Blood Country (23 page)

Claire said, “Great. Monday would be good. I think I work the late shift. You want to come down for breakfast? Could you bring some bagels?”

He definitely liked the sound of that. Claire in the morning, cream cheese and bagels. Maybe things were starting to work out the way he wanted them to. “Sure. Have the coffee brewing.”

B
RIDGET KEPT A
hand on Chuck’s thigh as they drove down the river. She had never been a clinging woman, but she didn’t seem to want to let go of him. The sun was blaring away above them, and a light spring breeze was stirring the new growth of leaves in the trees. It was a gorgeous day, and she felt as if a piece of winter ice had lodged in her chest. Maybe it was still in her shoulder, a sliver of bullet they had been unable to extract from her, but wherever it was, it left her feeling cold and scared.

This morning, they had done an ultrasound on the growing fetus. They let her see it on the monitor, a small mass inside her with a beating heart. Even though she wanted to have it now, she was surprised at how little affection she had for it. This growing organism would definitely have to prove itself. Her wounds ached; she felt sick to her stomach again. Because she was pregnant, she couldn’t just dope out on pain pills until she felt better. She had to be a brave mother already.

“What if I’m not a good mom?” she asked Chuck.

“Are you planning on beating our child?” Chuck smiled at her.

“No, what if I neglect it?”

Chuck grabbed her hand and squeezed it. “Listen, I’ve watched you with Jester. You lavish attention on him. Why would you do less for your kid?”

Bridget thought about that Maybe she had been going at this all wrong. Maybe she should just imagine she had a young animal growing inside of her, a wonderful new creature that no one had ever seen before—part horse, part wolf, part human. She could handle that. She would love such a being. She felt better already thinking of this growing life as utterly new. Her child didn’t have to be like anyone else’s kid. It couldn’t possibly be.

“I want to see Claire.”

“Of course.” Chuck swerved to move around a truck. “I knew that. I can read your mind.”

Bridget saw the pullover where Red had made her start driving the truck, where she had seen the gun for the first time and realized what danger she was in. The air swam with needles. “Chuck, I was really scared last night.”

“I know.”

“No, I mean I wanted the earth to open up and swallow me. I thought it was going to. I thought I’d never see you again.”

Chuck wrapped an arm gently around Bridget and pulled her even closer than she was already sitting. “I don’t know how, but you got through it.”

He turned the corner without disengaging from Bridget, and they cruised up the hill to Claire’s house.

They found Claire sitting on the front steps of the house. She told them Meg was inside, sleeping. “Again. She’s exhausted. How are you, Bridge?”

“I feel like pure poop.” Bridget sank down next to her sister and leaned her head on her shoulder. Claire rubbed her neck, and Bridget felt all she needed to tell her well up inside like her like a dammed river. She needed to get rid of Chuck. She had remained vague with him, hadn’t give him any information about the guy. She trusted Claire to take care of that bastard. Didn’t want Chuck to go off half-cocked.

Bridget looked up at Chuck and said, “Could you go get us some ice cream down at the Fort? I really feel like ice cream.”

Chuck looked surprised and then smiled and said, “Sure. You going to be all right?”

“Hey, my sis is a cop. Of course I’m going to be all right.”

When he had left, Bridget turned to Claire. “I remembered what happened. I can see the guy clearly now. He told me everything while we were driving. It came back to me this morning.”

“Did you tell anyone? The cops who were there?”

“No, I don’t trust anyone but you.” Bridget leaned forward and held her head in her hands for a moment, then emerged and said, “Claire, you have to get rid of this guy. He’s a mean fucker, and he’s not going to stop until he’s killed us all.”

Claire looked at Bridget and said, “What do you know, Bridget?”

“First of all, he blames you for fucking up his life.”

“How so?”

“I guess you had him thrown into jail on a minor offense about six years ago, something to do with beating up a hooker, and as a result he got raped in jail. He’s never forgiven you.”

“Six years ago. God, I was just working the street then. I didn’t think it would be anything from so long ago. We’ve always thought it had to do with this drug gang.”

“I think it’s both. I think he’s dealing now. I know he was high on coke yesterday.”

They both sat silent for a moment, then Bridget started laughing. “Do you remember when we were in our early twenties, I think just getting used to the idea that we were on our own and someone could actually hurt us, and we were sitting at the table in your apartment, and we decided to try to scream?”

Claire stared out over the yard and then slowly nodded. “Yeah, I think I remember that.”

“I keep thinking about that. I couldn’t scream when I was with this guy, there was no one to hear me. It wouldn’t have done any good.”

“But it sounds like you ran like hell.”

“I did. But I need to know this guy isn’t around anymore. I don’t want to have to start practicing my screaming again.” Her voice quavered, and she ran a hand down her face.

“Yeah, I hear you.”

“Can you find him?”

“I think so.”

“Can you put him away again? I’d really like him to be gone before the baby is born.”

“I promise, Bridget.”

Bridget picked up a pebble from the sand and then picked up a bigger rock. “I don’t think he’s in this alone. He told me he’s got connections in the police force. And then he said something about a guy named Hawk.”

