William Krueger - Tamarack County

“It’s a stretch,” Cork said.

“But it would explain a lot.”

“That it would. So LaPointe is out for revenge?”

“Or someone is out to avenge him.”

“Who?”

“That’s what I’m going to try to find out. I called Stillwater Prison, and I’ve got permission to speak with Cecil LaPointe this afternoon.”

“Good luck. I tried two years ago, and he refused to talk to me.”

She picked up a book that had been lying facedown in front of her on the desk, and Cork saw that it was The Wisdom of White Eagle . “You’ve read this?” she asked.

“Sure.”

“What do you think?”

“I’m not big on the idea of channeling spirits. That said, it seems like a pretty good take on the spiritual journey. Very Indian.”

“Do you think the man who wrote this is capable of arranging the murder-if that’s what we’re dealing with-of Evelyn Carter?”

“I’d have a better idea of the answer to that if I could talk to LaPointe in person.”

“Which is why I want you to go with me down to Stillwater today.”

“You think he’ll be any more willing to talk now?”

She tapped the book. “If what he wrote in here isn’t bullshit, then he might talk to us, given what we’re dealing with up here.”

Cork thought about it. “And if he still refuses, I guess that would tell us something, too. What time do we leave?”

“I told the Stillwater people we’d be there at two.” Dross leaned toward him and studied his face. “Is that lipstick?”

“Grateful client.” Cork stood quickly, grabbed his coat, and said, “Pick me up at my place in an hour.”

It was Monday morning. When Cork arrived home on Gooseberry Lane, he found Jenny in the kitchen with Waaboo, both of them eating oatmeal, Jenny a lot less messy in this endeavor than her son. Stephen was nowhere to be seen.

“The Land Rover and the Bearcat are gone. Did Stephen take them?” Cork asked, hanging his parka beside the kitchen door.

“Yes,” Jenny said.

“To school?”

“Good boy,” Jenny said to Waaboo, who’d managed to put a whole spoonful of the cereal in his mouth without spilling any of it. “Stephen didn’t go to school today.”

“No? Where is he?”

“Crow Point.”

“To see Annie.”

“Not exactly.”

“What then?”

“He’s going to do a sweat.”

“Today? In this cold?”

“That’s what he says.”

“And you let him go?”

“He’s my brother, Dad, not my son. I don’t try to tell him what to do.”

“Sorry.”

“He had what he believes was a vision last night, apparently a lot like the one Henry Meloux had. Stephen’s hoping a sweat might make things clear to him. Ooops!” Jenny wiped a big blob of oatmeal off the floor where Waaboo had dropped it.

Cork slipped his boots off, left them on the mat beside the door, and considered the information Jenny had just given him. Apparently, Stephen had been able to dream the vision Meloux had urged him to attempt. Cork was proud of his son, but he wished Stephen had discussed it with him before going out to Crow Point on his own. Just one more example of how his children were outgrowing their need for him, which made him feel old and extraneous.

“Did he tell you what the vision was?”

She nodded. “This morning before he left.”

“Mind sharing it?”

Jenny told him what Stephen had reported to her. Then she asked, “Are you going out there?”

He wished that were possible, wished he could be of some help to his son. But he had other obligations at the moment, pressing ones. “I’ll talk to him later. Right now, I’m heading down to the Twin Cities with Marsha Dross.”

“What for?”

“We’re going to visit Cecil LaPointe.”

“ The Wisdom of White Eagle Cecil LaPointe?”

“That’s him.”

“Why?”

“Marsha thinks there may be some connection between LaPointe and both Evelyn Carter’s disappearance and what happened to Wakemup’s dog.”

“Revenge?”

“Something like that.”

“But he’s still in prison, isn’t he?”

“Doesn’t mean he couldn’t have help on the outside. What’s up with you and Waaboo today?”

She used her napkin to dab oatmeal from her son’s nose. “We’re spending some time with Skye.”

“Oh? I figured she’d be going out to Crow Point.”

Jenny looked as if there was something she wanted to say to him, and he waited, but what she said was “Maybe later.”

“Except for that very brief conversation we had when she first arrived, I haven’t had a chance to talk to her at all. What do you think of Skye Edwards?”

“I like her,” Jenny said, and Cork could tell she meant it. But she also avoided looking at him, deliberately focusing her attention on her son. “And Waaboo here likes her, too.”

“Is there something I should know?” Cork asked.

“When you’re back from the Twin Cities, we’ll sit down and talk. As you said, right now you have to go.”

He was torn. Whatever Jenny was holding back, he wanted let in on it. On the other hand, she was right. He was pressed for time. He needed to shower and change into clean clothes. When he returned from his visit to Stillwater Prison, there would be time for all the questions he might want to ask.

“All right,” he agreed and turned to head upstairs.

“Oh, by the way,” Jenny said to his back. “Rainy called.”

It felt like a needle had gone into his stomach. He turned back. “What did she want?”

“Just to say it was okay for Annie to use her cabin.”

“Did she ask about me?”

“Of course.”

“And you told her . . . ?”

“That you were working a case and weren’t here.” She said this in a matter-of-fact way while she cleaned more oatmeal from Waaboo’s face. “I didn’t mention the Daychilds.”

“All right,” Cork said. “Thanks.”

He continued upstairs, feeling guilty, feeling that he should call Rainy, talk to her, but knowing that he wouldn’t. Not yet anyway.

Dross picked him up half an hour later in her pickup. The roads were clear, but along the shoulders the plowed snow was piled high and packed solid. The sunlight set the winter hills ablaze with white fire. The sky was hard blue, a pureness of color possible only in the dry, frigid air of winter. Everything had such a pristine feel to it that Cork couldn’t help believing this was a day on which important answers would be found.

“Coffee in the thermos,” Dross said. “That extra cup beside it is for you.”

“Thanks.” Cork poured some brew, then said, “This’ll pretty much ensure that we have to stop a couple times on the way down.”

“No problem.” Dross carefully passed a slow-moving pickup hauling a long trailer piled with Christmas trees. “So,” she said. “You and Stella now?”

“What’s with everyone’s interest in my private affairs?”

“Small town. No one’s affairs are private.”

“I’m not going there, Marsha.”

She smiled and then shrugged. “Okay. Let’s talk about LaPointe. I don’t know the guy. What do I need to know?”

“A complicated man. Twenty years ago, he was just a mechanic, nice enough guy. Did some work on the Bronco I had back then. Knew his stuff. Good looking. A ladies’ man, but he didn’t seem to me to be a predator. The whole thing with Karyn Bowen was really surprising. Except for the fact that angel dust had been involved, I wouldn’t have believed him capable of that kind of violence. When Ray Jay Wakemup spilled his own story of what happened that night, I have to admit it seemed a more reasonable explanation. I knew Harmon Wakemup well. He was a good cop, but he had a temper, and I always thought that someday it might get him into real trouble.”