by Rachel Ford
She pretended to laugh and got to work making his drink. Then Tanney came back. Not to his own table, but to Owen’s. He repeated the same awkward process of settling himself and arranging his limbs.
Owen stared at him. “I’m sorry,” he said when the old man didn’t take the hint. “But I’ve got work to do.”
“Oh, you won’t even notice I’m here,” Tanney said. He worked for a long minute on taking his jacket off. “Finally thawed out a little.”
Owen didn’t respond.
“I tell you, you never realize how much you need a vehicle until you don’t have one.”
That caught Owen’s attention, unwillingly. “What?”
Tanney seemed pleased by the opening. He delved right into his story. “I hit a deer the other night. Eight grand worth of damage. Unbelievable.” He shook his head. “I’m on foot until the shop finishes up.”
“On foot?” Owen frowned at that.
The old guy nodded. “Yup. I’m not opposed to walking, mind. It’s good for you at my age. At any age, I suppose. But you have fewer options when you reach my age.
“But I’m no fan of it in temperatures like these ones.”
Owen figured autumn and winter in Iowa couldn’t have been much warmer. Then again, Tanney was used to having a car at his disposal back home. “How’d you get here?” he asked. “You were at the diner earlier, right?”
Tanney nodded. He had walked, he said, every morning since he hit the deer. He couldn’t stay cooped up in his hotel room, and eating the diner food was liable to kill him faster than the cold.
Owen couldn’t argue with that. But he wondered why the other man hadn’t got a rental vehicle.
“My insurance would cover it. But there’s no rental place in a hundred and fifty miles. They’d have to get someone up here with the car, and then get someone to take it back after I get my car back.” He waved a hand through the air: an emphatic gesture of dismissal. “More of a pain in the ass than it’s worth.”
Considering how long it had taken the old guy to defrost, Owen couldn’t agree. But he kept that to himself. “Well, maybe I can offer you a ride back when I wrap up here.”
“Oh, you don’t need to go out of your way for me.”
“No trouble. I’m staying at the same hotel.”
The old guy seemed surprised by that. “Are you?”
“The one by the diner? I assume it’s the only one in town.”
Tanney nodded.
“Then yes. I’m staying there.”
“Well, that makes us neighbors, doesn’t it?” He stretched out a hand. “Nice to meet you, neighbor.”
Owen took it and half-smiled. “Nice to meet you.”
“I don’t think I caught your name.”
“Owen. Owen Day.”
“Day? D-a-y, like daytime?”
Owen nodded.
The old guy nodded. “Well, that’ll be easy to remember.”
“Yup.” Owen glanced pointedly at his tablet.
Tanney fell silent, like he was lost in his own thoughts. He sipped his coffee and glanced around the shop.
Owen’s tablet had gone into sleep mode. He turned it back on and put in his PIN to unlock it. He had his documents all up in front of him.
Print copies: that’s what I need, he decided. No one wanted to look at the screen. No one bothered to read his email attachments. But there was something about physical paper that couldn’t be ignored.
He pulled up a browser. He needed to search for printshops in the area.
“So what brings you to this neck of the woods?” the old guy asked.
“What?”
“What brings you to Yellow River Falls? You got family up here?”
“No.”
“Me neither.”
Owen said nothing. He went on typing.
“My family’s all south. Texas and California.”
Owen said nothing.
“Too hot, if you ask me. Too hot, and too many critters. I’m no fan of the snow. Not at my time of life. But it sure beats heat and critters.”
Owen murmured an absent agreement. Google told him that there were two printshops in town, one that offered one hour printing and another that seemed to cater to businesses. He was looking for a number for the first.
“You ever been to Texas, Owen?”
He glanced up at the sound of his name. “What?”
“Texas: you ever been there?”
“Yeah, for a while.”
“Where?”
“Down by Killeen, in Bell County.”
Tanney smiled. “An army man? Fort Hood?”
He nodded. “That’s right.”
