Fog of Dead Souls

by Jill Kelly

“Hi,” he said. “Have you been up long?”

  “About an hour,” said Ellie. “I like to write first thing each day. You?”

  “I got up before dawn. Went for a hike. Felt good to be on the trails.”

  “Did you miss Beemus?”

  He chuckled. “Yes, although it’s been a while since that dog’s been trail-worthy. He’s pretty old.”

  “I have a couple of old cats,” she said. “I know what that’s like. Hard to see our loved ones fail.”

  Al liked the way her face lit up when she talked about her animals. This was the first time she’d mentioned them and he wanted to ask more. Hell, he wanted to ask all kinds of things of this woman he’d married. And he didn’t know what was okay and what wasn’t. He decided to say so. “About last night …”

  Her whole body stiffened and a frank look of fear crossed her face. That wasn’t at all what he’d wanted. The young waiter came by and poured him coffee. “Later,” he said, when the boy tried to hand him a menu. The boy skulked away.

  He tried again. “Please, Ellie, just listen. I meant what I said last night, that’s all. I accept whoever you are, and whatever has happened to you. Clearly, you’ve been through a lot and I respect that. And if you ever want to tell me about it, I want to know. And if you don’t, that’s okay. But I can’t pretend you didn’t have a life before now and I want to know about who you are and what you like and what you don’t like and I want to be able to tell you those things about myself, too. I want us to be able to say what we need from each other.”

  The whole time he was saying this, she was looking out the window at the far side of the Canyon. Huge clouds scudded across the late fall sky, and there were shadows playing along the layers of rock. She kept silent a long time and he felt discouraged. I’m not cut out for this horse-whisperer role, he thought, not with a woman with scars like those.

  Ellie turned back to him and her eyes were surprisingly calm. She gave a little wry smile and took a deep breath. “I’m not who you thought I was at the bar that night, am I?”

  He realized this was a rhetorical question and he kept his mouth shut.

  “I’m different when I drink. I know that. Maybe it wasn’t fair of me to say yes to you if I wasn’t going to keep on drinking. Maybe it was the drinking woman you wanted. She’s a lot more fun. She’s not scared of much at all.” She looked him in the eye, but he didn’t know if she wanted a response or just wanted to see if he was paying attention. “The sober me, well, that’s a different story.”

  “It didn’t have anything to do with your drinking.” He paused. “No, that’s not strictly true.” He ran his hand through his hair. “I don’t know. I’m not very good at talking about these things.”

  “Why did you ask me, Al?” She was looking straight at him.

  “Why did you say yes?”

  She shook her head as if at his foolishness.

  Al decided just to plunge in. “I was married for a lot of years, more than thirty. Her name was Annie and we were in love for a long time. It was a good life. My dad passed the ranch on to me. Annie and I had a son. We had some good years when there was money and we had a few when there wasn’t much.” He looked out at the Canyon.

  “When our boy was eleven, he died.” He could feel his breath shuddering in his chest, even after all these years. He breathed steadily and slowly for a few seconds to right himself. “Some couples don’t make it past that,” he said, “but we did. We worked at it. It was hard but we did it. I think Stevie must have found a way to hold us together.”

  Stevie came and stood beside him then. He could smell the sun on his boy’s skin, and for just a moment, he felt the weight of his boy in his arms, first wriggling with life, then leaden with drowning. Something sharp and jagged closed his throat and it was a moment before he could speak again. This time he leaned into the table, resting his forearms on the checkered cloth.

  “Three years ago, I lost Annie too. Three years is a long time. Three years I’ve been alone at the ranch. No wife, no son, just Beemus and a few hired hands. It’s not enough. It’s not good to be lonely like that. I’m a man who needs a woman.” He looked at Ellie and saw that she was watching him, really watching. He saw her nod. “And something in the Maverick told me I needed you. I don’t know how else to explain it.” He saw now that there were tears in her eyes.

  “Tell me about the boy,” she said. “If you want to.”

  And he did. He told her the stories that he had told himself in the middle of the night. Of a little patch of garden where Stevie killed a snake with a miniature hoe. Of a bicycle without a paved road to ride it on. Of a 4-H calf that won no prizes at all and Stevie’s broken heart when it went to slaughter. Of reading together, Gulliver’s Travels and Huck Finn and Sandburg’s Lincoln. Of watching the clock each afternoon and being at the end of the long drive every day to bring his son home from school.

