“I know the sheriff’s situation has nothing to do with Charlie and what happened to Max,” Johnson said. “I’d like to hear what she knows about her dad’s death.” He swiveled and eyed Charlie.
Ren eased closer to her so that their arms touched. Something in the way she looked at him sent a little electric jolt down his body, and he had to avert his eyes.
Mr. Johnson went on: “Three extraordinary events have occurred in town over the last two days. In a place like Bodine it’s hard to believe they’re not connected, eh. I’ll tell you what I see. One”-he held up his index finger-“Max is killed and Charlie runs away. Two: The next day a girl’s body is fished out of the lake. Not just any girl but someone with a connection to Providence House where we all know Charlie sometimes hangs out when her father’s on a tear. Three: That same evening, Stuart Gullickson is the victim of a hit-and-run that nearly kills him. Stuart is a friend of Charlie’s. You see what I see? Charlie’s linked to everything.”
“I didn’t do anything,” Charlie snapped at him.
“I didn’t say you did,” he said calmly. “But I believe you have a pretty good idea of what’s going on.”
“All we did was see her body, that’s all.”
“Where?”
Ren saw Cork raise his hand in an attempt to stop Charlie, but it was too late.
“In the Copper River,” she said.
Cork sat back, as if what happened now didn’t matter.
“In the river?” His large brow formed a puzzled overhang that shadowed his eyes.
“We didn’t really,” Ren said. “Stash did.”
“Stash?”
“Stuart,” Charlie clarified. “He saw it. Then Ren and me went looking for it that night and someone else was looking for it, too, on a boat. They saw us.”
He nodded slowly, and Ren figured he was putting things together.
“So they were afraid you might say something and went to your father’s place looking for you but found him instead. And he wouldn’t give you away.” He eyed Ren. “But nobody’s come after you?”
“They think it was Stash who was with Charlie. That’s why they tried to run him over.”
The man addressed Jewell. “Do the police know all this?”
“No,” she replied. “It sounded pretty far-fetched. We’ve been trying to get hold of something more solid we could offer them.”
“Have you?”
“Not yet. What are you going to do, Gary?”
He shook his head a moment, considering. “This is a lot just to sit on. I can’t believe the police haven’t put some of this together already.”
“The sheriff’s investigator probably doesn’t know Bodine. He may not realize the connection between Charlie and the dead girl. And there’s no way he’d connect Stuart with any of this.”
“What about Ned Hodder? He’d know.”
“I’m not sure what Ned’s told him,” Jewell said. “As I understand it, it’s not Ned’s jurisdiction. Gary, promise me you won’t talk to Ned. If anyone says anything to him, it should be us.”
“You’re asking a lot.”
“We could just tie you up and keep you in a closet until all this is finished,” Dina offered.
Ren laughed, but no one else did and he shut up quickly.
Mr. Johnson turned to her. “Dina Willner. Don’t think I don’t know about you.”
“Then you know not to mess with me.”
Mr. Johnson slowly stood. He towered over Dina. The way the two of them faced off reminded Ren of a sleek cougar confronting a grizzly bear.
“Wolverine two-time all-American defensive tackle,” Mr. Johnson said.
“Twenty years and thirty pounds ago,” she countered.
Cork laughed. “Gary, if she decides to wrestle you into a closet, believe me, you don’t stand a chance.”
Mr. Johnson said, “What I do or don’t do will be because of Jewell and Ren and Charlie, because they’re important to me.”
Dina stared at him in a way that, had it been Ren, he’d have melted in a puddle of terrorized flesh.
“Despite your vocation,” she finally said, “I believe you’re not a bad guy at heart. I suggest you listen to that heart.”
“He’s on our side, really,” Ren’s mother offered.
“I’ll have to take your word on that,” Dina said.
“Tell you what I’ll do.” Mr. Johnson turned himself so that he spoke, more or less, to all the adults. “No more calls that might jeopardize you, Sheriff.”
“I appreciate that.”
“And I won’t do anything that might expose Charlie or Ren to any more danger than they might be in already. But I want a promise.”
“What?” Ren’s mother said.
“That in the end this story is mine, Jewell. You don’t talk to the Mining Journal. You don’t talk to 60 Minutes. You talk to me.”
“All right.”
Dina said, “You’re used to reporting church suppers and town council meetings. What makes you think you can handle a story like this?”
Johnson glanced at Jewell. “You want to tell them?”
“Gary’s got a Pulitzer,” she said.
Dina looked at him skeptically. “For publishing the Marquette County Courier?”
“I returned to Bodine five years ago to take over the paper when my father died. For ten years before that I was a correspondent for the New York Times. Covered Desert Storm, then Africa. I’ve been in more firefights than most combat soldiers, Ms. Willner. Wounded twice. Care to see the scars?”
“I’ll pass,” she said.
“One more thing.”
They all waited. Mr. Johnson swung his eyes toward Ren and Charlie.
“Don’t do anything stupid,” he said seriously. “I’m pretty fond of you all.” He nodded in parting and started toward the door. “If I hear anything I think you ought to know, I’ll tell you, okay?”
“Thanks, Gary.”
“All this in Bodine.” He shook his head.
“Know what this reminds me of?” Ren’s mother said as he opened the door. “Tom Messinger.”
He stood a moment looking out at the afternoon. “Another sad chapter in the history of Bodine.” He closed the door behind him.
Cork watched until Mr. Johnson drove away, then he turned to Jewell. “A Pulitzer prize? Jesus, did I underestimate him. And who’s this Tom Messinger?”
“The boogeyman,” Ren said.
“Don’t, Ren,” Jewell said. “Tom was no monster. He was just a kid who did something… incomprehensible.”
“What?” Cork asked.
“It was more than twenty years ago,” Jewell said. “Ancient history.”
“I’d like to hear it.”
“A girl was found in Lake Superior just south of town. She turned out to be a runaway. Murdered. For a while it didn’t appear that it would be solved. Then Tom Messinger hung himself in his mother’s basement. There was a note in his pocket confessing to the murder. It was tough on everybody in Bodine. Tom was a decent kid. We all liked him. He quarter-backed the football team, was looking at a full scholarship to his choice of schools. It was so bizarre.”
“How’d it happen? Any idea?”