Tanney stretched out his hand again. “I pegged you for military. Marine would have been better, but army’s better than nothing, I guess.”
“No need to ask if you served,” Owen said, a bit dryly. “Or where.”
Tanney went on grinning. “I should hope not. A marine should be recognizable at a glance.”
Owen shook his head. He let the tablet lapse into sleep mode. It was clear he wasn’t going to get anything done. Not right away, anyway. “So what’s in Yellow River Falls that brings you here?”
“The interstate,” Tanney said. “I’ve got a cabin up north. Hunting cabin, you know? I was on my way up there for deer season. And one of the little bastards apparently decided to take the fight to me.”
Owen learned a good deal about Mr. Tanney in the hour that followed. He heard all about his grandkids, and his kids. “You got any kids, Owen?”
“Nope.”
The old man nodded. “Well I do. And you know what it’s like?”
“Nope.”
“You spend your first twenty years raising them and the next ten supporting them. Then you spend the next ten hoping you hear from them. And after that?” He shook his head. “You spend the rest of your life hoping like hell you don’t hear a word. Because every word is bad news.”
Owen didn’t know what to say to that. Which didn’t prove much of a problem.
Tanney just went on. “I swear, my kids can’t wait to put me out to pasture. Every time we talk. ‘How was your day, Dad?’ Then I tell them, and it’s, ‘Mowing the lawn? You shouldn’t be doing that. Not at your age.’
“‘Shoveling the snow? Why don’t you pay someone to do that?’
“And hunting? My daughter damned near loses her mind when I tell her I’m going hunting, and the boys aren’t much better.” He considered for a moment. “Well, Mike doesn’t care much, but that’s mainly because Mike doesn’t care about anything these days. Not unless it’s got a V8, or he can get into its pants.”
Owen learned Tanney’s daughter’s name was Jennifer, and his other son – the responsible one – was Wesley. He learned Jennifer – Jenny – was the oldest, and had three kids. Wesley was the middle kid, and had a ten year-old son. Mike was the youngest, and he’d been divorced twice. No kids. “Thank God.”
Jenny lived in California. Her husband was loaded. “Blue bloods,” he said, shaking his head. “Old money. But I don’t hold that against Chris. He’s alright.”
Wesley and Mike lived in Texas. Wesley worked in the oil industry. Mike barely worked at all. “His papa’s pride and joy,” he said with another shake of his head.
Eventually, though, the old man exhausted his family biography. He lapsed into silence. Owen got back to work. He found a place to upload his files for the printshop. He got a confirmation email that the files had been received. It quoted an eight AM pickup time the next day, due to the number of pages involved.
He sighed and sat back in his seat.
“Something wrong?” Tanney asked.
“No. Just, I need something printed, for something I’m working on. I can’t really do anything else until I have it. And it won’t be ready until tomorrow morning.”
“Ah. What kind of work you into, Owen?”
Owen decided to forgo the murder theories that related to the work in question. People tended to f
reak out a little when he told them his hobby was solving serial killings and cold cases. Most people assumed that the only people with an interest in murder were cops and killers.
So he focused on his day job, as an actuary for a large insurance company.
The old guy’s eyes glazed over after a minute, and he nodded and interrupted. “Well, you’re a smart guy, no doubt about that. But your project’s on hold until you get those printouts?”
“Something like that.”
He nodded. “Well, not much to do in this town.”
“Nope.”
“Coffee’s good here, at least.”
“Yup.”
“You like sudoku?”
Owen shrugged, and Tanney tore a page out of his book and slid it over. “There you go.”
They worked on sudoku puzzles for another hour, until about three in the afternoon. Then Owen checked his email, just in case the printing finished early. Nothing.
Tanney noticed him fidgeting. He glanced up from his own puzzle. “You know, there’s a place I’ve heard some of the locals talk about. Some kind of pub. But they’re supposed to have good burgers.”
Owen considered. A burger did sound better than diner food. “The tavern down the road?”
