A Superior Death (42 page)

Boredom had set in so solidly that when a nurse poked her head in the door Anna was actually glad to see her. Even a shot or a pill would be a diversion. The news was better yet: “You’ve got visitors,” the woman announced and was replaced by Christina Walters.

“Thank God!” Anna said. “A person, a real, live human being who doesn’t smell like antiseptic. Come here and let me smell you.”

Christina laughed and crossed the room to kiss Anna’s cheek.

“Ahhh.” Anna collapsed back against her pillows.

“ ‘White Shoulders.’ So much more pleasing on females than benzene.”

Ally bounded up on the opposite side of the bed. “Smell me, Aunt Anna.”

Anna grabbed the little girl by the ears and sniffed deeply on the top of her head. “Hmmm . . . What is that divine scent you’re wearing?” She sniffed again. “Rotting squirrel guts? No . . .” Ally squirmed and giggled. “ ‘Eau de Road-kill’? No . . . I’ve got it! ‘Essence of Dog Vomit’!” Ally squealed with delight.

“For heaven’s sake,” Christina sighed. “Ally will be completely beyond redemption by the time she’s old enough to drive.”

“You must be ladylike or the boys won’t like you,” Anna intoned ominously. “No more bat-dung hair mousse.”

“Boys. Ish.” Ally tossed her head with such disdain that Anna and her mother laughed.

“Ally, settle down,” Christina said comfortably. “Get your Aunt Anna her present and then we’ll see what can be done with her. If anything.”

Alison thumped off the bed and ran to dig through the oversized shoulder bag her mother had dropped just inside the doorway. She returned with a paper sack and climbed back up onto the bed.

“Don’t bounce Aunt Anna,” Christina cautioned her.

“She’s been saving the free world. It’s not as easy on her as it used to be.”

Anna sniffed.

“It’s in the bag,” Alison said. “We didn’t wrap it because it’s not your birthday or anything.”

Anna reached into the proffered sack and pulled out a plastic-wrapped package.

“Pajamas,” Ally announced.

Anna ripped them free of the cellophane. “They’ve got little Garfields on them,” she complained ungraciously.

Christina arched a perfect eyebrow. “Ally picked them out,” she reproved. “She thought the orange cat motif would keep you from missing Piedmont.”

“Nobody wants to be sick without a cat,” Ally added.

“I love them,” Anna said. “Almost as much as I love you.” She captured the child and covered her head with loud smoochy kisses.

“Stop!” Ally cried, but she was holding tightly to Anna’s neck. “Put ’em on,” she demanded when the attack was subsiding.

Dutifully Anna took off her hospital gown. The ten-inch slash was exposed. The bandages had been removed to let the air get to it. Encrusted black with blood, the edges pale, the laceration ran from her left shoulder almost to her right nipple.

“Oh, honey . . .” Christina ran out of words. Even Ally was quiet.

Sympathy unmanned Anna. So far, sheer cantankerous-ness had kept her from feeling sorry for herself. Ralph had been wrong. She wouldn’t be admired in a bathing suit. Not unless her date was Freddy Krueger.

“Boy, Aunt Anna,” Alison breathed. “Like Zorro. Will it make a scar?” she asked hopefully.

“Alison!” her mother exclaimed. “Whose little girl are you?”

“We can keep our fingers crossed,” Anna laughed, feeling suddenly better.

“I have news, but it can wait.” Christina took charge of the situation. “The nurse here may be efficient, but they have no sense of aesthetics. You look like last season’s prom dress. Get me my bag, honey.” Somewhat subdued after her mild reprimand, Alison fetched the shoulder bag without comment. Chris took out what she deemed life’s necessities: a natural-bristle brush, a lipstick, cream rouge.

“Last time I landed in the hospital you played the role of administering angel. Doesn’t it get a bit old?” Anna asked.

“Very old,” Christina retorted crisply. “Take better care of yourself in the future.”

In a high, piping voice, Ally began to sing: “Button up your overcoat . . .”

Anna relaxed. Christina knew the best medicine. Healed in body by antibiotics and the hyperbaric chamber, healed in soul by well-dressed hair and a little cheek color. Healed in soul, Anna admitted as the other woman deftly brushed and French-braided her hair, by knowing someone was genuinely glad you had lived.

