“In that case, I’ll accept your offer.”
Of course you will, his smug expression seemed to say.
Vaneese showed me how to get online. Evidently, the construction of the tree-shaped cell tower had been a precondition of hers before she agreed to join Stan Kellam in his North Woods redoubt. She showed me to my guest room—already prepared—and gave me the WiFi password.
“Can I ask you a question?” I asked.
“You want to know if I get lonely here?”
“That wasn’t the question, but I can’t deny it’s been on my mind. I’m a loner by nature, but even I need people from time to time.”
“I have Edouard.”
“True, but—”
“You’re not married, I can see from your finger. Do you have a girlfriend?”
“She’s the first person I need to call.”
“And you love her? No, I shouldn’t ask that question. Let me ask instead. Would you be lonely in this beautiful place if you were together with the woman you loved?”
“It would depend.”
“On what?”
“On whether my dog was here, too.”
I decided not to mention the wolf’s complicated genealogy to avoid having to answer twenty more questions.
She laughed. “Is he a big dog like Ferox?”
“Bigger.”
Her eyes widened. “Really? Is he dangerous, too?”
There was something about this woman that compelled me to be utterly truthful with her. “Yes.”
“What is his name?”
“Shadow.”
“He is black, then?”
“I wasn’t the one who gave him that name,” I blurted out.
Her smile became one of amusement at my expense. She and I were close in age, but I couldn’t help feeling that her life experience had made her wiser than I would ever be.
“Fantôme. That would be his French name.”
“I like it better.”
“I prefer Shadow.”
She left me alone to change out of my wet clothes.
As was always the case when my phone had been off, I was greeted by a series of bell chimes as message after message announced itself in my queue.
Major Shorey had left me a summons to appear in Augusta in two days to present my report to the full hiring panel. My written summary of the covered-up assaults committed by Wheelwright had not proven sufficient to torpedo the pilot’s application. I wouldn’t have put it past the disgraced pilot to have appealed his case directly to Shorey.
Logan Cronk had provided me with another serving of Fantôme in the form of a picture showing the wolf pressing his dark muzzle against the steel fence. His eyes—as yellow as powdered sulfur—revealed nothing about his canine intentions. I worried what treat the boy might’ve offered to draw the animal in close for photographic purposes.
Stacey had left me a text message:
I know this is going to sound insane, but I’ve been thinking about the chief pilot position. Yeah, yeah, the department fired me. I have no law enforcement background, but neither did Wheelwright. What do I have to lose by applying? Talk me out of this, please.
The prospect of Stacey Stevens returning to Maine awakened so many conflicting emotions I had to perform a deep-breathing exercise I used at the shooting range to calm myself.
There were no inquiries from Ora. As worried as she might be, she would wait for me to contact her, because she trusted that I would share whatever news I had. How I loved that dear woman.
Most worryingly, there was still nothing from Dani—not a text, not an email, not a voice message.
She didn’t pick up the first time I called. I left a message telling her where I was and that I had a signal and she should call me back as soon as possible. A minute later, she did so.
“Sorry, I was asleep.”
I glanced at my watch. After having worked the overnight for a year, she had been transferred to the day shift. “You’re not at work?”
“They sent me home.”
So much for my internal steadiness. “Why?”
“I fell down in the parking lot.”
“What?”
“It was just dizziness. If I were a man, they wouldn’t have made a big deal about it, but a woman trips and the guys get all protective and condescending. They wanted to drive me back to the house because they were ‘concerned.’ It’s fucking bullshit.”
The sentiments were familiar—Dani had legitimate grievances against the men with whom she worked—but her voice sounded weird, almost as if she were stoned.
“How do you feel now?” I asked cautiously.
“Tired.”
“Maybe I should drive down there.”
“Do you ever listen? I just said how pissed off I was about how those men treated me. I’m not some helpless girl, Mike.”
Who is this person?
“I never said you were, Dani.”
“But you’re acting like I am.” There was, no doubt, a slight slur in her voice. “I don’t mean to be a bitch, but can we change the subject, please? Have you found Charley?”
“No, I haven’t. I’m sorry, but I need to know you’re all right. Have you taken your temperature?”
“This is pointless.”
And with that, she hung up.
I sat on the bed looking blankly at the phone. Earlier that day, she had fainted or nearly fainted. She was irritable and combative in a way I had never observed before. Anxiety began to bubble in my stomach.
It would take me close to six hours to drive from Kellam’s place to her rented house in the town of New Gloucester. It would be dark soon, and I’d have to dodge moose for the first hours. John Smith had run his motorcycle into one near here. But I felt the tug of conscience telling me to go.
I was still deciding when Kellam shouted up the stairs that cocktail hour had begun.
27
Knowing his perverse sense of humor, I thought Kellam might serve me lake trout. Instead Vaneese had prepared another Haitian-inspired dish. My plate was piled high with what looked like spanish rice, sautéed onions, and some
