“No,” he said.
“He’s smooth,” I said. “He has a way of making you trust him. Especially women.”
“That’s impossible.”
“Think about it,” I said. “He came back here when you were at work. When your son was out doing whatever it is he does. He’s got a job or something, right? Let me guess; he works at a gym.”
“Yes, he does.”
“Delilah was here alone,” I said. “He came back. He talked to her. He told her about how he remembered her mother after all these years, how he just wanted to see her again, how he was going to try to help her…”
Leopold didn’t say anything. He stood there on the front lawn, shaking his head slowly. “No,” he said, so softly I could barely hear him. “No.”
He was still standing there on the lawn when I left. The image of him looking down at the dead April grass, shaking his head, it stayed in my mind all the way back to the expressway, all the way west across the state, with the map the bartender had made to get me to Orcus Beach.
When Delilah got home from school that day, she’d find her uncle Leopold waiting for her with some tough questions. Maybe it would be a relief to tell him her secret, that yes, the man had come back and asked her about Maria. She thought she was doing the right thing. She thought she could trust him.
You charmed another one, Randy. Maybe for the last time.
CHAPTER 14
It felt as if I had already logged a thousand miles that day, but back I went across the state as the sun went down, right through Grand Rapids, until I hit Lake Michigan. I turned north in Muskegon, running up M-31 to the outer edges of the Manistee National Forest. I passed a couple towns called Whitehall and Montague, the last real towns I’d see before heading to the shoreline. There was a sign inviting me to come see the world’s largest weather vane, but a man can only take so much excitement in one day. I took a little road called B-5 to a tiny place called Stony Lake, and then the road started calling itself Scenic Drive. It didn’t matter what they called the road, because you wouldn’t even be on it unless you knew where you were going. There were a few summer houses looking out over the water, then long stretches of road with nothing but pine trees. I had the bartender’s hand- drawn map on the seat next to me. I knew I was on the right road, and I was just starting to wonder if he had led me into the middle of nowhere as a joke, when I finally came to an intersection and the only traffic light I’d seen since leaving Montague, WELCOME TO ORCUS BEACH, the sign said. Below those words was the same picture I had seen on Chief Rudiger’s hat, with the cannon sitting on the mound of sand.
I drove through the town. It was dark. The only streetlights on the main road were mounted on wooden poles in front of the businesses-a gas station, an IGA market, a little video store. There were neighborhoods spreading out into the darkness on either side of the road, behind the businesses. From what little I could see, it looked like the bigger houses were on the west side of town, facing the water, or facing away from the town, depending on how you thought about it.
The town hall was on the west side of the street, attached to the fire department. I pulled into the lot and drove all around the place, thinking maybe I’d see a squad car. I didn’t. I stopped the truck and got out, went to the door in the back marked ORCUS BEACH POLICE DEPARTMENT. Looking through the glass door, I could see one desk with a police radio on it, a map on the wall, a bulletin board with a calendar stuck to it. There was nobody there. Maybe Chief Rudiger is on his way to Farmington, I thought. Maybe he’s following the hot lead I gave him about the shotgun.
Or maybe he was home reading the paper.
I got back in the truck and completed my tour of the place. The last streetlight in town burned high on its pole in the middle of an empty parking lot grown over with weeds. To the north, there was nothing but empty road leading into the night.
I turned around in the parking lot, my headlights sweeping across the building. It was a simple two-story rectangle, gray and silent, with thick glass block windows high on the walls overlooking the road. I remembered the county deputy saying something about a furniture factory closing. This must have been it.
I circled back into the center of town, back to the one gas station on the corner with the traffic light. It looked like there had been another station across the street, but that place was as empty as the factory. Even the pumps were gone.
I pulled in and gassed up for the second time that day. It was the old style of gas station, no roof over the pumps, no minimart to sell you beef jerky. Just a cash register inside, a shelfful of motor oil, and a rack of maps. The man came out and watched me as I pumped the gas. He was wearing overalls with STU written over the breast pocket in red script.
“Nice town you got here,” I said.
He looked out at the street like he needed to see for himself. “This town?”
“Have you seen Chief Rudiger?” I said.
“You looking for him?”
I gave myself a few seconds before answering him. The kind of day I was having, I didn’t want to start taking it out on innocent bystanders.
“Yeah,” I said. “I’m looking for him.”
“Haven’t seen him,” he said.
“Okay,” I said. I watched the numbers race by on the pump. I was about to set a new record for the most expensive tank of gas I’d ever put in the truck, thanks to the jacked-up price this guy was charging. I guess he had a corner on the market.
“Everybody in town gas up here?” I said.
“Of course,” he said, leaning on the pump. “Why not?”
Because you could buy a gallon of beer for less than what you’re charging for a gallon of gasoline. “Oh, I just figure you know everybody in town,” I said. I gave him a smile.
“Yeah, most of ’em,” he said. “I suppose.”
“I’m looking for a woman named Maria,” I said. “You know anybody in town named Maria?”
“Not off the top of my head,” he said.
“Okay, no problem.”
“In fact,” he said, “I’m pretty certain that there’s nobody in this entire town with that name.”
I finished up the gas, squeezing it up to the next dollar. “Fair enough,” I said, pulling out some cash for the man.
When he took it, he gave me a long look in the eye. “You said you were looking for the chief?” he said.
“I’m sure I’ll see him,” I said. “Eventually.”
“I could give him a message,” he said. “I mean, if you don’t want to wait around. He might not be back for a while. He goes away for days on end sometimes.”
“He should be back,” I said. “He’s working on a case. I understand you had a shooting here yesterday.”
“Oh, yeah,” he said. “Yeah, we did.”
“Must have everybody in town pretty shaken up,” I said. “I don’t imagine you get many shootings.”
“Not too often,” he said. He looked at the ground.
“Where can I get something to eat around here?” I said.
“There’s a real good place down in Whitehall.”
“That’s twenty miles away. There’s no place here in town?”
“Not really,” he said. “There’s no place to speak of here. Not for eating.”
“What about that place down there?” I said, nodding my head toward the only two-story building on the block. The sign over the door said ROCKY'S.
“Oh, Rocky’s,” he said. “That’s more of a bar really. If you want something to eat, you should go down to Whitehall.”
“Actually, I could use a bar right now.” I gave him a slap on the back. I couldn’t resist. “Thanks for the recommendation, Stu.”