“What’s your news?” Anna asked when Christina, satisfied with her efforts, was stowing away the hairbrush and makeup in her capacious bag.

“The Houghton police found Donna Butkus’s body,” she replied without preamble.

“Jesus!” Anna sat up straight and felt the sudden pull of the torn flesh of her chest.

“He didn’t eat her up after all,” Alison said disappointedly.

“Where?” Anna demanded.

“In the police station of all places.” Chris sat down in the vinyl armchair beside the bed.

“Nitrogen narcosis.” Anna rubbed her eyes. “Does this make sense to you?” she appealed to the five-year-old Alison who, ensconced at the foot of the bed, was folding the pajama wrapping into a transparent fan.

“Yup. She wasn’t eaten at all. She wasn’t even dead. She was only hiding.”

“Once Roberta made a formal missing persons report to the police, they started looking. Donna got nervous and came back to Houghton to get Bertie to hush things up. Scotty was—” Christina shot a look at her daughter. Ally seemed absorbed. “Beating Donna.”

“I guessed that.”

“Oh. Anyway, Donna told Bertie it was only when he drank and it wasn’t too bad—”

Anna snorted her disgust.

Chris touched her arm. “We don’t all have the courage of a lion or a big gun to back it up with.”

“I know,” Anna apologized. “Go on.”

“Then he started having—” Again the look at her daughter. Ally showed no sign of interest. Chris continued in a lowered voice: “Impotency problems. The beatings got bad then. Denny’s wedding really set him off. I guess he thought Donna was pining or something. He beat her bad. She ran off. Pizza Dave found her and took her to Thunder Bay in his boat.”

“In the taxpayers’ boat,” Anna corrected. “Dave doesn’t own a boat. It’s a firing offense. That must have been why he didn’t tell me what had happened to Donna.” Then she remembered the short exchange over the racket of Dave’s tractor. He had tried to tell her Donna was all right.

“Donna asked him not to tell anyone,” Christina said.

“She was afraid Scotty would find her.”

“And Scotty told lies because he was afraid we’d all find out his pretty young wife had run out on him.”

“Donna’s staying with her sister,” Chris finished.

“Bertie was going to help her with the divorce papers and everything.”

“The old stallion is destined for the glue factory,” Anna said unsympathetically.

 

 

 

Around four o’clock Christina and Ally deserted to go shopping. They placated Anna with the promise of another visit the following day before they started the long drive back up to Houghton.

Anna was left with her new pajamas, two glossy fashion magazines, a bundle of mail Chris had brought down from the park headquarters office in Houghton and, because Chris truly loved her, a Leinenkugel smuggled in past what Christina had been sure were vice cops in the uniforms of hospital orderlies.

Camouflaging the beer in a moderately clean sock, Anna began to sort through her interoffice mail. Lucas had put out another FYI memo regarding the status of the Denny Castle murder. The case had been officially closed with the arrest of Patience Eva Bittner on suspicion of murder, attempted murder, assault on a federal officer, theft of federally protected historical artifacts, vandalism, and diving without a permit. At the bottom of the memorandum, written in the Chief Ranger’s hasty scrawl was a note: “Carrie Ann’s been shipped off to her dad in redwood, CA. J. T. offered to look after her till plane time—” Anna smiled. She’d read enough of Lucas Vega’s memos to recognize the dash. He used it as a literary version of putting his tongue in his cheek.

Anna shuffled through the tedious bits: a flier announcing the July 25 Chrismoose festivities, a copy of the Superintendent’s schedule, minutes from the last safety meeting. Government offices always seemed anxious to put in writing and circulate all information of no interest or value. The important things had to be discovered through the grapevine.

A plain white envelope with “PIGEON” printed on it in block letters looked promising. Anna ripped the end off and tipped the contents out into her lap. There was a clipping from the Duluth paper with a yellow Post-it note stuck to it. “WHATEVER WE CAN THINK UP, SOMEBODY IS OUT THERE DOING IT. F. S.”

Anna removed the note and read the clipping. Federal Agent Frederick Stanton had made his drug bust. He’d nailed the captain of the
Spirogyra
on two felony counts. The man had been purchasing peyote for resale as part of the entertainment experience on
Spirogyra
party excursions, and, as a sideline, transporting cocaine across international boundaries.

