Vermilion Drift

“Trespass with criminal intent, maybe. Vandalism.” He leveled a long look at Jesse. “His heart was in the right place, and I think even the people who own the mine aren’t excited about the prospect of dumping nuclear waste there, so I’m guessing that, when the whole story’s known, no charges will be brought. That’s certainly the recommendation I’ll make to the mine people and the sheriff.”

St. Onge said, “I think I need to have a talk with Isaiah Broom.”

“Get in line, Leroy,” Cork said.

“Can we go now?” Jesse asked.

“As far as I’m concerned,” Cork told him. “Look, I’ll do what I can to make things easy for you, Jesse, but the sheriff’s people will want to talk to you.”

He made a sour face. “Ah, man.”

“I’ll be there with you,” his uncle said and put his hand on the boy’s shoulder.

“Mind giving us a few minutes alone, Cork?” Blessing asked.

“No. I need to go outside and make a call on my cell phone anyway. Meet you at your truck?”

“Fine.”

Cork left the way he’d come. Outside, he could hear Trixie barking in the park next to the marina a block away, and he saw Manypenny throwing a Frisbee, which Trixie was having a great time chasing down. He plucked his cell phone from its belt holster, pulled up the number from which Rainy Bisonette had called two nights earlier, and punched redial. While he waited, he watched Trixie having the best time she’d had since Stephen left for West Texas. He made a mental note: Play more with the dog.

Rainy answered, her voice distant and impersonal. “Yes, Cork?”

“Boozhoo,” he said, trying to be cordial.

“What do you want?”

All business, this woman. All right then, he thought, and got down to it.

“What time did Isaiah Broom leave Crow Point yesterday?”

“Early. Shortly after sunup.”

“Any idea where he was headed?”

“He didn’t say.”

“Is Henry there?”

“No. He’s out gathering.”

Herbs, Cork figured.

“How did Broom seem when he left?”

“Hungover. Worried.”

“Did Henry talk to him?”

“Not really. Broom hurried off like a man on a mission. Uncle Henry couldn’t persuade him to stay.”

“Thanks, Rainy.”

“For what?”

He meant to say for the information she’d just given him. But what came out was “For taking care of Henry. I love that old man.”

Her end of the line was quiet. “So do I,” she finally said, speaking more gently than she ever had to Cork.

When he hung up, he headed immediately back into the community center. He ran into Blessing outside the open gym doors and spoke over the squeak of rubber soles on urethane.

“I need a favor, Tom.”

“Ask.”

“I need to borrow your truck for a little while.”

Blessing reached into the pocket of his pants, pulled out his keys, and handed them over.

“Is it okay if Elgin plays a little longer with Trixie?” Cork asked.

“How long will you be?”

“Not long if I can find the man I’m looking for.”

“Broom?” Blessing guessed.

“Broom,” Cork said.

THIRTY-EIGHT

Isaiah Broom lived in a cabin of his own design and making. It stood at the end of a short stretch of dirt track in a small clearing a couple of miles east of Allouette. Where the track split from the asphalt of the main road, Broom had pounded a post and hung a sign from it: Chainsaw Art.

As Cork drove into the clearing, he spotted Broom in front of the cabin, shirtless, a big Stihl chain saw in his hands, working on a section of maple log that stood six feet high. The noise of the saw drowned out the sound of Blessing’s truck, and Broom didn’t notice Cork’s approach until the vehicle pulled to a stop in a shroud of red dust.

Broom shut off the chain saw and watched Cork come. He didn’t put the Stihl down. In the heat of the summer afternoon, his powerful torso dripped with sweat.

“Isaiah.”

“What do you want, O’Connor?”

“How’s the head?” Cork asked.

“Huh?”

“Heard from Rainy that you were a little hungover the other day. I know how that feels. You okay now?”

“My head’s fine,” Broom said.

“Aren’t you going to ask about mine?”

“Why should I?”

“Somebody whacked me good yesterday. Right here.” Cork pointed toward the back of his head. “Still a little tender, but I’m okay. Thanks for your concern.”

Broom finally lowered the chain saw to the ground, where it sat amid chips and sawdust. “What’s your game, O’Connor?”

“Looks like it’s going to be twenty questions. What did you do with the things you raked up at your uncle’s cabin?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I was out at Indigo Broom’s yesterday morning. Just wanted to see the place for myself. Or what remained of it, which wasn’t much. I stumbled onto a couple of items that made me believe some of the things I’ve been thinking lately about your uncle are true. Then I get hit on the head, and when I come to these things are gone, along with anything else that might incriminate your uncle.”

“I wouldn’t go spreading rumors about my family if I was you, O’Connor.”

“See, right there, that’s the point.”

“What point?”

“I can’t think of anybody who’d care what I said about Indigo Broom except you. And I know you were no fan of the man. So the only thing that makes sense to me is that you’re trying to protect your family and your family’s name. You don’t want it associated with the kinds of things your uncle did. Considering the monster he was, if I was you, I wouldn’t want that either. Family’s important, Isaiah, and should be protected. I get that.”

Broom’s hands drew themselves into fists. “Get out of here, O’Connor.”

“So the first thing I want to say is that my head’s all right, and, all things considered, there’s no need for you to apologize.” Cork gave him a quick smile, then went on. “Now we come to the part that’s more troublesome. I just had a long talk with Jesse St. Onge. I know you put him up to the graffiti in the mine. I know you showed him the way in and you cut through the wall in the Vermilion Drift and led him to the place you wanted him to put his