25

A
re you sure it’s all right?” Fred asked again as he pushed the door open.

“Of course I’m sure. It’s yours now. Or ours. Your brother’s dead, and you’ve inherited his house. It’s about time. Who’s going to keep us out?” Darla pushed Fred so he would keep walking forward. He hadn’t wanted to come up to the house, and Darla had had to force him. He was still afraid of Landers, even though he was dead.

Fred looked across the street at Claire’s house.

“Don’t worry about her. She’s the one who said we could go in the house. You leave her alone, Fred. Don’t go hanging around her house or anything.”

Fred walked into the kitchen and sat down. “I don’t like this.”

“You don’t have to like it. Sit still and watch TV for all I care. I’m going to look for that damn paper. He told you he wouldn’t sign it, didn’t he?”

“Yes, I told you he did.”

Darla stood in the middle of the kitchen floor with her hands on her hips. “It still makes me mad just thinking about it. What right did he have?”

“Well, the way I see it is—”

“Don’t start, Fred. We’ll be here all day. Just sit, and I’ll look.”

Darla wanted to do more than look, but now was not the time. She would come back on her own and take this place apart slowly, throwing away all the memories that Landers had gathered so carefully over the years. It would be a pleasure. But for the moment she wanted to be sure that nothing remained that could tie Fred and her to Landers’ death.

Darla looked where she knew Landers might keep such a document; after all, he wouldn’t have hidden it, no reason to. Landers had always been very organized, so she looked on his desk, in the drawers, in his file cabinet, but she found no sign of it. The wastebasket was empty, the shelves were clear of clutter. She started to feel desperate. The police had already been in here; maybe they had picked it up already. But why? Would anyone even know what it was? Would they figure out the connection?

She didn’t know why she had brought Fred with her. He wouldn’t sit still. He wandered around, picking up framed pictures and putting them down. Finally he stood and stared out the window, looking at Claire’s house. “I see her out there in the yard. With her daughter.”

“Fred, I warned you.”

He stared out the window, the way she imagined him gazing in on women when he went for his long walks at night. There was no lust on his face. She never felt the peeping was sexual with Fred. He had just always felt so left out of everything—it was the way he caught up with the rest of the world. It was his secret time.

She had never bugged him about it because she thought it was rather innocent, as long as he didn’t get caught. That’s when the trouble started. If he stood in the dark and stared at people, he captured something. If the women were naked, so much the better, he saw more of them.

He turned and looked at Darla. “I think they have a pheasant over there, a baby pheasant.” He turned back to the window, and his hands were moving in front of him as if they were holding something.

Darla sank down into a chair and held her head in her hands. “You leave them alone, Fred Anderson.” She lifted up her head and stared at him. “You leave them alone, or I’ll call our son and tell him what you’re doing.”

R
ICH HAD BEEN
putting off walking up to Claire’s, but not in a bad way, more the way he would eat his cake first, and then the frosting. All through the day, he had felt the promise of seeing Claire and Meg in front of him. He caught himself humming a tune as he fed the pheasant, and when he sang the words to himself, he realized the song was “Penny Lane,” by the Beatles. The song was both unbelievably sweet and from a time in his life when he had been truly happy. The truth of the matter was, he hadn’t felt this giddy since he had been a teenager.

Last night, he had woken up when Claire walked into Meg’s bedroom. He watched her through hooded eyes while she checked over her daughter. Then he had feigned sleep while she stood and stared at him. He didn’t know why he had done that, why he hadn’t let her know he was awake. But he felt like he was bait in a trap and hoped she might be lured in closer. She did take a step toward him and bend down, then she whispered his name and he opened his eyes.

Finally, at four o’clock the next afternoon, he caught himself thinking again about Claire as he finished his chores. He decided he better get up to their house or his little pheasant would have eaten all his feed, and Meg might start to fret about that. So he filled up a quart container of food, enough to keep them going for a couple days—that way he’d have to stop by from time to time—and walked down the road toward their house.

As he walked, he thought about what his next move should be with Claire. She reminded him of a forest animal—not one specific animal, a deer, a fox, but rather the embodiment of them all, the soft way they moved through the forest, the sure way they saw and smelled danger, and the decisive way they acted when it was upon them. He decided he would give Claire time to get to know him. The worst thing he could do was rush her. She would run, and he would never see that opening in her eyes again. He knew how she could vanish while remaining in the middle of a room. He didn’t want that to happen.

So he decided he would drop by every few days, let things develop naturally between them. The next move would be more like an amble. If he hung around, she might invite him over for dinner. He could ask her to stop by his house and have a cup of coffee.

As he walked down their road, he could see Claire and Meg out on the front lawn and watched the two heads lift to the sound of his footsteps—both of them projecting fear, then attention, and quickly, gladness. Their faces showed they were happy to see him. Meg left little doubt as she ran out to the road to greet him. Her face shone, and she was prancing as she came up to him.

“He ate some food right from my hand,” she told him.

Rich dropped down to her level and gently tweaked her nose. “I’d probably eat food from your hand.”

