Heaven's Keep

  “How?”

  The old Mide shrugged. “Your vision. You will have to find the answer yourself.”

  “I don’t even know where to start.”

  “You already have,” Meloux replied. “A vision is never seen with your eyes, Stephen. Your heart is the only witness, and only your heart understands.”

  “So . . . what? I have to, like, talk to my heart?”

  “I think listening will do.”

  “Henry, I need an answer now. My mom’s in real trouble.”

  “All the more reason for everything inside you to be still, Stephen, the better to hear your heart.”

  “That’s all you can tell me?” Stephen said.

  “I am afraid so,” the old man replied.

  “Jesus.” Stephen threw the last of his cigarette into the fire, stood up, and left the ring. He disappeared through the rocks heading along the path back to Meloux’s cabin.

  “He’s scared, Henry,” Cork said.

  “He has reason to be. He holds a key, but does not know the lock that it fits.”

  They walked together to the cabin with Walleye following closely. Stephen wasn’t there. Cork saw him far across the meadow, stomping along the path that would lead him through the forest to where the Bronco was parked. Meloux bent, picked up the black corn bread brick, and broke it open. The center was yellow and unburned.

  “At the heart of most things that look bad is something that can be good and useful.” He crumbled the edible section of the corn bread and spread it on the ground for the animals. “I am sorry for your situation, Corcoran O’Connor, and I hope that you discover some good in it somewhere.”

  Cork walked back the way he’d come. He found Stephen sitting in the Bronco, staring through the windshield. He got in, kicked the engine over, turned the Bronco around, and headed back toward town.

  “Lot of good that did,” Stephen said. “Listen to your heart. What kind of bullshit is that?”

  “I’d never accuse Henry of offering bullshit.”

  “Okay, you tell me what it means. What door am I supposed to open?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “See? No help at all.” Stephen folded his arms across his chest and slumped in his seat.

  Cork had intended to use the trip to Meloux’s to break the news to Stephen that he was flying to Wyoming, alone. But he found himself backing off, hoping a better opportunity might present itself, though he didn’t have a clue how that might happen.

  Halfway to Aurora, his cell phone rang. He pulled to the side of the road and answered. He listened and said, “Thanks, Mal.” He put the phone away. “We need to get home,” he told his son. “They’ve found something in the mountains.”

  Stephen’s face brightened. “Mom?”

  “No. They’ve spotted the door to a plane.”

  EIGHT

  Day Three, Missing 49 Hours

  Deputy Quinn was calling him Cork now.

  “That’s right, Cork,” he said. His cold wasn’t so much in evidence anymore. “One of our planes spotted debris in a high mountain canyon in the Washakie Wilderness. It’s in an area that’s part of a formation known as Heaven’s Keep.”

  “Debris?” Cork said.

  “What they could clearly see appeared to be the door of a plane. It’s resting on a broad ledge that’s free of snow because of the high winds. Which also means that it’s going to be difficult to get to.”

  “Any sign of the passengers?”

  “Not at the moment.”

  “How are you proceeding?”

  “We have a chopper already in the air on its way to the location. If the pilot can find a reasonable place to land, he’ll attempt it. We have EMTs onboard. We also have a ground team prepared to head in, but that will take much longer, of course.”

  “When will you know if the chopper’s able to land?”

  “Probably within the hour. I’ll keep you posted. That’s a solid-gold promise. And will you pass the information along to Ms. LeDuc?”

  “I’ll call her right now.”

  When he hung up, Cork told the others what he’d learned, which was no more than they already knew. He called Sarah LeDuc and explained.

  “Only a door?” she said.

  “It’s a start, Sarah. At least we have a location. As soon as I hear anything more, I’ll let you know. Stay near your phone.”

  When he hung up, Rose said, “I can’t just sit and wait. I’m going to make some lunch. Anyone want to give a hand?”

  Annie took her up on it, and the two of them headed to the kitchen. The others stayed in the living room. The television was tuned to CNN, but the sound was off. Cork stared at the screen, where the standoff in Kansas was center stage. Footage shot across the plains showed desolate hills, yellow-brown beneath a blue sky that, despite its swimming pool color, looked as empty and desolate as the land. There was nothing rising across the whole of the horizon except the dark, distant buildings of the compound where Hargrove and his followers were encamped. They’d chosen the place in order to be lost to the world, Cork figured, but they’d screwed themselves royally. Best laid plans.

