Dina shook her head. “It’s not what you think.”
“What?”
“You’re thinking, Lonely life, wasted life, something like that. Family and children, that’s where it’s at, right?”
She started to deny it, but Dina had spoken the truth. Jewell said instead, “My life’s different, that’s all.”
“No.” Dina looked at her pointedly, green eyes like jade knife blades. “You were thinking better.” She turned back to the road ahead. “I could remind you about all the pain you’ve gone through as a result of the choices you’ve made—a lost husband, and I’ll bet you lose a lot of sleep over Ren—but what would be the point except to defend my own choices. My life is my life, yours is yours. End of discussion.”
Jewell offered, “It feels to me like I’m not the one you’re trying to convince.”
“Look, I like what I do, and what I do requires a particular kind of life. I need to be able to be gone at a moment’s notice without worrying about who I’m leaving behind, even if it’s only a cat.”
They were quiet as they approached the bridge over the Copper River.
“I had a snake once, a constrictor,” Dina said in a softer tone. “I got it because if I needed to be gone, I could feed it a mouse and it would be fine for several days.”
“What happened?”
“I found that I was coming home to a creature I didn’t particularly like, I couldn’t talk to, felt cold to my touch, and that I got a rise out of only when it wanted something from me. I realized the snake was just like my ex-husband.”
She turned to Jewell and gave a little shrug. They laughed as they crossed the bridge and entered Bo-dine.
Ned Hodder’s office was empty and locked. In the window was a permanent sign giving a number to call if anyone needed assistance. Jewell punched in the number on her cell phone. Ned answered. The signal was weak, his voice choppy.
“Constable Hodder.”
Jewell told him where they were and that they needed to talk.
“I’m south of town on the lake, checking on a possible break-in at a summer cottage. But everything looks fine to me. So wait right there. I’ll be back in fifteen minutes.”
True to his word, he swung his Cherokee onto Harbor Avenue a quarter hour later and opened his office. He walked to his desk, where a cheap wire-bound notebook lay open. He quickly closed it and slipped it into the top desk drawer. Besides his own chair, which was an old wooden affair on wheels that squeaked whenever they rolled, there was only one other chair available. “Wait here.” He went through the metal door at his back.
Dina walked around the desk and looked at the drawer where Ned had stowed his notebook. “What was that he put away so quickly? From the guilty look on his face, you’d have thought it was drugs.”
“Poetry, probably.”
A surprised smile appeared on Dina’s lips. “Your constable writes poetry? Is he any good?”
“I don’t know. He never lets anybody see it. He thinks we don’t know but everybody does.”
“That’s kind of sweet.”
“He’s a sweet guy.”
Dina sat on the edge of the desk. “Known him long?”
“All my life. We even dated in high school.”
“Didn’t work out?”
“After graduation we went our own ways. I met my husband, Ned met his wife.”
“He’s married?”
“A widower.”
Dina shook her head. “A sweet guy who writes poetry and is available. What’s wrong with this picture?”
Ned returned with a folding chair. He waited until the women were seated, then sat down himself. He crossed his arms on his desktop and leaned toward Jewell, his big brown eyes full of interest.
“What did you want to talk to me about?”
Jewell glanced at Dina who nodded her approval that they proceed.
“We have an idea about how all the horrible things that have been happening here might be connected. Max’s death, the girl in the lake, Stuart Gullickson.”
Ned sat back with a puzzled look on his face. “Connected? All those things? This I gotta hear.”
“I need a promise from you first.”
He shrugged. “Run it by me and we’ll see.”
“Charlie’s involved, but she doesn’t want to talk to the police.”
“Charlie’s okay? Thank God.”
“We want to keep her out of it as long as we can.”
Ned opened his hands, as if accepting the deal. “That’s fine by me, but this is really way outside my jurisdiction.” His eyes swung from Jewell to Dina. “Why are you telling me? What is it you think I can do?”
Dina said, “You know the investigator. Talk to him, let him know the facts, point him in the right direction.”
Ned rubbed a finger across his lips in contemplation. “I can try. So that’s the whole deal? I pass the word along to Terry Olafsson but keep Charlie out of it.”
“That’s the deal.”
“You have my word.” He leaned forward again, his face full of anticipation. “Talk to me.”
Jewell told him what Charlie and Ren had related: Stuart seeing the body in the river; the late-night search along the shoreline of Superior; the encounter with the mystery boat; and Charlie’s experience at the trailer when the men killed her father.
Ned interrupted. “But it was Stuart who saw the body, not Charlie or Ren?”
“That’s right.”
“How do you know anything was really there—that it wasn’t just a trick of the light or something?”
“Because the body showed up in the harbor here the next day.”
“A body did. That doesn’t mean it had anything to do with whatever it was that Stuart, who I’m sure was stoned out of his head, may or may not have seen.”
“It comes together when you connect all the dots,” Dina said.
“Okay.” He raised his hands to slow things down a little. “Suppose the kids did see a body in the river—the body, why would anyone want them dead for that?”
“Because the river is the key,” Dina replied.
Ned looked confused.