She giggled and danced alongside of him. “Like popcorn?”

“Something like that.” He stood, and they continued up to Claire. When he saw what they had made for the pheasant, he roared with laughter. They had brought out an old doll crib, and the pheasant was curled in the crib in a bed of straw. Then they had made a fence around it, with an old lace curtain as the covering. “This is quite a fancy castle King Tut has got here.”

“Nothing’s too good for our Tut,” Meg said, looking down possessively at the sleeping bird.

They set up a water and feed tray for King Tut, and then Claire asked him to join them on the porch for fresh lemonade and brownies. Rich stayed for an hour and then decided it was time to leave. He was working hard not to become a pest Claire told Meg to stay in the house, and she walked out with him.

“Could I ask you something?” Claire said as she walked Rich to the road.

She seemed embarrassed, and Rich smiled to make whatever she was going to say easier. Nowadays, he had heard, women often asked men out. That was something he would give up with gladness. He had always hated putting himself on the line. Rather stay home with his pheasants than ask for something he might not get. So he smiled and said, “Sure.”

Claire looked down at the ground and kicked at a rock. “You know, Meg really likes you. She talked about you a lot today. Giving her that pheasant was about the nicest thing you could have done for her.”

Rich wasn’t sure where this conversation was going, but he tried to keep smiling.

“So I was wondering if it would be possible for you to come and stay with her for a few hours tomorrow while I run into town.”

“Stay with Meg?” Rich wasn’t sure he had heard right. “You mean, like baby-sit?”

“Yes,” Claire nodded. “Usually I ask Ramah, but with all that has happened, I’d feel a lot more secure knowing you were with her.”

Rich nodded and said sure. ‘What time would you like me to come over?”

“Late afternoon.”

“What are you going to do?”

Her eyes dropped from his face, and she kicked at the dirt. “I have some shopping I need to do.”

He nodded again and said, “See you.”

As he turned to walk home, he decided that Claire might be good at a lot of things, but she was a lousy liar.

C
LAIRE HAD CALLED
in that morning and asked for the day off. Sheriff Talbert had said, Of course, don’t even think about it After a couple harrumphs, he asked how everyone was. Claire cleared her throat too and told him. Then she thanked him for the day off and said she’d see him next week.

“You’ve got one precious little girl there. You take as much time off as you need to make sure she’s all right. And if you need anything, Claire, you don’t hesitate to call. Anything in this sheriff’s department is at your disposal. You know that.” He fell silent, as if the words had emptied him.

“Thanks, Sheriff. I needed that.”

She and Meg had gone grocery shopping, she had caught up on all the laundry, and Rich had stopped by to show them how to care for the pheasant. Such a normal, safe day. Claire made a nice dinner for the two of them—all Meg’s favorite things, spaghetti and corn and blueberry muffins. They had even walked down to the lake after dinner. Their sunset walk. Each day the sun was setting later.

Meg had climbed into bed at a reasonable hour, only to come popping down the stairs again to check on Tut They had compromised and put him out on the back porch for the night Meg had wanted him in her room again, but Claire explained that little birds needed to be closer to nature than that However, Claire couldn’t bear the thought of anything happening to the bird, and she knew coyotes and foxes skulked in the woods above their house. So they moved his castle to the porch, and Claire latched the door to the porch. Claire checked on the pheasant as he roosted on the edge of his cardboard box. Then she walked up the stairs to check on her daughter. Meg sprawled across the bed, her covers wrapped around her limbs like sea foam. Her little night swimmer.

Outside the window, the darkness swelled. Claire stood by the window for a moment, feeling the night press against the glass, and then decided it was time to go to work. She worked, as she always had done, on the kitchen table. No matter where she set up a desk for herself, she was drawn to the kitchen table, the center of the house.

Claire turned on her working light and laid out all the scraps of paper she had picked out of Landers’ wastepaper basket She had loved working jigsaw puzzles as a kid. Usually over Christmas her mother would buy one with a thousand pieces, she and Bridget would set up the card table in the living room, and they would all work away on it. Her mother always started with the edge pieces, trying to frame in this world of chaos.

And so Claire started with the edge pieces. They were harder to discern than in a cutout puzzle, but anytime she saw a straight edge, she put the piece in a pile. In the Cities, if she was working on such a case, she would turn these pieces of paper over to an official questioned-document examiner. It was their job to put such documents together again. But she didn’t want to send it to Eau Claire and wait to get it back. If she couldn’t easily solve it tonight, she would send it off.

There must have been some anger in Landers when he tore up the paper; he had ripped it into rather small pieces. She had gathered over a hundred scraps, some of them only the size of a dime. Her eyes were drawn to the words, and she could make out lines running through some pieces, but she kept looking for the straight edges. Do it methodically, in the end it will be faster and more successful, she had been taught.

When she raised her head to look at the clock on the stove, it was after eleven. She had been piecing the paper together for over an hour, but it was almost done. The problem was, she was missing some pieces. Still, with what she had she would be able to go to a legal stationery and find out what the document was. It appeared to be something about property.