“What’s this about, Vaneese? Why all the secrecy?”
“I needed to warn you. It’s Stanley. I’ve never seen him like this before. I think he plans on hurting someone.”
39
We sat in her car to get out of the weather. It was a Subaru Crosstrek, late model, low miles. The absence of dog hairs on the upholstery told me Ferox was not permitted rides. Although the interior was as clean-smelling as could be, a tree-shaped air freshener hung from the rearview mirror.
Vaneese kept digging the nails of her right hand into her thigh, leaving scratches in the denim. Every stray car that passed, its headlights sweeping the inside of the Subaru, made her catch her breath.
I tapped the fragrant triangle of cardboard dangling before us. “Do you know what cops used to call these?”
She shook her head.
“Felony forests.”
“I don’t understand the term.”
“People carrying drugs think air fresheners mask the smell of narcotics in a car. All these things do is give the sniffer dogs sore sinuses. A person could write a thesis about criminals and their folklore. Maybe I should consider going back to school when I retire.”
She had no response to this digression, but as I’d hoped, it worked to put her at ease.
“I almost didn’t recognize your poor SUV,” she said in her lovely accent. “Were you in an accident?”
“I slipped off the road in the rain,” I said.
“Were you hurt?”
“Thank you for asking, but no, I’m uninjured—for once.” The windows began to fog. “What’s this about, Vaneese? Why do you think Stan is planning on hurting someone?
“After you and the other warden left,” she said, “Stanley went into the guest room and brought out the boxes of files. He spread the papers on the dining room table. He was trying to discover what you’d been looking for. It was early, but he had begun to drink heavily. I went to take a shower. When I came downstairs, I saw him outside, talking to Edouard. He seemed very angry, very insistent. I saw him give my brother the keys to the farm truck.”
I had a vision of a pickup roaring up behind me along the river road. I heard the crash of my bumper crumpling. “What does this farm truck look like?”
“It’s old and rusty. Edouard uses it to carry firewood when he cuts a tree.”
“Do you know what a monster truck is?”
“Like from a demolition derby?”
“Does the farm truck have big tires? Does it ride high off the ground?”
“Yes, I suppose.”
The thought of Kellam dispatching Edouard Delhomme to kill me was absurd. That wasn’t to say it was impossible.
“Where did Stan tell Edouard to go?” I asked.
“Le trou du rat. That’s Edouard’s name for the cabin. It’s a place he hides sometimes from the ICE agents. I have never been there. I don’t think Stanley wants me to know where it is in case I’m ever interviewed by the Border Patrol.”
“Did you believe him? Did you believe that’s where Edouard went?”
“At first, yes, but when I asked why Stan thought ICE was coming, he wouldn’t say. He went into his den and locked the door, and I think he called someone. When he came out, he was very red in the face. His safe is inside. It is where he locks up his guns. He took a pistol but tried to hide it in his raincoat. I could see the impression.”
“Did he tell you he was driving up here?”
“He said he thought he might be able to help the police catch the man who killed the girl. I asked him if he knew this Evangeline, and he said he met her a long time ago when she was a child. He knew her mother, he said.”
“Stan and I had lunch together this afternoon.” I resisted the urge to take her hand lest she misunderstand the intent of the gesture. “I can’t say he was in a good mood, but he didn’t seem like he was hell-bent on murder.”
“Stan is an expert at hiding his emotions.”
Not in my experience.
“You must’ve heard or seen something to make you so worried. You need to tell me what it was.”
She stared at the misted windshield.
“Vaneese?”
“When he was in his den, I put my ear to the door. He was trying not to be loud, but I heard him say, ‘He’s going to destroy me.’ And then he didn’t want me to see that he took a pistol. Stanley doesn’t hide his guns, because he is proud of them. He takes me target shooting.”
“You’re sure about the pistol?”
“I have the combination to the safe. It is a series of numbers. In case I need to protect myself while he is away. After he left, I went into the den to check, and he had changed the combination.”
“Might he have done that before and forgotten to tell you?”
“No, because he told me to get a pistol yesterday while you were out on the lake. He never explained why. It was as if he expected someone dangerous to come to the lodge while he was gone. It was the usual combination.”
I didn’t know what to make of this admission, that while we’d been fishing, Stan had told Vaneese to arm herself. It was hardly comforting.
“I have never seen him violent before,” she said. “But I have seen men before they commit violent acts.”
As a foundation upon which to build a theory—that Stanley Kellam had come to the St. John Valley to injure some unnamed person—I wouldn’t have called it rock-solid. But that was me thinking like a police officer. Vaneese knew and loved Kellam and understood when he was acting out of his worst impulses.
“What has Stan told you about Scott Pellerin’s disappearance?” I asked.
“That it was Scott’s own fault. That he was cocky and gave himself away. Because Stan was the supervisor, though, everyone blamed him. They said he should have gotten Scott out of the situation sooner. Your
