Sean quietly got out of the truck and pulled on a jacket. He walked up to the front door, acutely aware of the surrounding silence, marred only by occasional sounds of wildlife.
He knocked on the door, but it took a full minute before Henry Callahan answered. He stepped back, surprised by the visit. “Mr. Rogan.”
“Is your nephew Jon here?”
“No, he’s at the bar. Do you want to speak to him?”
“I actually came to talk to you. Do you have a minute?”
A flash of fear crossed the older man’s face. He glanced over his shoulder, as if someone were there. Sean whispered, “Are you alone?”
Henry motioned for Sean to enter, then closed the door. “My wife, Emily.”
She sat in a chair, white-haired and beautiful, but with eyes that were too bright, a handmade afghan on her lap, gently rocking her chair back and forth. A small, well-read Bible sat open on the blanket, the print so small Sean didn’t think she’d easily be able to read it. Comfort, possibly.
“She had a stroke last year. She’s in pain.”
She looked stoned to Sean, but if she was in pain he wasn’t going to criticize a septuagenarian for smoking a little pot, though he didn’t smell the telltale signs.
“Henry?” Emily questioned. She looked toward them, but didn’t seem to see them.
“Right here, dear.” He walked over and moved the thick glasses that were on a string around her neck to her face.
She focused on Henry and smiled. “Dear. We had a lovely drive today, didn’t we?”
“Yes, we did.”
“Who is your friend?”
“He’s a friend of Joe Hendrickson’s. You remember Joe?”
“Yes, of course I remember Joe. Why doesn’t he visit more often?”
“He died last year, honey. We went to his funeral.”
Her smile faltered. “I remember.” It was clear by her expression that she didn’t.
“I’m going to take Joe’s friend to the kitchen for a beer. Is that all right with you?”
“I’d like a beer, too.”
“You don’t like beer.”
“I think I might.”
“How about a martini? Extra vermouth and three olives?”
“That sounds lovely.”
Sean followed Henry through a large formal dining room that didn’t look as though it had been used for some time. One of the most famous reproductions of
He cleared his throat. “Excuse me.”
His eyes were bright, not from pain or drugs, but emotion. “Usually, I’m okay with her forgetfulness, but it’s been a hard week.” He looked pointedly at Sean. “I think you know why.”
“I need answers, Henry. What’s going on in Spruce Lake?”
Henry sighed and pulled two bottles of beer from the refrigerator. He handed one to Sean and opened the other for himself. “I didn’t tell Emily your name so she won’t repeat that you were here. I don’t want to put you in more danger than you’re already in.”
“Explain.”
Henry shook his head and sat on a barstool, resting his elbows on the table.
Sean slammed his unopened beer bottle down on the kitchen counter. “I can bring in the cavalry-just say the word.”
“And tell them what? You bring in the police, they’ll find nothing, because your people need warrants. The bastards in charge will know before the ink is dry and destroy the evidence, then punish whoever they think turned them in. The devil you know …”
“I need your help,” Sean said.
“Paul Swain was a ruthless bastard, but he took care of this town. As long as you were on his side, he took care of you. Someone turned on him.”
“Who?”
“I don’t know. When he went to prison and the cops left, some of the players changed.”
Sean was getting frustrated. He didn’t have time for a history lesson, and he wished Henry would just spit it out.
“I know a lot more than you think I do.” The pieces were beginning to take form and Sean could see part of the bigger picture. “Before Paul Swain went to prison, someone undermined him. I don’t know how-by threat, bribery, sex-but when she got enough people over to
“Bobbie Swain couldn’t gloat or run the business the way she wanted, relying on people like your nephew Jon to keep it in line,” Sean continued. “But something changed, and Bobbie’s come back.”
“Dear God, you saw her?” A look of terror crossed Henry’s face.
“She was bartending tonight.”
Henry’s whole body sagged. Sean didn’t actually
“Jon heard she was coming back,” said Henry. “She called him, told him to convince Tim and Adam to postpone the resort. But you don’t understand-Jon’s not what you think he is. All he wants is to help people keep food on their table and a roof over their head. Protect them from Bobbie and her people.”
“So that’s why he bought up all the land? Put everyone into indentured servitude as a form of protection?”
“You should leave.”
“I’m not leaving without answers.”
“You won’t find them here.”
Sean turned away from Henry, frustrated but knowing that being a hard-ass with the old man wasn’t going to get him the answers he needed. Henry was more than a little scared-for himself and his ailing wife.
He glanced around the spacious kitchen, circa late fifties. The brown appliances, though old, fit with the colorful tiles and collection of spoons on the wall above the gas stove. It was homey and comfortable. The dishes had been hand-washed and were drying in a rack on the counter. On the refrigerator were a variety of magnets from local businesses holding up faded pictures of Henry and Emily, some showing a younger, happier couple. Jon Callahan was in many of them. There were also snapshots from important events-his college graduation stood out.
Sean walked over to look at the pictures, but didn’t really focus. He finally opened his beer and drank a long swallow. He’d taken the wrong tack with Henry. Maybe if he came back with Lucy, they could convince him to trust them.
Sean stared at one half-hidden photograph of Jon Callahan with a familiar blond woman. It was taken outside during spring or summer, the trees lush and green. He pulled it off the refrigerator. The blonde was turned partly away from the camera, so he only saw her profile, and her face was partly obscured by her long hair. But it was clear from her smile and their pose that she and Jon were more than friends.
He showed the picture to Henry. “Who is this?” He didn’t need to ask, his gut told him he knew who the woman was, but he wanted to hear it from Henry.
Henry looked up with a long, sad face. “Jon’s fiancee.”
Sean hadn’t been expecting that answer. “
“She died.”