  Looking at all the emptiness made Cork realize how closed-in the house felt, how constraining. What he really wanted was to be in Wyoming, looking for Jo. He wanted to be on the helicopter that was at that moment speeding to . . . what? Her rescue? Only a door. That’s all they saw. Only a door. And what did that mean?

  “A door,” Stephen said, as if he’d read his father’s thoughts.

  By now, everyone knew about Stephen’s dream, which Meloux, like Stephen, believed was a vision.

  “Maybe it’s the door,” he said.

  Jenny said, “Don’t get your hopes up.”

  Stephen gave his sister a challenging look. “Why not?”

  “I’m just saying we don’t really know anything yet.” She was less than gentle in her reply.

  What she meant, Cork thought, was that the door was wreckage. And wreckage wasn’t good. Maybe she was trying to help Stephen see things more realistically, but her own nerves were frayed, and it came out as an accusation. They all were feeling the strain. He could see it in the pinch of their faces, hear it in the taut cadence when they spoke, feel it in the despair that hung in the house like fouled air.

  He said, “Stephen, let’s do some surfing on the Internet.”

  “Looking for what?”

  “For hope,” Cork said. “Come on.”

  They went upstairs to Stephen’s room and for half an hour looked on the Net for stories of miraculous survival in frigid conditions. What they came up with was a half dozen tales of men and women whose luck and courage had brought them out of impossible situations: a party that had survived the ill-fated Scott polar expedition; the crash of a Canadian military transport in the Arctic; a man who’d survived a plane wreck in the High Sierra and hiked through wilderness for two weeks to reach safety despite a dozen broken bones.

  Stephen’s spirits seemed to rise with each miraculous tale, and he began pulling them off the computer and printing them to share with the others.

  Downstairs, the doorbell rang. A moment later Mal called up, “Someone to see you, Cork.”

  To his profound surprise, Cork found Hugh Parmer standing in the shade of his porch.

  “This isn’t a good time,” Cork said curtly.

  “I’m sorry to intrude, O’Connor, but I have something to say to you that I thought you’d want to hear. It’s important or I wouldn’t bother you at a time like this.”

  Cork stepped outside. The morning was sunny and the temperature had climbed to forty degrees. Even in the shade of the porch, Parmer squinted, and Cork realized it was the natural state of the man’s face. The face of a cowboy masking the mind of a real estate tyrant.

  “Look, O’Connor, I know about your trouble, and I’m here to tell you that I’m putting the Iron Lake development on hold indefinitely. I’m not going to kick a man while he’s down.”

  “You’re droppi
ng your plans for the lakeshore?”

  “Let’s take it one step at a time. Right now, I’m pulling back. I don’t want you to have to worry about anything except your family. Later on, you and me can sit down, and I’m willing to bet we can hammer out something that works for both of us. But don’t you even think about that right now. This is no bullshit.”

  He put out his hand, and after a moment’s consideration, Cork accepted it. Parmer’s palm was callused. Cork realized this wasn’t a man who spent his time sitting in a plush office.

  “There’s nothing more important than family, O’Connor. You see to yours.”

  “The name’s Cork.”

  “Call me Hugh. And listen, you need anything in all this, just let me know. Here.” He pulled a card from an inside pocket of the jacket he wore and handed it to Cork. “That’s my cell phone number. My Lear’s parked down at the Duluth airport and I’m flying back to Texas tomorrow morning, but I can be reached anytime.”

  Cork said, “I misjudged you, Hugh.”

  “Not the first time that’s happened. I’m a good businessman, Cork, but I’m a whole hell of a lot more.”

  “Look, we’re about to have some lunch inside. You’re welcome to join us.”

  “Thanks, but I didn’t come here to intrude.”

  “You came with a good heart, Hugh. That’s never an intrusion.”

  “I appreciate the offer, but all the same I’ll be leaving now.” He nodded toward the card. “I mean it. Call me anytime.”

  He walked down the steps and went to his car, a rented Navigator that was parked at the curb. He gave a wave as he drove off.

  Cork’s situation was so confusing that he understood he couldn’t necessarily trust his judgment of Parmer. The man could have been setting him up in order to call in the note later, when they dealt with Sam’s Place. That didn’t matter. At the moment, Cork would have sold his soul to have Jo home safely. He eyed the card in his hand. A small white rectangle. He rotated it so that the long sides were vertical. It looked like a door.

  “Dad,” Annie called from inside. “Lunch is ready.”

  The phone call came a few minutes past noon, while Stephen was sharing with the others what he’d found on the Internet. Cork leaped up to answer.

