William Krueger - Tamarack County

Cork said, “A green pickup truck followed Stella home.”

“A month ago,” Dross said. “Do you know how many green pickup trucks are on the roads in Tamarack County? And that it followed her was only Stella’s perception. If someone was stalking her, or Marlee, wouldn’t there be more evidence, more incidents?”

“She gets followed, Dexter gets killed, Marlee gets run off the road. How many more ‘incidents’ do you need, Marsha?”

Dross rubbed a patch of red skin high on her cheek that looked to Cork as if it were chapped by all the bitter cold she’d had to endure lately. “If it weren’t for the mutilated dog, I wouldn’t pursue this at all. I’ve got my hands full with Evelyn Carter. But I’m going to put Pender on it, and have him follow up on the truck description, vague though it is. At the moment, that’s the best I can do.”

Cork said, “I understand. And you understand, I hope, that I came close to losing my son today, and if there’s a chance that the driver of that muddy green truck really did intend harm, I’m going to track that bastard down.”

She nodded. “If Pender comes up with anything, I’ll let you know.”

They were both quiet. Down the hallway, an aide pushed a man in a wheelchair that squeaked like a mouse caught in a trap.

“Anything more on Evelyn Carter?” Cork asked.

“The blood on the knife was her type, A-negative. Fairly rare. But we won’t get DNA confirmation for some time. The Judge appears to be losing it, by the way. His wife’s disappearance seems to have sent him over some edge. His daughter’s at her wit’s end. At the moment, your priest appears to be the only one able to handle him.”

“Real, do you think? Or is he putting something on because he’s concerned that we found the knife in his garage?”

“His daughter believes it’s no charade. But she also believes pretty strongly that he could have killed her mother.”

“How long before you get his phone records?”

“I’m hoping we’ll have them before the day’s out.”

“Maybe they’ll tell you more,” Cork said.

“I’ll let you know. If you find out anything about that muddy pickup, you’ll pass it along?”

“Deal,” Cork said.

They parted ways, and Cork returned to the waiting room. In a few minutes, Marlee was wheeled back from the CT scan, and then taken to a room for observation overnight. Across the left side of her face spread a long, sallow discoloration that would soon darken to a plum color. She looked pretty ragged. She wasn’t in a mood to talk, at least to Cork and Stephen. They went to the cafeteria and waited while Stella spent another hour with her daughter. When Stephen had first called his father, Cork had swung by the casino to pick Stella up on his way to the hospital. He’d also committed to supplying her with a ride home.

It was early dark, and they sat in the small cafeteria, Cork drinking bad coffee and Stephen sipping on a cup of watery-looking hot chocolate. Stephen was quiet, deep in thought. Cork was deep into his own thoughts, trying to figure out how he might track down the owner of a pale green, mud-spattered pickup.

Stephen broke the silence. “Henry called.”

“Meloux? When?”

“Late this morning.”

“Anything wrong?”

“No. Well, yes, in a way. He’s been having a troubling dream. He wanted to make sure we were all right.”

“This troubling dream, we’re in it?”

“Yeah, again in a way. Henry says in his dream he sees something evil in the shadows. A majimanidoo .”

“What’s this devil doing?”

“Watching our house. I asked him if the dream was about us or maybe about someone important to us. You know, I was thinking about Dexter and the Daychilds. He said it might be. And then this happens. Dad, I think Meloux’s dream was trying to warn us against whoever’s doing these things to Marlee and her mom.”

“Did he say anything else?”

“Yeah. He told me I should dream, too.”

“Can you?” Cork knew his son, in whom the blood of his Ojibwe ancestors was strong, had experienced visions before. In fact, a full decade before it came to pass, Stephen had foreseen his mother’s death, and had been, in part, responsible for solving the mystery surrounding it. So Cork believed absolutely in his son’s unusual ability. The question was could Stephen summon a vision at will.

Stephen looked weighted by the idea, but he said, “I’ll try.” He sipped his watery-looking hot chocolate. “Oh, by the way, Henry said that Annie could use his cabin while he’s gone.”

“Why does she need his cabin?”

Stephen’s expression changed to one tinged with guilt. “I should let her tell you.”

“You don’t have to,” Cork said. His coffee was tasting worse by the moment. “Whatever she’s dealing with, it’s clear she wants to deal with it alone. I suppose Meloux’s cabin is as good a place as any. It’s served him well all these years anyway. Did she say when she wants to go out?”

“Tomorrow,” Stephen said.

“After church?”

Then Stephen looked really troubled. “She doesn’t go to church anymore.”

“Christ,” Cork said, wondering what in the hell could have happened to so change the direction of his daughter’s life. He looked at Stephen, and it was clear that his son wondered the same thing and, like his father, didn’t have a clue.

It was hard dark by the time Cork dropped Stephen at home. Jenny and Anne hustled their brother inside, worrying over him like a couple of old hens. Cork told them he’d be back as soon as he’d taken Stella Daychild to her place on the rez.

They drove south out of Aurora. When they’d left the lights of town behind them, Stella opened her purse, a small black thing, fumbled out a cigarette, and wedged it between her lips. She jammed the pack back into her purse. Without fishing, her fingers emerged holding a white Bic lighter, which she brought to the tip of her cigarette. She paused in the instant before her thumb struck a flame.

“Mind?” she said.

Normally he would have, but this wasn’t a normal circumstance. “Go ahead,” he said and opened the ashtray between them.

In the dark inside the Land Rover, the little flame seemed to explode and lit Stella’s face in harsh, wavering yellow. Cork glanced at her and saw the mascara bleeding down her left cheek, the lines of worry that fanned out from the corner of her eye like the tines on a garden rake. No one was pretty in pain.

“How’re you doing?” he asked.

“Look at me. How do you think I’m doing? Really shitty.”

She dropped the lighter into her purse and snapped it shut. Then she stared out her window, blowing smoke against the glass, clouding the inches between her and the darkness on the other side.

“She’ll be all right,” Cork said.

He felt her eyes bore into him. “Do you know who that psycho was or why he went after her?”

“Not yet.”

“Then Marlee’s not all right.” This time her lips shot the cloud of smoke in his direction.

After that, Cork didn’t feel inclined to offer any more comfort, and they drove for a long time in silence.

Stella finished her cigarette, ground out the ember in the ashtray, said more to herself than to Cork, “I still have to figure out how I’m going to tell Ray Jay about Dexter.”

“You think he hasn’t heard? He’s in the county jail, Stella, not on Mars.”

She laid her head back against the seat, and her voice grew weary. “He’s always been quiet and kept to himself. But ever since he went public a couple of years ago and confessed all that crap about Cecil LaPointe, he’s isolated himself even more. Marlee and me, we’re just about the only people he talks to, and when he does, he doesn’t really open up.” She looked out the window again and said softly, “Shit. It’ll just about kill him.”