Дана Стейбнау - Spoils of the Dead

The mechanic, skinny, white, in his thirties, wearing Carhartt bibs he might have inherited from his grandfather, gave her the hangar owner’s contact info. She tapped it into her phone.

Watching her, he said, “Would you like to meet me for a beer sometime?”

She flashed her wedding ring. “Married.” She smiled at him to make sure that he understood the implied “if only” in her refusal. “Sorry.”

His grin was gap-toothed and charming. “Worth a try.”

She laughed and went back to her Forester with maybe just a little swash to her buckle and drove to Sunset Heights. Sybilla was already seated at a table in a small cafeteria that smelled strongly of Clorox and overcooked pasta. No cloth napkins here, but they did have table service in the form of a smiling teenager dressed in a blue and white striped apron. “Fried salmon steaks and a tossed salad today, Mrs. Karlsen.” She smiled at Wy. “Can I get you ladies something to drink?”

“Water is fine for me,” Wy said.

“Vodka martini, three olives,” Sybilla said.

“Coming right up, Mrs. Karlsen.” She reappeared in a moment with tall glasses of ice water and a small pitcher for refills.

“So nice that you could join me for lunch today, dear,” Sybilla said.

“If you hadn’t called I’d be eating a PBJ standing over the sink.”

Sybilla chuckled. “My good deed for the day.”

The salmon when it came was not overcooked, an almost impossible feat in an institutional setting. Wy was impressed, and laid in with a will.

“How is your young man settling in?” Sybilla said.

“He’s at work on a case.”

Again she saw that kind of click at the back of Sybilla’s eyes, where in an instant she seemed to be tracking everything said to her. “He has a case?”

“He does.” Wy hesitated.

Sybilla sniffed. “Afraid to upset the old lady, Wy? Is it Erik?”

Wy paused with her fork halfway to her mouth.

This time Sybilla snorted. “I thought you said you came from a small town.” She sighed. “I warned him.”

It took a moment for her words to register. “I beg your pardon? You warned Liam?”

Sybilla huffed an impatient sigh. “Not Liam. I warned Erik, when he came here to ask if he could rent my cabin.”

“Erik? Erik Berglund?”

Sybilla looked annoyed. “Of course, Erik Berglund. Unless someone else has been murdered this week I don’t know about. In which case your young man would certainly have been posted to the right place.”

Wy put down her folk and said brightly, “Sybilla, why don’t I call Liam and see if he can join us for dessert?”

Dessert was ice cream sundaes. Liam’s melted in front of him as he asked questions and Sybilla answered them between bites.

Liam was, to put it mildly, chagrined. He’d asked everyone he had met in Blewestown if they knew where Erik Berglund lived, except for Sybilla. The one person he could be said to have spent more time with than the rest of them put together, and the one with more institutional memory of the place than anyone else save Jefferson and Houten. Seeing her marching down the street in the altogether had inclined him to dismiss anything she said. It was an epic fail on his part. “Where exactly is your cabin, Sybilla?”

“At the end of Crow’s Nest.”

Liam nodded. “And where is Crow’s Nest?”

Sybilla had to get on the outside of a heaping spoonful of sundae before she could answer. Age had certainly not interfered with her appetite. “It’s off Backstay, which is off Telltale.” She saw his expression and relented. “It’s in the Full Sail Subdivision, about five miles out East Bay Road. The developer was a sailor.”

“Who knew?” Wy said.

He already had his phone out and Wy could see he had called up Google Maps. “Where on Crow’s Nest, Sybilla? What’s the street address?”

She scraped her bowl with the spoon. “It’s the last cabin at the end of Crow’s Nest. Way up high, far away from anyone else.” Her smile was dreamy. “Stanley and I spent as much time there as we could spare from our jobs. Our aerie, we called it.”

Liam pocketed his phone. “Well, thanks, Sybilla—”

Wy touched his arm and he looked at her. “Sybilla,” she said, “you said you had warned Erik, when he came to ask you if he could rent your cabin.”

Sybilla licked her spoon and set it and the bowl aside with regret. “Yes, I did. Erik was one of my students. Well, both of them were.” She sighed. “That’s the best age, ten, when everything is bright and shiny and new, when nothing is impossible, when they’ll believe anything you tell them without question, learn everything you have to offer and beg for more. Josh and Erik were inseparable.” She folded her hands in front of her and stared into the past.

Liam would have said something, but again, Wy touched his arm. She waited long enough for the question to be only inquiring, not interrogational, and kept her tone gentle. “Who was Josh, Sybilla?”

Sybilla blinked at her. “Josh? Didn’t I say? Joshua Petroff. He was Erik’s best friend.” She shook her head. “I never believed all that rubbish they said about Erik afterward. He was attacked and left for dead. It was ridiculous to insinuate that he was faking his amnesia. People can be so cruel, and to say such things of a ten-year-old boy was unconscionable.” Her eyes flashed. “And I said so at the time.”

Liam had his phone out again and was doing another search. Wy guessed it was of Joshua Petroff. When he went rigid beside her, she was sure of it. “Why did you warn Erik, Sybilla?” she said.

“Warn Erik?” Sybilla looked bewildered. “Whatever are you talking about, my dear? Erik who?”

As they got up to leave Wy thanked Sybilla for lunch and Sybilla said brightly, “Don’t forget tea on Sunday.” She gave Liam an up-from-under look. “And bring your nice young man with you.”

He surprised her by stooping to kiss her cheek. “I wouldn’t miss it, Sybilla.”

She blushed and smiled.

Outside, Wy said, “Can I come with you to check out the cabin?” She wanted to see what an aerie looked like.

Liam stood with his hands on his hips, frowning at his feet. She recognized the signs and waited. It was a good five minutes before he looked up again. “Ride with me.”

“Okay.” She climbed into his pickup and was surprised when they got to Sourdough that he didn’t turn left to head out East Bay Road. Instead he continued down Alder to the post.

He pulled in and killed the engine. “Come inside with me and follow my lead.”

“Okay?”

Ms. Petroff was at her desk, looking every bit as terrifyingly poised as Liam had described. “Ms. Petroff, this is my wife, Wyanet Chouinard.”

“How do you do, Ms. Chouinard.”

Wy bit back a smile and said gravely, “Ms. Petroff.”

Liam led the way to his office. He had left the door open. Wy felt her amusement fade when she understood what that meant.

He stood in front of the map that covered half of one wall. “What did Sybilla say, Wy?” he said in a voice pitched to carry. “About five miles out East Bay Road?”

“Yes,” she said, at a matching volume. “And all the streets were named for sailboat parts or something weird like that.”

“Let’s see if we can find it on this map.” He poked his head out the door. “Ms. Petroff? Do you have a ruler I could borrow?” Wy closed her eyes and shook her head. Subtle Liam was not.

“Of course, sir.” Did Ms. Petroff’s voice sound a little higher? A drawer opened and closed, followed by footsteps.

“Thanks.” He ducked back into the office. He wasn’t smiling. Wy took the ruler and held it against the bar scale and then against the road. “That’s about five miles.”