Tanney shook his head. “No. This one’s on Eighth Street, about a mile from here. A place called Tiny’s.”
“You been there before?”
He shook his head again. “Too far to walk.”
“Ah. Well, you want to go there? I could give you a ride.”
Tanney said it was an excellent idea. He rose and straightened his stiff limbs. Owen took their cups to the front while the old man bundled himself back into his coat and his hat and his mittens. Then, he declared himself ready.
They walked out to Owen’s vehicle. The sun was low in the sky, and the day was colder than it had been. The old man was shivering violently by time they reached it.
The process of getting into the vehicle took almost as long as sitting at the table had done. Owen got the heat blasting in the meantime, and waited for Tanney to buckle up.
They pulled out of the parking lot, with the old guy giving directions. He waved Owen’s suggestion of using the map application away. “You don’t need the phone. I know where we’re going.”
Which may have been true, but they got sidetracked first. Tanney spotted a dollar store just off the main road, and he tapped Owen on the shoulder. “Hey, you mind if we stop there? I got to get a new toothbrush.”
He complied, of course. How could he say no? Tanney repeated the slow process he’d used to get in, but in reverse. Then he straightened himself up in the cold, breathed a lungful of bitter air, shivered and coughed, and hustled on stiff legs inside.
He headed to the cosmetics and personal care section of the store. He hemmed and hawed over which type of toothbrush to get. They had a lot of off-name brands, but not, apparently, what he was looking for. He finally settled on an item, and then remembered he needed shaving cream.
The sequence repeated all over again. Then they headed back to the checkout, when the old man was sidetracked by a snack display. He acknowledged that he probably shouldn’t, but in the end did anyway. He picked up a variety of chips and corn concoctions, and then a bag of hard candies.
Finally, they were able to pay and get back in the vehicle. Another long process, another sequence of steps repeated.
Eventually, though, they were back on the road, and at the tavern in a few minutes. It was a smallish place with a cartoon dwarf on the sign. A dwarf, or maybe a leprechaun. Owen couldn’t tell which, but it wore green.
Another sign, one with removable letters, declared that today only, Irish Coffee was half off with the purchase of the mutton stew dinner. It also promised a free pint of on-tap domestic to anyone who showed up with a deer.
And there were plenty of those: pickup trucks with deer in the back, or old SUV’s with deer strapped to the roof rack.
Tanney nodded approvingly. “Good hunting season, looks like.”
Owen nodded too. “I guess.”
“Now if I can only get up to the damned cabin, maybe I can get one too.”
Owen glanced the old guy over. He was walking stiffly, like someone on stilts; like someone whose joints didn’t work the way they should. And he was walking slowly. Not like someone who should be in a stand or a blind all day.
“You hunt with anyone?” he asked.
Tanney shook his head. “Sometimes. Not this year. The boys are all busy, and Jenny hasn’t had time since her kids were born.”
“Ah.”
“And I know what you’re thinking. Jenny says the same thing every year. Her and Wes: I can manage just fine on my own, thank you very much.”
“I didn’t say anything,” Owen said. Which was true.
“No, but you were thinking it.”
Which was also true. So he changed the subject. “You hunt for trophies, then?”
Tanney snorted. “Hell no. That’s a waste of good meat. I hunt for food. Used to process it myself, but…” He shrugged. “Those days are over. Now I take it to a guy, and he handles all that.”
They’d reached the building now. Owen opened the door. The sound of voices and the smell of beer and bar food hit them. Tanney breathed in and grinned up at him. “That’s what I’m talking about.”
Chapter Seven
Russ saw them come in first. He was on his sixth or seventh beer, and he grunted. “Damned tourists. Making the hunt harder for the rest of us.”
Tony looked up next and shook his head. “They ain’t tourists. That’s the guy who hit a deer on the edge of town. He’s got a cabin north of here, up in Canada I think I heard him say.”