Jewell stepped in to help. “They don’t want anyone to know that the girl’s body came down the river, Ned, because that would point directly to them.”
“Directly to who?” he said with a note of exasperation. “There’s no one on the river. Outside town, there’s almost no way to get to the river except along the trail or farther up at the Copper River Club.” As he said those last words, an understanding seemed to dawn in him, and he looked concerned. “You’re not saying … what? Some rich guys killed that girl and dumped her in the river?”
Jewell said, “The connection’s not through money, Ned. The dead girl was living at Providence House.”
“In Marquette?”
“That’s right. Delmar Bell works at Providence House.”
“So?”
“Who’s his best friend, Ned?”
“Calvin Stokely.” Ned’s eyebrows met for a few moments as he put together the information and the insinuation. “Jesus, you’re not saying Bell and Stokely did this, are you?”
“All I’m saying at this point is that the only connection we’ve found so far between the girl, Bodine, and the Copper River runs through Delmar and Calvin.”
“Why would they do something like this?”
“We’re not accusing them of anything at this point,” Dina said, “but the circumstantial connections are certainly there, and at the moment that’s all we have. So maybe it’s time to start asking this Bell and Stokely some questions.”
“Olafsson seemed to think the girl’s death might have been suicide,” Ned argued.
Jewell shook her head. “We’ve spent the day talking to people who knew her, Ned. It wasn’t suicide.”
He locked his hands behind his head, as if his skull were too full now and he was afraid it would split open. “Del and Calvin. Those two have always been creepy. But I can’t
just walk up to Olafsson and say, ‘Take a look at these guys. They’re creepy.’”
“It’s possible he already has pieces of the puzzle you don’t know about and when you give him what we’ve given you, it may all fit. I think you ought to try, Ned. Please,” Jewell added on a softer note.
“Let me see if I can set something up.” He picked up his phone and punched speed dial. He waited. Outside, the sky had grown hazy and the light in the room had dimmed a bit. “Terry, it’s Ned Hodder. Give me a call when you can. It’s important.”
He hung up. “Voice mail. Let me try something else.” He punched the buttons on the phone and a moment later said, “Yeah, Roberta, it’s Ned Hodder in Bodine. How’re you doing?” He listened, laughed lightly. “I know. Must be a full moon. Listen, I’m trying to reach Terry Olafsson but only getting his voice mail. Any idea where he might be? Uh-huh … uhhuh … okay … Yeah, I’d appreciate that, thanks.” He set the phone in its cradle. “He’s in court right now. Roberta’ll page him, have him give me a buzz when he can.”
Dina put her hand on the desk and Ned looked her way. “This Stokely who has the cabin on the river,” she said. “Any chance of seeing his place? Maybe seeing him?”
“Why?”
“Curiosity. Don’t you have it?”
The question appeared to catch him off guard and he seemed uncertain whether it had been a jab at his professionalism.
“What did you have in mind?” he asked warily.
“Do you ever have access to this Copper River Club?”
“I get up there maybe once a week.”
“So it wouldn’t be unusual for you to show up?”
“No. But look, I’m not going to go mucking around in someone else’s investigation.”
“Who said anything about mucking? I’d just like to know the lay of the land. Is that possible?”
Ned stared at the phone a long time as if willing it to ring. Finally he looked up at Dina and said, “Why not?”
37
Charlie lay facedown on Ren’s bed, sobbing quietly into a pillow. Ren stood near the closed door, hands clenched deep in his pockets, watching with miserable helplessness. He wasn’t used to such raw emotion from Charlie unless it was anger, which he knew how to handle. He could rise to her fits of rage. He’d done it all his life. This was different. Charlie was different. She’d seemed to change almost overnight from his best friend into a person of mystifying moods.
“Are you okay?” he ventured.
“No.” The pillow muffled the word.
“Do you need anything?”
She shook her head.
“Can I do something?”
She rolled over, wiping at her eyes with her knuckles. She looked fragile, which was a little disconcerting to Ren, who’d always thought of her as tough as a snapping turtle.
“She didn’t have anybody, Ren. And neither do I.”
“Who, Charlie? Who didn’t have anybody?”
“Sara. Nobody to, you know, watch out for her. Nobody to care if she was safe or worry about her being grabbed off the street or whatever. I don’t want to be like that, Ren. I want somebody to care about me.”
“I care.”
“Yeah, right.” She rolled back over and returned to her sobbing.
Crying like this was the worst thing she’d ever done to him. He’d rather she’d slug him. In desperation, he went to the closet and pulled out his Nike shoe box. He sat on the bed beside her and opened the box.
“Charlie, look. I’ve never shown this stuff to anybody.”
She lifted her head, saw what he held, considered it while she hiccuped a couple of times, then sat up. “What is it?”
“It’s kind of like a treasure chest. I put all the stuff in here that I want to keep forever. Like this, see?” He picked up the stone he’d found on the shore of Lake Superior and cradled it in the palm of his hand. “See the figure there? What’s it look like?”
She took it from him and held it near her face. “A wolf?”
“I’m Wolf clan. I just found it. I think I was supposed to find it.”
She handed him the stone, and he put it back in the box and reached for something else. “Recognize this?”
