owed. Unless the mob’s involved. If it’s money, it’s usually about greed. If it’s not money, then it’s love or anger or revenge. Do any of those fit?”
She thought for a while, shaking her head the whole time. “She was so loved by everyone. She was such a remarkable person. I don’t know why anyone would want her dead.”
“Probably there’s a lot about her you didn’t know. People hide things. Think for a minute. Anything come to mind? Derek, for example.”
“Derek?”
“That handsome young artist at the center.”
“I know who Derek is.”
“I got strange vibes from him today. Is it possible there was something between him and Lauren?”
The features of her face squeezed up, as if Cork had offered her something foul. “That’s impossible.”
“Is it?” Cork asked. “Lauren was a beautiful woman, unattached, as nearly as I can tell. Derek’s a nice looking kid. And he didn’t strike me as the shy type.”
Ophelia shook her head adamantly. “What happened to Lauren definitely has nothing to do with Derek.”
There was no reason for Cork to convince her otherwise, so he said, “All right, let’s try something else. She has her own wing at the Parrant estate. Sorry, the center. It has an entrance of its own?”
“Yes.”
“And she’s created that little getaway for herself in the boathouse. Have you ever seen anyone come or go using her private entrance, or visit her at the boathouse, particularly at night?”
“No.” She raised an eyebrow. “But I’m not usually there at night.”
“Which is when someone who didn’t want to be seen visiting would probably visit. Who is there at night?”
“Joyce, our housekeeper. She has a room down the hall from my office, but she’s never at the center on weekends.”
“Still, someone should talk to her.”
“Why not you?”
“Because I’m not part of the official investigation.”
Although he could be, if he wanted. All he had to do was accept the sheriff’s offer. The idea was beginning to have its attractions.
Ophelia said, “Jenny told me once that her mom hated you being sheriff.”
“With good reason.”
“But you could help out this one time, couldn’t you? I mean, this is in a good cause, right?”
“That’s exactly what I used to tell Jo,” Cork said. “And her response was always that, when the bullets start flying, a good cause is a poor shield.”
“You think there could be flying bullets?” She seemed caught by surprise.
“That’s the problem with business like this, Ophelia. You never know.” Cork pointed to the courthouse behind them. “The clock on that tower. The hands are stuck.”
“I know this story,” she said.
Hell, everyone in Aurora probably knew the story, but Cork repeated it anyway.
“That clock was hit by bullets during an exchange of gunfire between my father and some men who’d just robbed the bank. My dad was fatally shot during that exchange. The hands of the clock haven’t moved since. People around here think of it as a kind of fitting memorial. For me, it’s a reminder that, when guns are involved, people you love can be lost forever.”
“Jenny told me you stopped carrying a gun. So, if bullets start flying, what do you do?”
“Duck and run, Ophelia. Duck and run.”
TEN
A few minutes before ten, Cork headed to Sam’s Place to give a hand with closing. Judy Madsen was a terrific manager, but she never closed. She didn’t like being out after dark, so Cork usually made sure he was there to supervise.
It was a Monday night, not particularly busy. Judy had put Kate Buker and Jodi Bollendorf, two great kids, on the schedule. They were Anne’s friends, who’d worked for Cork during their high school years and who, home from college for the summer, were putting in time again. They both wanted to be lawyers.
He’d parked his Land Rover and was just about to head inside when Max Cavanaugh pulled up in his Escalade and got out.
“Got a minute, Cork?” he said.
“Sure, Max.”
Mounted on a tall pole above the parking lot was a yard light so bright it made the gravel look like dirty snow. Cavanaugh stood in the glare, clearly troubled. He glanced toward Sam’s Place, then at the dark along the shoreline of Iron Lake.
“Over there,” he said.
Cork followed to the old dock he maintained for boaters who wanted to come off the lake for a burger and needed a place to tie up. Cavanaugh strolled to the end. Another step and he would have been in the water. He stood looking down the shoreline toward the lights of town. In the right mood, he might have understood, as Cork did, how lovely it was: the black surface where the lights danced; the sky above salted with stars and hung with a crescent moon thin as a clipped fingernail; the quiet in which, if Cork listened closely, he was sure he could hear the earth breathe.
“I just came from Nelson’s Funeral Home,” Cavanaugh said, his back to Cork.
Nelson’s was where the autopsies for Tamarack County were performed. For a long time, Sigurd Nelson had been the coroner and did the job himself. In one of his last battles as sheriff, Cork had convinced the county commissioners to hire a certified medical examiner. Now Dr. Tom Conklin, a retired surgeon, handled the function. But the funeral home was still where the job was done.
Cork said, “I’m sorry, Max.”
Cavanaugh hunched his shoulders, dark against the broader dark of the water. “The sheriff wanted me to identify my sister’s body. How could I identify that? Christ, how could anyone?”
There wasn’t much to say to that. Rhetorical, Cork figured. Frustrated, angry, devastated, and rhetorical.
Cavanaugh turned back to Cork. “You found her.” It sounded a little like an accusation.
“Lou Haddad and I.”
“The authorities don’t know anything. Or wouldn’t tell me. Which is it?”
“A little of both, I suspect,” Cork replied.
Cavanaugh took a step. Not threatening. “What do you know?”
“That I can tell you?”
“You’re working for me, remember?”
“Technically, Max, my job is finished. Your sister’s been found.”
Cork didn’t have to see the man’s face to sense his rage.
“I want to know everything you know,” Cavanaugh said. “God damn it, I’ll pay you.”
“It’s not about money, Max. In a situation like this, there are good reasons for not making everything public.”
“My sister’s dead. I have a right to know things.”
“And you will. It’ll just take some time.”