  Somehow in this telling, breakfast came and was eaten. The check came and she put cash next to it. Coffee, and more coffee, was in his cup. And he kept on talking, filling the well of his memory with a flood of stories. And when he was done and sat back, he could see in her eyes that there was more between them now than a marriage license.

  Ellie and Al spent two more nights at the Grand Canyon. Al realized the days would be better spent in courtship than honeymoon, and he let Ellie set the pace for what they did and what they talked about. He hiked alone early each morning even though the deep frost made the predawn hours bitterly cold. But it gave him time to think and the movement to work off his restlessness and curiosity.

  He’d join her each morning in the dining room where she sat writing. They’d taken to telling stories of their childhoods, their school years, safe ground for them both. They both had been shy children, happiest alone—he outside with his dog, she inside with her books. But their early lives had been very different. She’d grown up in a suburb, he on the ranch. Her exposure to wild spaces was a Campfire Girl camp she attended each summer for a week. His exposure to a library hadn’t happened until he went to college. He began to worry that she wouldn’t be happy as a rancher’s wife.

  The first night repeated itself twice more. She would come to him late in the evening and he would hold her and soothe her until they both slept. At some point, she would go back to her room. Although they kissed and touched each other, he did not try to make love to her again.

  It was snowing the day they left, tiny flakes that spun and whirled in the breeze. It delighted her and he caught a glimpse of the girl she’d been and his feelings deepened.

  They were crossing the border into New Mexico when he finally brought up the future. “Are you okay with a motel for a while? We could get you a suite at the Residence Inn? I want to do some work at the ranch before you come out there—maybe a week or three.”

  She looked over at him and he saw gratitude and relief in her face.

  “Good,” he said. “That’s settled then.”

  17

  At seven in the morning on the Monday they all returned to Greensburg, Sandy Gerstead was in the kitchen making coffee when the doorbell rang. Puzzled, she ran her fingers through her hair, tightened the sash on her robe and opened the door to two men in suits.

  “Good morning, ma’am. Is your husband at home?” The two men smiled, fake friendly smiles, the both of them, and showed her their badges.

  “Yes,” she said, “he’s in the shower.”

  There was a moment of awkward silence and Sandy realized the men were waiting to be invited in. Not knowing what else to do, she opened the door wider and the two men came into the foyer and stood there patiently. Sandy went up the stairs.

  Arlen was shaving, a towel around his waist, the bathroom door ajar and leaking steam. He frowned when he saw her face. “What’s up?”

  “There are two policemen downstairs wanting to talk to you.”

  “Don’t look so worried, Sandy. I’m sure they just want to get my opinion on what happened to Ellie. We’re ke
y witnesses, you know. They’re bound to want to hear what we have to say.”

  Sandy didn’t feel reassured. “Should I offer them coffee?”

  “Of course.” Arlen went on shaving. “Tell them I’ll be down in ten minutes.”

  Arlen was true to his word. In exactly ten minutes, he came whistling down the stairs. The two men, both in their forties, stood in his living room, one holding a mug of steaming coffee. The smaller and stouter of the two men held out his hand. “Mr. Gerstead? I’m Detective Capriano. This is Detective Jackson. We need you to come downtown with us.”

  Arlen shook his head and smiled. “Happy to tell you what I know about the case, gentlemen, but I’ve got a client meeting at eight-thirty.”

  “I’m afraid that will have to wait. We promise not to take too much of your time, but we need to do this now. I’m sure you understand,” Capriano said.

  Sandy noticed that although he wasn’t a handsome man, he had astonishing eyelashes on beautiful dark eyes.

  “Why can’t we talk here?” Arlen’s struggle to maintain his good humor flashed across his face. Sandy, who stood at the edge of the room, was suddenly afraid.

  “We need a DNA sample, sir. We are trying to eliminate as many potential suspects as possible so we can find out who did this to your friends.”

  “You mean I’m a suspect?” Arlen’s face had gone pale.

  “No, sir, but we do have to look at anyone who might have been involved. Do you object to giving us the sample? We can get a warrant.”

