“Ready, yes.”
She leaned her shoulder against the window glass and stared up into his face. “You were sheriff once. Didn’t you carry a gun then?”
“I did.”
“But something happened?”
“Yeah, something happened. I got tired of the weight.”
She held out the Guardian. “It’s so light you’ll barely notice it.”
“Not the kind of weight I was talking about.”
She sighed and pocketed the firearm. “I know.” She pushed gently away from the window. “I suppose I should go to bed.”
Cork said, “If you want to stick around, it’s fine by me. I’m too wired to sleep. And I wouldn’t mind the company.”
She stayed.
“You and Becca, friends long?” he asked.
“We go way back. We met when we were going to school in Madison. We remained in touch, remained friends. When the whole mess with Sandy came up, she asked for my help.”
They were quiet for a while.
“Big house,” Cork finally said.
“Big for just me, you mean.”
“Nope. Big, period.”
She laughed softly. “Sorry. It’s a line I get sometimes. Men-or some men, I should say-seem to think there’s something wrong with a woman liking to be alone.”
“I figure it’s something that depends a lot on what you’re used to.”
She thought about that. “Becca has a hard time being alone in her house in Rice Lake.”
“Two places I get lonely,” Cork said. “My wife had an office in our house. It’s still hard to be in there sometimes.”
“And the other?”
He shrugged. “The bed’s too big. I still sleep on the half I’ve always slept on.”
The talking died again. The only sound came from the waves breaking on the shore beyond the dunes.
“You loved her.” It wasn’t a question.
“That I did. And though it doesn’t do me any good, I still do.”
“You won’t let yourself hope that she might still be alive?”
“It wouldn’t make sense.” He eyed the bone white dunes. “You should go to bed.”
“You’re right.” She looked like she was going to say something more but just said, “Good night,” then turned and walked away.
He stayed at the window. When he was sure he was alone, he said quietly, “And it would hurt too much.”
TWENTY-NINE
After breakfast the next morning, Burns drove them into Duluth, and Parmer bought a BlackBerry to replace the one he’d lost to the river the night before. Then she took them to the airport, where Parmer rented another Navigator and they said their good-byes. Parmer took the wheel. They arrived in Aurora shortly before noon, and their first stop was the Tamarack County Sheriff’s Office. Marsha Dross was one of the people Cork had called the night before from the emergency room.
“It’s a fascinating story, Cork, but you understand that you have no proof of anything. Not a single shred of solid evidence.”
“There’s the videotape that shows the man in the bar in Casper wasn’t really drinking.”
“It’s suspicious, of course, and it would probably be useful in the civil suits that have been filed against Bodine, but it proves nothing criminal. And why would anyone go to so much trouble? You still don’t have a motive. Or bodies, for that matter.”
“I believe I’ll find the motive in Wyoming. Maybe the bodies will follow.”
They sat in Dross’s office, where the windows were open to the fresh breeze of the late spring day and to the coos of a couple of doves courting in the branches of the maple on the front lawn. Her desk was awash in budget documents, and Cork recognized the worn look on her face from dealing with an aspect of the job no sheriff enjoyed.
“What are you going to do when you get to Hot Springs?” she went on. “You lay all this out, and there’s not enough substance for the Owl Creek County authorities to do anything.”
“That’ll have to be their decision.”
She laughed in a tired way and swept her hand over the documents on her desk. “I can tell you right now that if I were them and as strapped for money as we are here and as most sheriffs’ departments tend to be, I wouldn’t commit any resources based on your story.”
“Doesn’t matter. I’ll do my own investigation without their help. I’ve done all right so far.”
“Yeah, you almost got yourself killed.” She sat back and folded her hands, and in the quiet all they could hear was the sound of the doves cooing. “What do you want from me, Cork?”
“Well, it relates in a way to your last comment. That we almost got ourselves killed.”
“Okay.” She looked at him, her face puzzled.
“If we don’t come back, I’d be much obliged if you took up the flag, so to speak. Make sure the job gets finished.”
She studied him. “And what about Stephen?”
“He’ll want to help you. Let him do what he can.”
“I mean, what about him? If you don’t come back, he’s an orphan.”
“God and Henry Meloux willing, he’ll also be a man. It will be something he’ll have to deal with, and he will. He’ll still have family.”
She shook her head slowly. “You’re really going to do this.”
“I am.”
She looked at Parmer. “You, too?”
“Call me crazy,” Parmer said with a smile.
At Parmer’s hotel, where Cork had parked his Bronco, the two men parted ways, with an understanding that they’d regroup no later than two o’clock. Cork went home to throw things into his suitcase, and then he drove to Henry Meloux’s place.
He found the old Mide sitting near the fire ring beyond the rock outcropping at the end of Crow Point. Meloux had a small fire going, and into the flames he fed sprigs of sage and shavings of cedar. Walleye lay near, drowsing in the warm sun.
“ Anin, Henry,” Cork said, approaching.
“ Anin, Corcoran O’Connor. Sit.”
Cork sat on one of the cut sections of log placed around the fire ring.
“It is not yet finished,” the Mide said.
“I didn’t think it would be, Henry. He’s doing okay, though, right?”
“How he is doing is in the hands of Kitchimanidoo. But his spirit is fine and strong and his desire is true. I would not worry, Corcoran O’Connor.”
“Henry, there’s something I need to ask you.”
“Then ask.”
“There is a man in Wyoming, an Arapaho. He’s a spirit walker.”
“I have heard of such men.”
“He is also a man who drinks.”
“Sometimes dreams are like knives. They wound. And for some dreamers alcohol helps the pain.”