“Go Frederick,” Anna said. She had nothing against the
Spirogyra,
but the excitement generated by the bust would knock the
3rd Sister
out of the local gossip ring. Hawk and Holly deserved a break.

 

 

 

 

The following morning Anna was told by her doctor that she’d be incarcerated in Hennepin County Medical Center for another day and a half. On hearing the news, it was her intention to give way utterly to sullen peevish depression. The ninth-floor nurses were spared this event by the arrival of Christina and Ally. They brought in apple turnovers and fresh-ground deli coffee just as Anna was preparing to complain about her breakfast.

When they left, she was in such a good mood it lasted till her next visitors arrived in midafternoon.

As Student Conservation Associates, Tinker and Damien had only a six weeks’ long season. They’d come to Minneapolis to catch a plane to Damien’s mother’s place on Nantucket Island.

“Nantucket,” Anna remarked. “So you did know how to drive a boat.”

“Yes. When we didn’t hear from you, we fetched Pizza Dave,” Damien told her.

“He was the largest person we could think of,” Tinker explained.

“Large,” Anna agreed.

For a time they sat in silence, Tinker in the chair, Damien perched on the arm, Anna, resplendent in her Garfield pajamas, propped up on pillows.

In an urban setting, without their uniforms, the two interpreters looked ordinary: like elves in a shopping mall or water sprites in a horse trough. The island itself was the magic; Tinker and Damien just the dwellers therein. Anna was aware of a feeling of disappointment.

“We’ve got winter jobs in Everglades National Park,” Tinker said. “There’s magic there.”

Anna smiled. “If that fails, you can always get on with a traveling show, reading people’s thoughts.”

After due consideration, Damien declared: “Too dull.”

Another long but in no way awkward silence passed. “I’m sorry about Oscar,” Anna said finally.

“Yes,” Tinker returned. “He was the purest of bears.”

Another silence began. Anna didn’t know quite where to look. Funerals, memorial services—dead people—were hard enough to deal with. Dead teddy bears presented a whole new realm of social obstacles.

“He was pure,” Damien mused. “But there are compensations. Now that he’s part human he’s thinking of taking up whiskey to keep his more esoteric vices company.”

“Human?” Anna repeated stupidly.

“We got most of his sawdust back,” Tinker explained patiently. “Your dive suit caught almost all of it, but it was pretty well soaked with blood.”

“We dried it out in our fruit dehydrator.” Damien picked up the thread of the story. “Stuffed it back in and sewed him up. He’s got a scar on his chest, but Tinker tried to keep the stitches small.”

“Oscar’s a bit vain,” Tinker confided.

Anna fingered the wound on her own chest. “During bathing suit season, he and I’ll stick together,” she said. “Is he . . . here?” She felt absurd at the hope she heard in her voice.

“He sends his regards,” Tinker apologized. “He wanted to stay at the hotel.”

“Nothing personal,” Damien put in quickly. “He thinks the world of you. It’s just that our room has a color TV.”

“Ah.” Reality was becoming less and less important to the conversation. Anna changed the subject. Brightly, she said: “So, tell me what’s happened on the island. Did they find somebody to run the lodge? Has Carrie left for her father’s? Did Scotty ever get the fog-sensitive engine on the
Lorelei
running again?”

“Didn’t you hear the big news?” Tinker asked cautiously.

Anna thought
she
was the big news.

“Scotty was drinking like he does and started opening beer bottles with his teeth.”

“What a jerk. Were trail crew properly impressed?”

“No. Wait.” Tinker looked pained. She had no reason to be a friend to Scotty Butkus. Anna wondered at it and waited.

“He choked to death on a bottle cap,” Tinker said slowly. “No kidding,” she added as Anna began to laugh. “Nobody knew the Heimlich maneuver—or they thought he was just horsing around. By the time they figured it out, he was dead.”

Banal, embarrassing, meaningless: an accidental death. After all the mysteries on the island, Anna had forgotten there was such a thing. “Bummer,” she said.

“Sometimes the wrong people die,” Tinker said philosophically. “But sometimes they don’t.”

“Time,” Damien broke in.

“Meeting of the Survivors of the Harmonic Convergence?” Anna teased.

Tinker shook her head. “Lyle Lovett’s playing at the Guthrie.”

Another perfectly good pigeonhole evaded by the Coggins-Clarkes, Anna thought as they gathered their things and headed for the door.