Lone Wolf (7 page)

I was worried about how this was going to go, but surprised myself when the pole whipped back over my head, I released the tension on the line, and the plug went sailing through the air, plopping nicely into the water not far from where Bob’s had gone.

“Juanita would’ve loved a morning like this,” Bob said.

“Juanita?”

“She was my wife. You’re thinking, a name like that, what was she? She was from Mexico, originally. She loved to come out here, especially early in the morning, with the water smooth as glass, the mist still not all burned off. At first, years ago, when we first started coming up, I thought she did it just to keep me happy, which made me feel sort of bad. Didn’t want to think she was sitting out here for hours just tolerating it, you know?”

“Sure.”

“So one year, I decide, without telling her, to book something different for when we usually come up here. Put aside some money, to take her to San Francisco. Ride the trolley cars, see the Golden Gate, that kind of thing. Well, she finds out I’ve done this and doesn’t talk to me for two days. All she wants, she says, is to come up here and sit on a lake with me. Made me cancel the Frisco trip.”

“She liked fishing?”

Bob Spooner shrugged. “Liked it okay. It was sitting out here that she liked most. Sometimes, she’d bring a book, curl up right there, on the floor by the front seat, and just read while I fished. One time she read one of your books.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, your dad had a copy, she borrowed it. About these guys, they go to another planet, they’re like missionaries, only backwards? They try to spread the word that there’s no God, but then something awful happens to them. That one.”

“How’d she like it?”

Bob pondered. “I don’t know. She didn’t finish it.”

I reeled in, cast out again. “You miss her,” I said.

Bob nodded. “Awful thing, that cancer. Took her a long time to go. Didn’t want to lose her, but at the same time, wished I could have ended it for her sooner.”

For a long time, we said nothing. We sat there in the stillness of the morning, watching the last of the overnight mist burn away. I understood what had drawn my father up here to stay, how up here, there was much less to worry about, much less to get your shorts in a knot about.

Except, maybe, for the Wickenses.

“I’m thinking,” I said, breaking the silence, “of taking Dad into town to see a lawyer, see what he can do about those people renting his farmhouse. Maybe he could get them evicted. Look what they’re doing to the place.”

“Worth checking into,” Bob said, studying where his line disappeared into the water. He turned his reel a couple of times, then let it back out again.

“A lawyer could at least let Dad know where he stands, tell him what his options are regarding—”

And then my line took off. The reel started spinning.

“Jesus, what the hell’s that?” I said. “I must be caught on a log.”

“That’s no fucking log,” Bob said. “You’ve got hold of something.” He began reeling in his own line so he could concentrate on what had hold of mine. “Just play it,” he said gently. “Keep him busy.”

I pulled back on the pole, then eased it forward again, turning the reel furiously to pick up the slack and bring the fish closer to the boat.

Something dark and oily looking broke the surface of the water. Something long and slender and black, and at least three feet long. With a broad fin toward one end.

“Whoa,” said Bob.

“What? What is it?”

“It’s a muskie, that’s for sure. Probably go four feet, maybe more.”

And then the fish’s snout appeared above the surface, my lure caught on the edge of its lower lip, and it shook its head vigorously back and forth a couple of times before disappearing under the surface.

“That’s not just any muskie,” said Bob. “I think that just might be Audrey.”

“Audrey?”

“Just then, I noticed a scar on her snout, just under the right eye. I know that fish. I’ve hooked into her a couple times over the years. Biggest fish I’ve ever seen out here. Keep reeling in.”

“I’m trying but she’s putting up a hell of a fight.” Truth was, I couldn’t manage to turn the reel. “You want to take it?”

Bob shook his head. “She’s your fish. You either land her, or you don’t. I hooked into her three years ago, and two years before that. It’s in my diary. That bitch is still out here. I don’t believe it. Last couple times I hooked into her, it was right near here.”

The pole was bent over sharply, the line taut. “Why Audrey?” I asked.