Ted glanced over at that, and so did the rest of their group. Three more guys had shown up since they started drinking: Dave Rasmussen, Kevin Schultz and Dennis Nowak. Ted liked Kevin, and he tolerated the other two alright. Better than Tony, anyway.
But he wasn’t thinking of his friends as he looked up. His eyes fixed on a tall guy, with broad shoulders and freakishly long legs.
The guy he’d seen that morning, at Marsha’s place. “Son of a bitch,” he muttered. “It’s him.”
This provoked a chorus of “Who?” and “What?” from his friends. Even Tony managed a mildly interested grunt.
“That son of a bitch I told you about, that was trying to weasel his way into Rick’s house.”
The half-interested glances of a moment before changed, now. Now, everyone turned to examine the newcomers: an old man with a stiff gait, and a youngish man with dark hair and an attentive gaze.
“Huh,” Tony said. “You sure he ain’t some kind of cop, Ted?”
“A cop?” Ted sputtered. “If I’m the pope. I’m telling you, he was up to no good.”
“Looks like trouble,” Russ agreed.
“Suspicious face,” Dave said.
The old guy glanced absently over the party, and pointed toward a table away from the bar. The young guy, the suspicious guy, nodded. His gaze was more careful, though. More interested. He seemed to be sizing the place up. Sizing the patrons up.
His eyes rested on Ted for half a second. Ted scowled by way of acknowledgement. His gaze moved on, sizing up the rest of his party. Ted watched him watching them. His scowl set.
He thought for a long moment. He’d spent the last four hours soaking his brain in beer, so it took a few seconds to recall the name. The pair had already reached their table. “Day,” he said. “Owen Day. That’s what he’s calling himself.”
“I think I heard that name before,” Tony said.
Ted snorted. “Yeah, when I told you about him.”
“No, before that. It’s ringing some kind of bell.”
“Yeah, well, the ringing of your bells notwithstanding, I’m telling you, that guy’s trouble. Maybe even the killer.”
Tony murmured something, too low to be understood. But the tone made plain it wasn’t agreement.
Russ said, “If he
was the killer, what do you think he was back there for?”
“Hell do I know? I’m not a killer. I don’t know how they think.”
“Could have been coming back to take something from the scene. You know, like a souvenir? Killers do that sometimes, right?” Kevin asked.
Russ nodded. “Maxine’s seen shows about it. There was this one guy who got caught because his mom found a whole box full of them. He killed her too, but the cops figured out it was him. He hadn’t planned that one, so it was sloppy. Spur of the moment thing.”
Ted held back the dismissive noises he wanted to meet this tidbit with; the dismissiveness he felt any contribution of Maxine’s or her shows deserved. Russ was on his side, so he had to be tactful. He allowed himself a, “Right. Well –”
“And there was this other guy, who would come back to the scene of the crime afterwards to pick something up. That’s how they caught him: he kept showing up at crime scenes. Maxine’s got a whole theory about it. The psychology and all that. She thinks –”
At which juncture Ted felt it best to interrupt. “He wasn’t there for souvenirs, dammit. Don’t you get it? He was there to do her too.” He mimed a gun barrel with his forefinger. He curled the other fingers back to mime a grip. He mimed the recoil as it went off. “He was there to kill her. Only I showed up, so he thought better of it.”
The other five guys considered. Tony shook his head. Dave said, “You better tell the sheriff.”
“Marsha already called him.”
“Well, he’s out there walking around free and clear. So I guess he isn’t the killer,” Tony said.
Kevin laughed. “Like old Trey could tell his ass from a hole in the ground? Not hardly.”
“The guy could confess, and that dumbass would probably let him walk. Same as he let them damned kids get away with smashing my mailbox the other year.”
His friends nodded slowly. They all knew the saga of Ted’s mailbox: the ill-fated metal unit. The carving pumpkin that would spell its end. The drunken Halloween shenanigans: squealing tires, laughing kids, and a load of buckshot fired at the car’s bumper.
