Paul Doiron - Trespasser

“What about Stacey?” I asked.

Stacey was the younger of Charley and Ora’s two daughters, the one I’d never met. My understanding was that she blamed her father for the terrible plane accident that had left her mother paralyzed. As a result, they hadn’t spoken for a number of years. I was curious whether her father’s recent brush with death had changed the equation.

“She’s been getting her graduate degree in biology at the University of Colorado. She was studying mountain lions. Leave it to Stacey to have a soft spot for fierce creatures.”

“Sounds like her old man.”

“Fortunately, she takes after her mother in the looks department.”

“So what’s happened?” I asked.

He threw back his head and guffawed. “You’re like a hound dog on a scent when you get going.”

“It’s not all that mysterious, Charley.”

“The long and the short of it is that Stacey got kicked out of the university.”

That explained Ora’s headache. “What happened?”

“She punched out her faculty adviser. Knocked him cold, in fact.”

“What happened?”

“She says he groped her, but there’s no proof, since she never filed a grievance. She just clocked him. That makes her the aggressor, according to the university.”

“Can’t she appeal?”

“My estimation is that she was looking for a reason to come back to Maine.” He looked over my shoulder at nothing in particular. “It’s causing Ora fits, in any case. We owe the school some money, and the Boulder DA is still considering an assault charge. Before you came in here, I was just thinking that Kim woman was the same age as Stacey.”

I’d wondered how long it would take for us to return to the matter at hand. “What did the detectives ask you this morning?”

“The usual questions. That Menario is some hotheaded character. He makes a bull look timid by comparison. But at least he doesn’t play games. That pretty prosecutor is another story.”

“Danica.”

His eyes widened in such a way that I could tell my use of her first name had caught his attention. “She’s a sweet peach,” he agreed. “But don’t assume that she’s on your side just because she’s a prosecutor.”

I recounted my ordeal in the training room that morning. He listened, stroking his chin the way he did when he was mulling over a problem.

“So what should I do?” I asked.

The old pilot cleared his throat carefully. “I’d advise you against talking with Mrs. Westergaard to start.”

“Too late.”

“Menario’s going to be looking at Hans Westergaard as the perpetrator until such time as the professor is located. But your DNA evidence also places those Drisko fellers at the crime scene.”

“I think it will, yes.”

“In that case, you’d do well to give them a wide berth.”

“That will be difficult if they really are the ones tearing up Hank Varnum’s land with their ATVs.” Ruth arrived with our plates. I watched Charley slather ketchup on his tripe and instantly lost my appetite. We waited for the waitress to leave before I continued. “I don’t see how the Driskos could have done it anyway. If the medical examiner is correct, then I was at their trailer just before the murder.”

“You’re assuming they didn’t have her stashed somewhere. For all we know, they had her tied up back at the Westergaard house and were just waiting for dark.”

“I guess that’s possible. But they didn’t seem like two guys who were about to go rape and murder someone.”

“How did they seem?”

“I don’t know. Happy?”

“Those things aren’t mutually exclusive, I hate to tell you. Who else do you reckon was at the scene?”

I nibbled my sandwich. “There’s the anonymous guy who phoned in the accident to nine one one.”

“There’s something queer about that call. I hope Menario pokes around a bit. Who else?”

“Me and Stump Murphy. I could add Hutchins to the list.”

The old pilot sucked on his teeth. “I think that’s one theory you’re better off keeping to yourself.”

“Hutchins has a stick up his ass. Wouldn’t you agree?”

“You can’t tell by the looks of a frog how far he’ll jump,” Charley said.

Sometimes my friend’s lumber-camp sayings were too much even for me. “What the hell does that mean?”

“It means that reading people is more art than science, in my experience.”

We chewed our food for two minutes. He was correct that I had, thus far in my life and career, proven to be a monumentally bad judge of character. Every time I expected someone to do one thing, they did the opposite.

Charley wiped both corners of his mouth neatly with his napkin. “I have a delicate question I’ve been meaning to ask you.”

“Shoot.”

“Is Sarah pregnant?”

I almost spit out my coffee. “What?”

“Ora suspects she is.”

“No,” I said. “Absolutely not. She would have told me if she was.”

He nodded his head very slowly, as if he didn’t really believe me but was trying to pretend he did. “Maybe Ora is mistaken.”

I studied his poker face. “Did Sarah say something to her?”

“No, but Ora’s usually a good judge of these things.”

Suddenly, Sarah’s strange behavior the previous few days came into focus: the nausea, the preoccupation, her anguished response to what had happened to Ashley Kim. I felt like the dumbest man in the world for missing the clues. But if she was pregnant, why hadn’t she told me? Could she be waiting for the right moment? The past few days hadn’t provided many opportunities for intimate conversations.

“There’s no way she’s pregnant.” I draped my napkin over my half-finished sandwich. “Do you think I should buy her some flowers?”

He leaned back in the booth, a smile spreading across his leather face. “Son, you should always buy a woman flowers. It never matters the reason.” He waggled his thumb at the diner’s door. “Why don’t we go over to the motel room and see how the Boss is weathering the family storm.” Then he waved for the waitress and ordered a cup of herbal tea to go.

The Square Deal Motel was tucked behind the diner. The little motor court consisted of six small cabins, each painted white, with orange doors and green shutters-the same color scheme as the restaurant. All of the other cabins seemed unoccupied, which was no great shock, given that this was mud season.

Charley had pulled the van around to the spot in front of the first cabin. As we approached the door, I noticed that the shade was drawn.

“Probably I should do some reconnoitering first,” said Charley.

I waited on the cabin’s small porch while he slipped soundlessly inside. Could Sarah really be pregnant? My friends who had children told me that kids changed your life in unbelievable ways. At the moment, having a baby-really having one, with Sarah, in my run-down house, with my poor-paying job-was beyond my powers of imagination.

After several minutes, Charley emerged with a worried expression. “She’s on the telephone.”

With Stacey, no doubt.

For all his backwoods guile and wiry toughness, Charley impressed me as one of those men who derived genuine, as opposed to metaphorical, strength from the woman in his life. She sustained him in ways that were beyond my own understanding or experience. It didn’t surprise me that her anxiety would unsettle him so greatly.

“Give her my love, please,” I said. “And apologize again for my whisking you away last night.”

“She’s used to my shenanigans. She’s forgiven me for worse episodes.”

“Maybe she should talk with Sarah.”

“That girl loves you, son. Don’t you doubt that.” Charley clapped one of his big hands on my shoulder. “If she has news to tell, I’m sure she’s just waiting for the right time. My advice is that you make her a big supper tonight and even fix her a bubble bath if that’s what she wants. Treat her like a queen. Let the detectives worry about unsolved homicides.”