“My grade two teacher. Used to whack me with a ruler every day. Meanest bitch ever to stand in front of a classroom.” He paused. “I’ve thought, if I could ever land Audrey, I could retire from fishing altogether and die a happy man.”

“It’s not right that she’s hit my line,” I said. “Really, take the pole and—”

And suddenly, my fishing pole sprang upward, the tension going out of it instantly. The line went slack.

I reeled in as quickly as I could, until my lure appeared above the surface of the water, nothing attached to it.

Bob smiled. “Audrey’s as smart as she is mean. Maybe, next time we’re out here, she’ll hit my line instead of yours.”

W
hen I got back to Dad’s cabin, Dr. Heath was taking a look at Dad’s ankle. Dad was stretched out on the couch, and the doctor had perched himself on the big wooden coffee table, looking at the bandage, lightly touching it.

Dr. Heath turned when he saw me come in. “Why, hello,” he said. “Just thought I’d take a run out here and see how your father’s coming along.”

“And how’s that?” I asked.

The elderly doctor nodded wisely. “I’d say just fine. If he can keep his weight off it, I’d say another week he’ll be in pretty good shape.”

Yikes. A whole week? Taking that much time off from the paper might be pushing it. Best to take this a day at a time, I told myself.

“Arlen,” he said to my father, “you have to promise me you won’t do anything stupid.”

“Fine, fine, don’t worry,” he said, pulling a thick sock back up over the wounded ankle. “Zachary’s hanging in for a few days.”

The doctor grabbed his medical bag, headed for the door.

“I’ll walk you to your car,” I said.

We were approaching his black Buick, and I said, “Can I ask you something?”

“If you’re worried about your father, you shouldn’t be. He’s going to be just fine.”

“That’s good, but that wasn’t what I wanted to ask you about. It’s about Morton Dewart.”

“Awful thing,” Dr. Heath said.

“Did you do an autopsy on the body?” I asked.

“Of course,” said Dr. Heath. “I had to declare a cause of death.”

“And what did you determine that to be?”

Dr. Heath made a small snorting noise. “Misadventure, with a bear.”

“So that was your conclusion, that he was killed by a bear?”

Dr. Heath looked puzzled. “Of course. You saw him. Didn’t he look like he was killed by a bear to you?”

“But isn’t that just an assumption?”

“You heard what Mr. Wickens said. He made a statement that Mr. Dewart had gone out, specifically, to find that bear, and shoot it. Then he’s found as he was. It doesn’t take much to put that together, Mr. Walker.”

“But when you did your autopsy, did your examination of the wounds support the contention that he was killed by the bear? Did the bite marks match the size of a bear’s jaw, that kind of thing?”

Dr. Heath was shaking his head, getting irritated. “Look, I don’t understand what the point of your question is. We saw the body, we have Mr. Wickens on record as saying the deceased was hunting for a bear. I think you put all that together and you conclude that Mr. Dewart was killed by a bear. That’s what I did, and now the body is being released to his own family, not the Wickenses.”

I looked into the doctor’s face, made an awkward smile. It wasn’t my intention to be disrespectful. Dr. Heath seemed like a nice old gentleman. But I had to ask.

“You didn’t really conduct a thorough autopsy, did you? You figured it was a bear that killed him, as opposed to, for the sake of argument, a couple of dogs, so you didn’t look for any other possibilities.”

His face was getting flushed. “I totally resent the implications of that remark.”

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I’m asking you these questions with the utmost respect. But there’s another wrinkle to this I want to get your thoughts on, and I admit, it may be more in Chief Thorne’s area than yours.”

“And what’s that?” Dr. Heath said, his hand on the car door, eager to leave.

“Where’s the rifle?”

Dr. Heath’s brow furrowed. “What rifle?”

“If Morton Dewart ran into a bear while he was out hunting for one, where’s his rifle? I searched the woods this morning, went all around the area where the body had been found, and there’s no rifle, no shotgun, whatever you want to call it, anyplace.”

