Neil McMahon - Dead Silver

From there, the story was still largely speculation. It was known that he'd made his way to Colorado-he probably already had the Lon Jessup identity established-using the skills of his upbringing to get by as a woods hand. But that wasn't going to suit him for long. He was looking for his chance.

He found it when he spotted Professor Callister and Astrid, who were in Boulder to attend an ecological convention. Somehow he met them, no doubt picking up on the fact that Astrid was hot for more radical action than endless debate and counterproposals. He convinced her that his own sympathies lay in that direction, and if the story that Buddy Pertwee had heard was true, he led her to raid a gyppo logging camp where they shot and wounded one of the men. He then used his connection with her to come visit them in Montana, soon married Evvie, and returned to his former high-rolling lifestyle.

There things might have rested forever, except that Astrid decided she wanted more-his help in blowing up the Dead Silver Mine. But Tice knew perfectly well that he was dealing with amateurs who would certainly get caught-and that his past, including the Miami murders, was bound to come to light.

Had Astrid seduced him like she had the mine manager who'd died with her, for the same reason-to draw out information that she could use for her own purposes? Still playing her game, not realizing how dangerous Tice truly was? Had he let slip some damning story about his past, which she then threatened to reveal unless he gave in to her demands?

It seemed like a strong bet that that was what had gotten her killed. Just as with the other women, he hadn't considered it personal-simply a businesslike precaution.

That chilly emptiness was mirrored by the vacant lifeless rooms of the old house. As I wandered around, I became keenly aware by contrast of the warmth that once must have filled them. The intrinsic beauty of the inlaid hardwood floors, the high plaster ceilings, the carefully fitted trim was still there.

Sell it, hell.

I had just enough time to do some shopping before Renee arrived.

I waited at the front door for her, like the times she'd waited for me, and walked out to meet her when Gary pulled up to drop her off. He didn't get out, just waved to me, no doubt realizing that this was a situation where three would be a crowd.

My anticipation was cut by concern when I first glimpsed Renee's face. Her expression was one I'd seen before, suggesting that something had gone wrong. It changed to a welcoming smile as she stepped into my arms, but her embrace seemed like less than it could have been.

We walked on into the house. I'd gotten a good blaze going in the fireplace and turned on a cheerful array of lights. A pair of filet mignons and trimmings were in the refrigerator, and the aroma of baking potatoes was starting to fill the air. I had a dozen roses sitting on the table, flanked by bottles of chilled sauvignon blanc and Powers whiskey.

Her pleased surprise was obvious and she hugged me again. But I could still feel that undercurrent of trouble.

"Look, I got a notion," I said-speaking hastily, trying to push past it. "I could get this place in decent shape in a few months. So, you know, a couple of people would be comfortable living here again. It's the kind of job Madbird and I love. Wouldn't break the bank, just the cost of materials and his wages."

"Oh, Hugh, what a lovely thought," she murmured. She stepped back, holding both my hands and raising her gaze to mine.

"I feel like I owe you a debt I can never pay back," she said. "It's almost like one of those old myths-you saved me from the monster that was haunting my life."

"The only debt any of us owe is to our lucky stars, especially me. They lined up when I needed them."

"But I just coasted on through and never really got touched. You had to do the hard part, and you'll have to live with that forever. Are you okay with it? It must be such an enormous thing, I can't even imagine."

"It'll be there in my head," I said. "But I'm more than okay with it. Is that what's bothering you? Feeling like you've got to be nice to me because you're obligated? Lose that. You don't."

She lowered her gaze. "No. Look, I need a few minutes to get settled. Then can we talk about the house?"

"Sure," I said, relieved. "Whenever you feel like it. Take your time."

Then she started crying, breaking away from me and covering her face.

"I think Daddy knew," she got out. "That it was Lon who did it. He had to-had to at least suspect."

I stood there poleaxed, in a stillness underscored by the sounds of her weeping and the merrily crackling fire. Then I stepped to the table, opened the bottles, and poured us drinks, mostly for something to do. I took one of her hands and pressed the glass of wine into it. She sipped and gave me a tremulous smile of thanks, but it faded fast.

"That night I heard Daddy and Astrid arguing?" Renee said. "There was another part I'd blocked out. When she was mocking Daddy that he never did anything but talk-he snapped back at her, something like, 'I'm the one who shot that man, not you. And for what? Just to prove to you I could.'"

"You heard your father say he shot a man?"

"I should have told you about it, I know. I didn't want to admit it, and it didn't seem to be part of this. But then when we found out about Lon, it made sense. I think he was talking about Lon taking Astrid to raid that illegal logging camp in Colorado. Daddy must have gone with them. Maybe Lon even maneuvered him into it-made him feel like an old man, competing for her." Renee shook her head, looking both wounded and angry. "That's how stupid I am. All along, I thought they were friends, but really Lon had that terrible hold on Daddy."

And Professor Callister had never summoned the courage to break it, because if he'd voiced his suspicions about Lon Jessup, Lon would have turned him in for the Colorado shooting, an unprovoked assault that would have carried a long prison sentence.

Talk about a devil's bargain.

So now, instead of experiencing the ecstatic relief of learning that her adored father was not a murderer, Renee was devastated by his cowardice.

"You haven't mentioned this to anybody else?" I said.

"Just you."

"Is that how you want it?"

"For now. Maybe forever, I don't know."

"That's how it'll stay, then," I said.

She nodded gratefully, but her eyes were starting to tear up again. "I'm sorry. I'm a mess, I've hardly slept."

"My fault; I should have realized that," I said. "Let's take a rain check on dinner, huh?"

"If that's okay. I wouldn't be much company tonight."

"You feel like talking?" I said. "Maybe unload a little?"

"I think I just need to crash."

I nodded. It was about as gentle as a dismissal could be, but it was still a dismissal.

Renee picked up the Powers bottle and pressed it into my hands. "Here, at least take this."

We walked together to the door. One warm, tear-salted kiss later, my whiskey and I were on our way home.

On a Thursday toward the end of May, with spring ripening into summer, Madbird and I finished remodeling the final cabin at the Split Rock Lodge. By the time we picked up our tools and gave the place a once-over with a Shop-Vac, it was three in the afternoon-perfect for starting a long weekend. We headed for the bar.

Pam Bryce brought us drinks on the house and set them in front of us, with her mouth turning down in a playfully sad little pout.

"I can't believe you guys aren't going to be around anymore," she said. "I've gotten so used to you, like…" she gestured in the air, bracelets tinkling, trying to find the right comparison.

"The junker cars?" I said. She laughed and swatted at my hand.