“Yeah. That’s the cast you made of the cougar track.”
“It’s pretty awesome, huh?”
Her eyes returned to the box, and Ren saw what she was looking at. He lifted it out.
“Know what that is?” he asked.
“It’s just a resin bag. What’s it doing in there?”
“Summer before last, you threw it at Skip Hogarth just before you tore into him on the ball field.”
She seemed confused. “Why do you have it?”
“I don’t know. It was just lying there after everybody walked off, so I picked it up. It reminds me of you, kind of. You really like baseball and you’re not afraid to bust somebody’s lip who needs to have a lip busted. And…”
“Yeah?”
“Well … sometimes when I’m alone here and I’m feeling kind of empty and sad, I take it out and hold it and it’s like you’re here, too, and I feel better, you know?”
“Seriously?”
“Totally. And look here.” Ren pulled out a marble, a cat’s-eye boulder with an amber-colored heart. “You remember this?”
Charlie stared at it and a smile slowly crossed her lips. “Smackdown.”
Ren nodded. “Smackdown. The granddaddy of all boulders. I won it from you three years ago. Man, that was a great game of marbles that day.”
“We haven’t shot marbles in forever,” she said, sounding a little sad.
“You got bored with it, remember? But I kept Smackdown. I think it was the only time I ever beat you at anything.” He put the marble back in the box. “Charlie, as long as I’m around, you’ll never be alone, I promise.”
She looked at him with eyes like warm cocoa. “Really?” she whispered.
“I mean,” he said, staring into the box as if suddenly mesmerized by what was there, “you’re like my sister or something.”
She sat back just a little. “Sister?”
“That’s right.”
“Sister,” she said.
She was still holding the resin bag. The next thing Ren knew, it caromed off his face. Charlie bounced from the bed and stomped out of the room, leaving him feeling like a doofus: clueless, stupid, and alone.
Cork was sitting on the sofa giving his leg a rest when the girl came from Ren’s room and stormed toward the front door.
“Where are you going?” he asked, hoping he wouldn’t have to get up and chase her, because he couldn’t.
“Out.”
“Not alone you’re not.” He used his best cop broach-no-dissent voice.
“Bite me,” she replied, pulled the door open, and was gone.
Cork struggled to his feet as Ren walked in looking downcast. “What did you say to her?” Cork asked. He hobbled to the front door where he caught sight of Charlie, who’d stopped next to a hemlock tree and was hitting it with the side of her fist as if it had insulted her terribly.
“Nothing.” Ren shrugged. “I was just trying to make her feel better. I don’t get her.”
“She’s dealing with some pretty difficult issues right now. She’s confused about a lot of things.”
“She cries all the time.” Ren sidled up beside Cork and looked outside. “She never used to cry.”
“Ever?”
“I mean over nothing. Like right now.”
“What happened just now?”
Ren took a breath and let out a heavy sigh. “She said she was afraid nobody cared about her. I told her I did. I told her she was just like a sister.”
“You didn’t.”
“What’s the big deal?”
Charlie rubbed her fists against her pants—wiping away the pain or wiping off hemlock sap, it was hard to say—stuffed her hands in her pockets, hunched her shoulders, and started walking away, kicking at the ground as she went.
“Let’s go out on the porch, Ren, so we can keep an eye on Charlie.”
They settled on the top step. It was late afternoon and quiet. A quilt of fallen leaves covered the ground; soft yellow sunlight and long dark shadows overlay everything. It reminded Cork just a little of autumn afternoons in Aurora when he sat on the front porch of his house on Gooseberry Lane and admired the street, the neighborhood, and the town he was happy to call home.
“You’re coming right up against a line that all people cross, Ren. Every man, every woman. It’s a tough one, so tough in fact that most societies seem to have developed all kinds of complicated rituals to help folks through it. You know, if you were a Shinnob in the old days, you’d have to know how to play a courting flute to get the girl you loved to marry you.”
“I like Charlie. We’re best friends. But I don’t, you know, like her like a girl. I never even thought of her like a girl. I mean, look at her.”
Ren’s point was well taken. She was slender, breastless, and her head, covered by the dark bristle of her returning hair, looked like a dough ball rolled in iron filings. Her movements were fluid and explosive, and at the moment, kicking viciously at the ground, she resembled more a playground bully than a burgeoning young woman.
“Is there someone you do like that way?” Cork ventured.
Ren seemed totally absorbed in pulling at a wood fragment that was separating from a porch plank. Finally he said, “I guess. Her name’s Amber. But I don’t want to tell Charlie that.”
“I wish I could say there’s a right way to go about something like this, Ren, but every situation is different. Mostly I’d advise you to do your best to be honest with Charlie. If you tell her things that aren’t true, hoping to spare her feelings, you’ll only end up making everything worse in the end.”
Ren succeeded in breaking loose the long splinter. He tested the point of it against his thumb. “Why does everything have to change?”
“I don’t know the answer to that. I only know it does and that you can’t stop it. What you can do is figure how to deal with it.”
The boy looked at Charlie, who stood with her back resolutely turned toward them.
“So … should I talk to her?”