He opened his car door, tossed his case over to the passenger seat, and said to me, “I have no idea where it is, and it isn’t any of my concern. I’ve done my job and I’ve done it to the best of my ability, and you’ve got a lot of nerve questioning me this way.”

“Please, I mean no disrespect. It’s just, if it wasn’t a bear, and if it was, say, a dog, or more than one—”

“Your father’s a good man,” Dr. Heath said, “and he’d be ashamed of how you’ve just spoken to me. How dare you.”

And he got in his car and drove off, kicking up gravel as he drove up the hill.

As I listened to his car hit the paved highway with a squeal of the tires, I thought about the implications of the questions I’d been asking, what it was they might add up to. I was starting to wonder whether I wouldn’t feel more at ease with the notion of a murderous bear in the woods.

9

“S
O WHAT WERE YOU AND THE DOC
talking about?” Dad asked when I returned to the cabin. He was still on the couch.

“We need to talk,” I said.

“Look, if this is about Lana, I don’t need any lectures from my son about my sex life.”

I closed my eyes, but then, when the images started appearing, I reopened them. “God, no, I do not want to talk to you about your sex life.”

“Because it’s my business,” Dad said.

“I don’t want to talk about your sex life, okay? I can’t imagine anything I want to talk about less.”

“But in case you’re wondering, it’s pretty good,” Dad said. He made a fist and shoved it forward slowly. “I still got it. Although this ankle’s gonna slow me down a little bit for a while.”

“That’s great, Dad. I’m thrilled. You can do ads for the little blue pill.”

Instant umbrage. “Who said I need that? Did Dr. Heath tell you I need that, because he’s got no business spreading that kind of thing around. There’s such a thing as doctor-patient confidentiality, you know.”

“Dad! I don’t give a shit about your sex life, okay? There are more important matters to discuss than that.”

Dad sat quietly, waiting.

“I’m not totally convinced that you’ve got a bear problem,” I said.

“Aww, jeez…”

“Listen to me. I couldn’t sleep all night, thinking about what Betty said. She’s seen a lot, you know, in her line of work. She doesn’t think it was a bear at all—”

“Okay, so maybe it’s a wolf or a coyote or something like that?”

“Have you seen a lot of wolves and coyotes? And when’s the last time you heard of them bringing down a man and killing him? But if it was dogs, like Betty seemed to think, well, you don’t have to look far to find a couple of those. You weren’t there yesterday, you didn’t see how those little beasts came after me, they were—”

“Look,” Dad protested, “Betty doesn’t know what she’s talking about. She means well, but really, I’ve known her a few years now, and she’s a worrier, that’s all. That was a bear that did that, and we’ve got our bear spray, so if he comes around again, we’ll be okay. And Lana was telling me that Orville, her nephew, is talking to the wildlife people, maybe getting some people to hunt down this bear before it hurts anyone else.”

“There’s another thing, Dad. I walked around out there this morning, where they found the body. The Wickenses, they say he’d gone out hunting for a bear, but if that’s true, then where’s the rifle? I don’t think Orville found one, and I kind of doubt the bear took it with him.”

“Aw, you’re full of it. Did you come up here to help me or make my life difficult?”

“You know what I think? I think you’d rather have a killer bear out there than a couple of killer dogs, because if it’s a bear, it’s out of your hands. But if it’s those dogs, acting with their owner’s blessing, living in a house that belongs to you, right up there on your property, it’s a problem you have to deal with.”

Dad said nothing. He bit his lip, looked away from me and out the window, toward the lake. I took a seat in a recliner across from the couch, leaned back, made no attempt to interrupt the silence. We sat there, the two of us, for about a minute, until Dad finally spoke.

“I got some coffee going over there. You mind getting me a cup? Help yourself if you want some.”

I got up. “Black, right?” Dad nodded. I poured us two cups of coffee, brought them back over, and plopped back into the recliner. I took a sip. “Good coffee,” I said.

