William Krueger - Copper River

They stood in the sun on the sidewalk, between the blooming marigolds. Late in the season as it was, honeybees still buzzed around the blossoms. They were weightless insects, yet the strong wind didn’t seem to affect them as they went about their careful, important business. In her son’s face, Jewell saw frustration and fear. Where was Charlie?

“Let’s try something else. Follow me,” she said.

She led the way to the sloping backyard and walked across the grass to the carriage house.

“What are you doing?” Ren asked.

“Delmar Bell lives here.”

“He’s one of the guys who’s always drinking beer with Charlie’s dad. I thought he was a trucker or something.”

“He used to be. The company went bankrupt. Now he’s the caretaker for Providence House. Keeps the grounds and building in order.”

“I don’t like him,” Ren said.

“The truth is, neither do I, Ren. But maybe he can help us out here.”

She didn’t know much about Charlie’s interactions with Providence House, but she knew that it began as a result of Delmar Bell. He’d done some running himself when he was a kid, trying to escape a father who never spoke to him in anything but anger and never offered his hand in anything but a fist. There were rumors of even worse things going on at the Bell house. Delmar had always been a little scary, but he’d never been in any serious trouble. He’d been the one who suggested to Charlie that when Max was hitting the booze and things seemed shaky at the trailer in Bodine, she might try the shelter. Max Miller had told Jewell this with a full measure of gratitude toward Bell, because when he was sober he appreciated the idea that Charlie had someplace to go when he wasn’t.

The door opened quickly to her knock and Bell stuck his head into the sunlight. Jewell remembered that as a kid he’d had fine yellow hair like a dandelion, but he’d long ago gone mostly bald. Now he kept his head shaved, showing a skull rusty with freckles. His eyes were the earthy brown-green of dead moss. He looked surprised to see Jewell, and then he saw Ren and looked confused as well.

“Hey, Del,” Jewell said brightly.

He stepped fully into the doorway and the sun struck him hard. He was small, but strong in the way of someone who’d spent long hours in a gym grunting under weights. He wore a white sleeveless T-shirt, faded jeans, and a pair of Adidas stained green from the yard grass.

“What are you doing here?” he asked.

“Looking for Charlie.”

“Oh.” He nodded in a knowing way. “Max on the sauce again?”

“It’s a little more complicated than that, Del. He’s dead.”

“Naw.” Delmar grinned as if it were a joke. Then he saw she wasn’t kidding. “Jesus. How?”

“Somebody broke his head open with a baseball bat.”

“When?”

“Last night. Charlie’s missing. We were wondering if she came here.”

His fine, feathery eyebrows dipped together. “I can’t tell you that.”

“Del, I just want to know if she’s okay, that’s all.”

His dead moss eyes flicked toward the back of Providence House. “Check up there.”

“We did. They wouldn’t tell us anything. But they don’t know me.”

“Christ, Jewell.”

“Just a yes or no, Del. Was she here last night?”

He sucked in a breath and puffed out his cheeks. He eyed the house again, then offered reluctantly, “As far as I know, she hasn’t been here. And I’d know because I see all the kids at breakfast before they leave.”

“Would you do me a favor?”

“What?”

“If she comes tonight, give me a call.”

“I can’t. No. Absolutely not. If they found out, they’d can my ass in a New York minute. I like this job, Jewell. Hell, I need this job.”

“What time do they open the door to the kids?”

“Four-thirty. Look, you gotta go.” He cast a fearful glance toward the house and shut his door.

Jewell walked away not wanting to cause Delmar trouble if she could help it. Ren followed her to the Blazer and they got in. She slid the key into the ignition and heard in her son’s silence unspoken censure.

“I don’t know what else to do,” she said.

“We could look for her?”

“Where? I’m open to ideas, kiddo.”

Ren tapped his chin with his index finger, a gesture Jewell was sure he was unaware of but one he often employed when thinking deeply. It was a Daniel thing, something Ren had unconsciously copied from his father. At last he gave a hopeless shrug. “I don’t know.”

“We could spend all day in Marquette and still not find her. What if we head home and come back at four-thirty to see if she shows up at Providence House?”

She could tell from the scowl on his face that it wasn’t what he’d prefer, and she gave him time to consider an alternative to offer. Finally he said, “Okay.”

In the Blazer, Jewell turned them toward Bodine.

Ren dropped his hands to his lap, hunched his shoulders, and climbed back into himself and his silence.

Dina said, “Someone’s coming.”

Cork looked up from the table where he’d been making notes on a small tablet. “Can you see who?”

She stood at the door of Thor’s Lodge, looking through the screen toward the resort road. “Not yet. Too many trees. It doesn’t sound like the Blazer.”

“Close the door.”

She did, and walked to the window where she drew the curtain slightly aside. Cork came out of his chair and hobbled up beside her. She’d taken a shower and smelled of soap and lavender shampoo. They watched a mud-spattered Jeep pull into the lane between the cabins and stop. The man who eased himself from behind the wheel was wide and powerful looking, a refrigerator wearing Nikes. He had on a blue windbreaker with the Northern Michigan University crest on the front, and a blue and silver ball cap with LIONS above the bill. His jaw line was thick with black stubble like a heavy smear of ash. He eyed Dina’s car, then approached Jewell’s cabin. Dina carefully let the curtain drop into place and they waited silently while the big man knocked at the door.

“Jewell?” he called. “Ren? Anybody home, eh?”

Dina tossed a glance at Cork, asking if they should answer the door. He shook his head. They heard the porch creaking under the man’s weight, then the groan of each wooden step as he descended.

With her finger, Dina carefully parted the curtains again. A thin, bright blade of light cut across her face as she peeked out. Cork watched her eyes track to the left.

“He’s standing in the road,” she reported in a whisper. “Scratching his jaw, looking around. Now he’s walking again.”

“To his Jeep?”

“No.” She watched. “Toward the shed.”

“My car,” Cork said.

“I’m on it.” She moved quickly to the door and was out before Cork could respond.

The plates on the Jeep were Michigan. The spattered mud around the wheel wells and the patina of back-road dust that coated the finish seemed to indicate a local. That and the fact that the man had called Jewell and Ren by name. Cork didn’t think he was on Lou Jacoby’s payroll, but he didn’t want to be careless. Except for the fact that the tube and bag taped to his leg would have been hard to explain, he would have preferred to be out there with Dina.

He limped to the guest room. In the closet he found boxes that held men’s clothing, Daniel’s probably. Cork located a pair of folded jeans and checked the size tag: 36 x 32. His waist was a 34, but the length was right. He sat on the quilt-covered bed and pulled his shoes off, then undid his bloody khakis. He slipped the belt free and let his pants slide to the floor. Gingerly maneuvering the left pant leg over the tube and bag, he eased himself into Daniel’s jeans. He buttoned, zipped, and belted himself, then put his shoes back on. All this he did with great discomfort, endured with a stream of muffled groans.