William Krueger - Heaven's keep

“Fly you and the boy to Wyoming? No problem at all, Cork,” Parmer said without a moment’s hesitation. “Glad I can be of help. I’ve got a couple of details to tie up here. If we flew out first thing in the morning, would that do? I could have you in Wyoming in time for breakfast.”

Cork would have preferred flying out that evening but knew that if they did they’d arrive in the dead of night and couldn’t do anything anyway.

“That would be fine, Hugh,” he said. “Thanks.”

“I’ll drop by around five A.M. to pick you up. That ought to get us to the Duluth airport for takeoff about sunrise.”

Cork put the phone down. If he’d just sold his soul to Parmer, he was surprised how little he cared. The truth was that, in the midst of so much need, what he felt most was an abundance of gratitude.

When darkness brought the search to an end in Wyoming that evening, Dewey Quinn called Cork to tell him that nothing had been found. Cork didn’t tell the deputy he was coming. He figured Quinn would do his best to argue him out of it and the conversation would end up awkward for them both.

He called Sarah LeDuc, told her his plan, and promised to keep her informed. He also called Marsha Dross, who said she’d been expecting as much and wished him good luck. Finally he called Stephen’s teacher and cleared his absence from school for a few more days. He drove to Sam’s Place and spent some time at the Quonset hut finishing a few details related to his PI business. He locked up and stood outside under a night sky that was slowly filling with stars. He walked to the end of the old dock. The water around the pilings was still and black. Far across the lake, the glimmer of lights from isolated cabins marked the distant shoreline. He remembered a night, years before, when he’d stood in this same spot with Jo. They’d been through hell. Their marriage had been chipped and broken and ready to fall apart. Yet under the sky that night, with the stars of heaven as their only witnesses, they’d made a vow to each other that had been sacred and true and binding. That night, far more powerfully than on the day they were wed, they pledged their lives to each other, their fortunes, their hearts, and their destinies.

Now, as he stood alone under that same sky, he made another vow.

“Wherever you are, I’ll find you, Jo. And I swear to God, I’ll bring you home.”

Day Four, Missing 65 Hours

At night the emptiness of his bed drove Cork to the sofa, where he slept with the television tuned to CNN. He drifted between sleep and fevered dreams that were often driven by the reports from the news channel. Each time he woke, he remembered almost nothing except that the landscapes were bleak.

A little after 3:00 A.M., he was awakened by the sense that he was not alone, and he opened his eyes to find Rose sitting in the rocker. She had a throw around her shoulders, one she’d knitted as a birthday present for Jo. The only light came from the television, and in the constant shift of that hard glow Rose rocked gently back and forth.

Cork sat up.

“A woman and her daughter tried to escape,” Rose said.

“What woman?” Cork struggled to bring himself fully awake.

“From the compound in Kansas. They shot them as they ran.”

“The police?”

“Someone from the compound.” She wiped her eye, dealing quietly with a tear. “The girl was only ten years old. What kind of religious community kills its mothers and its children?”

Cork had no answer for that.

“Here I am praying for Jo and for all of us. I should be praying for them, too, I suppose. Sometimes it just seems there can never be enough prayers.” She took a deep breath and exhaled. “You were talking in your sleep.”

“What did I say?”

“Nothing I could understand. It sounded angry.”

That was probably right. He was afraid, and long ago he’d come to understand that translating fear into anger helped him deal with situations that threatened to paralyze him.

“Rose, I don’t know if going out there will do any good.”

“You have to go, though. You have to act, Cork. It’s what you do best.”

“What about you?”

“I pray. It’s what I do best.”

In what quiet comfort they could draw from each other’s company, they sat until Stephen came downstairs with his suitcase. He looked at his watch.

“Mr. Parmer will be here in an hour, Dad. Have you even packed?”

“Last night.”

“Should we, like, wait out front?”

“It’s a little early for that.”

“Maybe some breakfast first,” Rose suggested, rising.

“That would be awesome, Aunt Rose.”

Stephen dropped his bag by the front door, then stood at the window staring eagerly into a morning that still looked very much like night, as if he was trying hard to hurry the dawn. Cork showered, dressed, and brought his own suitcase downstairs. Mal was up now, too, drinking coffee in the kitchen and helping Rose. Stephen sat at the table, doing a lot of damage to a stack of pancakes. The girls came down a few minutes later. And shortly after that, Hugh Parmer arrived.

Cork introduced Parmer, and they all made a fuss of thanks, which Parmer accepted in a genuinely humble fashion. Stephen was eager to be off, so they were quickly and cleanly on their way to the Duluth airport in the dark of a very early November morning. Cork had cautioned Parmer to watch for deer, who were crepuscular creatures, apt to be lurking along the road as dawn approached. They made it to the airport without incident. Just as the sun began to rise over the vast inland sea of Lake Superior, Parmer’s Learjet lifted off the ground, made a long curl to the west, and headed toward Wyoming.

After Stephen grew tired of looking out the window at the earth thirty thousand feet below, he turned to his host and asked, “Do you own this jet?”

“Yep.” Parmer sat with a cup of coffee in his hand. “Lock, stock, and twin Honeywell engines.”

“It must’ve cost like a million dollars.”

“Several, Stephen. But in my work I need the freedom that having my own set of wings gives me.”

“You build things, right? I mean like condominiums and stuff.”

“Communities, Stephen. I develop communities.”

“Dad says you’re planning on trashing the shore along Iron Lake.”

“Sorry, Hugh,” Cork said.

Parmer laughed. “One man’s vision may be another’s nightmare, son. Your dad and I have a lot of talking to do. I think we’ve finished dealing through intermediaries. I believe we’ll be working face-to-face on this from now on, man to man, which is the best way to do business, I think. But we’re going to worry about that later. Right now you and your dad have more pressing concerns.”

Stephen studied the interior of the Lear with continued admiration. “Maybe we could use your jet to look for Mom.”

“I think you’ll want something that maneuvers in and out of those mountains a little better. I’ll bet we can arrange for that.”

“We?” Cork said.

“Manner of speaking. But when I offered to help in any way I could, I wasn’t just blowing smoke, Cork. If you want to arrange for your own aircraft in the search out there, you do that. Have ’em bill it to me.”

“That’s a lot more than I intended when I asked for your help, Hugh.”

“And little enough for me to give.”

Stephen said, “Were you always rich?”

“Nope. Grew up in West Texas working on the same spread where my father was a ranch hand. That’s how I started out.”

“How’d you get rich?”

“The truth is that I married the rancher’s daughter. Didn’t do it because she was rich. I loved that woman with all my heart.”