Dad drank some of his. “Catch any fish with Bob this morning?”

“No. But Audrey hit my line.”

“Jesus, seriously? Bob’s been after Audrey for years.”

“Didn’t get her, though. We each caught a pickerel, otherwise nothing. Nice of him to take me out, though.”

“Yeah,” said Dad. “He’s a good guy, Bob is.”

Then we were quiet again for a while. Dad took another sip, looked out over the lake again, and said, “I don’t know what to do.”

I nodded. “I can understand that. It’s a tricky situation.”

“I want them out,” Dad said. “I can’t sleep.”

I didn’t say anything.

“There’s always gunfire up there,” he said. “Shooting all the time, like, target practice or something. I can handle a bit of that, you know? You have to expect it, up here in the mountains. But it goes on and on some days. One time, I thought I heard a machine gun. Who needs a fucking machine gun? And they wear all this camouflage garb? What do they think they are? Who do they think’s coming to get them? What are they taking a stand against?”

“Have you done anything about this so far?”

Dad sighed. “A few weeks ago, after an afternoon of nonstop shooting, I called Orville.”

“Oh.”

“Look, it’s kind of complicated. He’s Lana’s nephew, and, well, there’s more to it than I can explain. He tries to do his job, but he’s a bit lacking in the intimidation department.”

“What happened when you called him?”

Another sigh. “He went up there. He thought it would be better, I didn’t go with him, maybe the Wickenses would hold it against me if they knew I’d placed the call. Orville said he could say that there’d been some general calls about gunfire, without mentioning my name, and he was just checking into it. I kind of walked up through the woods, watched what happened. They let him inside the gate, and those boys of Charlene’s, Timmy’s wife, Darryl and Darryl I call them, although not to their faces, their real names are Wendell and Dougie, they took Orville’s hat, started tossing it back and forth, Orville running back and forth between them.”

“Monkey in the middle,” I said.

Dad nodded. “It was pitiful to watch. The boys were giggling and laughing, and finally their old man, Timmy, he says, okay now, boys, let’s stop this. And he hands Orville his hat back, but not his dignity. He scurried out of there with his tail between his legs.”

“God,” I said, picturing it. “There’s something about Orville, Dad.”

“What? What do you mean?”

“I don’t know. When I first saw him, he reminded me of someone, and he still does. Did he hang around in our old neighborhood, visiting his aunt Lana? But he looks ten or more years younger than me anyway, so he’d only have been a baby.”

“I don’t know,” Dad said cautiously. “Who does he remind you of?”

I shrugged. “I just feel I know him from somewhere. Maybe from the city? I worked for that other paper years ago, maybe I interviewed him back then.”

“Could be,” Dad said. “What difference does it make?” He seemed annoyed by how I’d sidetracked the conversation.

“Forget it,” I said. “Okay, let’s get back to the matter at hand. There may be other avenues to pursue with regard to the Wickenses without dragging Orville into it. You should see a lawyer. Get a letter drawn up, tell them they have to leave. Give them a month’s notice, after that, they’re in violation of a court order, anything.”

Dad mulled that one over. “A lawyer.”

“Yeah.”

“I hate lawyers.”

“Everyone does, Dad. Sarah maybe even more than you. But this might be one of those times when one could be useful.”

“I guess it’s an idea. Suppose it wouldn’t hurt to talk to someone.”

“Sure,” I said. “There must be a few lawyers in Braynor.”

Dad nodded, thinking. “There’s the one who handled this real estate deal for me. I guess I’d start with him.”

“Why don’t you call him, see if you can get an appointment, maybe tomorrow?” I suggested. “Where’s your phone book?”

“Just leave it with me. It’s in my study. I’ll do it, I’ll call him.” He took a deep breath, let it out slowly. “Okay. That’s good. I feel like we’re making progress.”