  “O’Connor,” he said.

  “It’s Deputy Quinn.”

  “What’s the word, Dewey?”

  “Still uncertain. We got a report from Jon Rude.” Quinn pronounced the name in a way that rhymed with today. “He’s piloting the helicopter. A very good guy. The wind’s a problem up there. It’s kicking his chopper all over the place. But he thinks he’s found a site where he might be able to attempt a landing. It’s about a quarter mile from the ledge where the plane door was spotted, and after he lands there’ll be some climbing involved. Even if he can set down, it will be a while before we know anything. Sorry I don’t have something more solid for you.”

  “You’re a big help, Dewey. Thanks.”

  Cork passed the news along to the others, then called Sarah LeDuc and did the same.

  The next call came at one thirty.

  “Cork, it’s Dewey. Look, I have some bad news. Or maybe it’s not bad, I don’t know. They’ve reached the wreckage. It’s not the plane your wife was on. It’s a small Cessna that went missing five years ago, flown by a real estate broker from Rawlins. We spent a good long time looking for it then, but the search was centered much farther south. The team’s found human remains, which they’ll be bringing down. We’ve notified the pilots who’ve been helping with the current search, and they’re going back into the air just as soon as they can. I’m sorry, Cork.”

  “Thanks, Dewey. I appreciate the call.”

  They all watched him expectantly. Cork braced himself and forced a smile. “Good news,” he said. “It wasn’t Jo’s plane.” He explained, trying to give the news the best possible spin. But after they’d heard, they seemed to sit a little lower, more heavily weighted than before. Hope was like that, Cork knew. It could be crueler than despair.

  “I’m going to get a little fresh air,” he said.

  He went out onto the porch. The branches of the elm in the front yard had long ago been stripped bare, and the shadow they cast on the lawn made the ground look fractured. The air was cool and full of the scent of woodsmoke from the blaze in someone’s fireplace. It would have been a beautiful day if not for the worry that dragged on all Cork’s thinking.

  Mal came out. “I haven’t wanted a cigarette in years,” he said. “Right now I’d kill for one.” He leaned against the porch railing. “You’re leaving for the airport in a couple of hours and you still haven’t said a thing to the kids about going to Wyoming.”

  “You think I don’t know that?” When Cork heard the venom in his own voice, he apologized to Mal. Then he confessed, “I can’t bring myself to tell Stephen.”

  “Take him with you.”

  “That’s not a good idea, Mal.”

  “Why? Look, Cork, you can leave Rose and the girls. They have each other. For Stephen, you’re it. And he’s dying to be out there helping. You go and leave him behind, well, that’d be one big mistake, in my opinion.”

  The sun had dropped low enough to shoot fire at their feet, and they stood in a puddle that burned bright yellow on the porch boards.

  Cork said, “It would be easier to operate if I were on my own.”

  “Maybe. But listen. One of the things you’ve told me about your father’s death is that you’ve always felt there was something more you could have done. If Jo is lost to us for good, if ultimately that’s what we all have to face, wouldn’t you rather that Stephen faces it believing he did everything he could? Wouldn’t you want to believe it of yourself?”

  For a few long moments, Cork stared at the fire around his feet, then he decided. “Thanks, Mal. Let’s go in and give them the word.”

  They didn’t respond immediately when Cork told them he was going. He didn’t know exactly what that meant.

  “I think it’s important to be there,” he said.

  “Are you going alone?” Jenny asked.

  “No. I’d like to take Stephen with me. Is that okay with you, buddy?”

  Stephen looked surprised, then he looked brighter than he had in days. “Heck, yes.”

  Cork said to his daughters, “Are you two okay with that?”

  The girls looked at each other.

  Jenny said, “I’m totally cool with it.”

  “It’s a terrific idea,” Annie said.

  “It’s settled then.”

  Stephen jumped up and headed for the stairs. “I’ve gotta pack.”

  It wasn’t as simple as Cork had hoped. Nothing was simple anymore. There were no seats left on the flight he was taking. He got off the phone ready to put his fist through the kitchen wall.

  Rose, who’d been sitting at the table with her rosary, said, “What about Mr. Parmer?”

  “What about him?”

  “He offered to help, didn’t he? And you told me, didn’t you, that he’s got his own plane?”

  It was a slim hope, but Cork was desperate. He pulled his wallet from his back pocket and plucked out the business card Hugh Parmer had given him. He noted the cell phone number, then turned the card lengthwise so that it again resembled a door. He made the call.

  “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.”

  NINE

  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.