He reached for his crutches, got himself up off the couch. “Yeah, this is a plan.” He shoved the crutches under his arms, moved toward the door of his study. Suddenly, he was a man with a mission. “I think his name’s Bert Trench. That’s it. He’s got an office on the main street of Braynor.”

He was in the study now, settling into his chair in front of his computer, reaching for the phone book. He was shouting, figuring I couldn’t hear him fifteen feet away by the kitchen counter. “I’ll bet he can get some kind of injunction! No, not an injunction. An eviction! He can get an eviction notice! You think?”

“Possibly,” I said.

“Okay, here’s the number.” I heard Dad pushing some buttons on the phone, then, “Yeah, hi, it’s Arlen Walker? Mr. Trench handled everything when I bought Denny’s Cabins…. That’s right, yeah…. I was wondering, could I make an appointment with him, soon as possible?…Tomorrow would be fine, sure…. That’s perfect, thank you so much.”

He hung up. “Tomorrow at ten-thirty!”

“That’s great, Dad. I’ll drive you in.”

“You’ll come in, too, won’t you? To talk to the lawyer with me?”

“Yeah, sure.”

“This is very good. Maybe I can get rid of those bastards once and for all, the whole goddamn lot of them! Then, once the house is empty, I’ll get it cleaned up. We’ll have to rent a Dumpster, throw out all that crap up there, the rusting appliances, that old rusty bed, Jesus I can’t believe the way they’ve let the place—”

There was a knock at the back door. I walked the two steps over and swung it wide.

It was Timmy Wickens.

Dad was still shouting. “Those sons of bitches will just have to look—”

“Dad!” I shouted.

“Huh?”

“Mr. Wickens is here.”

Wickens, in black boots, work pants, and a padded hunting vest, his bald head gleaming, smiled. “I wanted to have a word with Mr. Walker.”

“Sure,” I said. Dad was already hobbling out of the study. “Won’t you step inside?” I said to Wickens, who accepted the invitation.

“Mr. Walker?” Wickens said as Dad made his way to the door. “How’s your ankle?”

“Oh, you know, it smarts a bit,” Dad said. “I’m sorry to hear about your trouble. That young man.”

Wickens nodded. “Tragic,” he said. “Just tragic. Can’t ever remember something like that happening up here.”

“Yeah,” I said. “How’s your daughter doing?”

There was a glint in Wickens’s eye, like maybe I’d crossed some line, daring to ask a question about her.

“She’s good,” he said. “She’s going to be just fine. May’s a strong girl. So you’re Mr. Walker’s son, right?”

“Yes,” I said. “I’m staying with Dad a few days, helping him out till his ankle gets a bit stronger.”

“He’s taken over cabin three,” Dad said. “Making himself right at home.”

“What I was wondering,” Timmy Wickens said to Dad, “Charlene and I, that’s my wife,” he looked at me when he said it, “we were wondering could you join us for dinner tonight? The two of you.”

I looked at Dad.

“I know it’s short notice and all,” Timmy said, “but we’d be much obliged if the two of you joined us for dinner. Our misfortune kind of turned your life upside down, too, and we’d like to make it right.”

Dad appeared stunned. “Zachary, are we, are we doing something tonight?”

I shrugged. “Not that I know of.”

Dad’s eyes widened. “I, I guess, I don’t think we’ve got anything on for tonight.”

Wickens smiled. “That’s great, then. Why don’t you stroll up around six-thirty or so?”

“That sounds great, Timmy,” Dad said. “Isn’t that great, son?”

I nodded. “Sounds terrific.”

“Settled then,” said Wickens, turning and heading back out the door.

Once I had it closed behind him, Dad and I stared at each other for several seconds without speaking.

“Sarah,” I finally said, “would tell me, in social situations like this, that we should take some kind of hostess gift.”

“Okay,” Dad said. “Got any ideas?”

“I was thinking, a case of Alpo. We give the dogs something to eat, maybe they won’t eat us.”