  “No, no, I don’t object. That’s not what I meant. I just can’t believe you would think that I could hurt Ellie or Joel.”

  “We don’t think that. This is just procedure. It helps us narrow the scope of the investigation.”

  Jackson spoke for the first time, his deep bass rumbling in the quiet room. “Do you need a coat, Mr. Gerstead? It’s chilly this morning.”

  Arlen nodded and Sandy went to get it.

  After the three men had left, Sandy stood for a long moment in the foyer. How had they gotten on this runaway train? She wanted to call Ellie, tell her what had just happened, what she was afraid of, but she knew she couldn’t.

  It was a long drive into Pittsburgh, out onto the Interstate and then into town. They entered police headquarters through a parking lot and a basement door. Somehow Arlen had expected to enter through the front door amid cameras and reporters. He felt disappointed. They parked him in a small windowless room on the fifth floor, and he watched the clock for thirty minutes, growing more and more impatient as time passed. At one point, an acne-scarred kid with gangly arms and huge wrists took a mouth swab, filled out a lengthy form, and had Arlen sign it. When he left, Arlen wondered if he should have read the form first. He waited nearly another hour, more and more incensed at the treatment he was receiving.

  Just before ten, Capriano came in alone. He had a manila folder with him, which he placed on the table between them so Arlen could see that it bore his name.

  “What’s that?” he said. “I don’t have a record.”

  Capriano smiled. “You don’t have a criminal record, Mr. Gerstead, but you do have a record. Tell me about Melanie Trumbo.”

  Arlen gave a small humph of exasperation. “I’m never going to live that down, am I? I made a stupid joke. It was off-color, I get that. I didn’t think about it at the time. I didn’t mean anything by it. I wasn’t trying to come on to her or hassle her. I was just telling a joke to a bunch of guys. She overheard us, thought it was about her, and reported me. It wasn’t a big deal.”

  “You don’t think sexual harassment of a co-worker is a big deal?”

  “I didn’t say that. I didn’t harass her. I didn’t touch her or try to come on to her.”

  Capriano waited.

  Arlen rushed on. “I’m a happily married man. I wouldn’t risk my marriage for someone like her.”

  “What happened after her complaint?”

  “There was a kind of hearing. In the end, I got reassigned to a different territory.”

  “Why did you stalk her afterward?”

  Arlen looked up, surprise and something else in his eyes. “Do I need a lawyer?”

  Capriano shrugged. “I don’t know. I’m not accusing you of anything. We’re just having a conversation here.”

  “Okay, okay, I went by her house a couple of times. I just wanted to let her know that I was, I don’t know, I was angry. That new territory wasn’t nearly as profitable as my old one—the hospitals were much smaller—and I’d lost all the hard work I’d put in making contacts, all because of a reaction to a stupid joke.”

  Capriano kept silent a bit, but Arlen didn’t speak again, so he did. “Tell me what’s in your juvenile record.”

  Again Arlen looked surprised. Then he shook his head. “That’s sealed.”

  “I know,” Capriano said. “But you are certainly free to tell me what happened. Like I said, we’re just having a conversation here.”

  Arlen seemed to weigh his options. “I was in love with a girl and I used to follow her home. I hoped she’d notice me.”

  “Sounds pretty innocent,” Capriano said. “I’ve followed a girl home a couple of times in my time.”

  “Yeah, see, it was no big deal.”

  “But somebody pressed charges.”

  “Yeah, her old man. He didn’t think I was good enough for her.”

  “Well, men do want to protect their daughters. Do you have a daughter, Arlen?”

  Arlen shook his head. “I have boys, two boys, but they live with their mother.”

  Capriano nodded in sympathy. “It’s tough not to see your kids.” He waited for a response but when none came, he went on. “So that was it. You followed her home. The old man didn’t like it. He called the police. That’s the whole story. There wasn’t any more to it?” He looked at Arlen.

  Arlen nodded but he bit his lip and tipped his chair back from the table.

  “You know,” said Capriano. “I was telling the truth this morning. We don’t think you had anything to do with the death of Dr. Richardson or the assault on Dr. McKay. You weren’t in that hotel room at all that weekend, were you?”

  Arlen looked relieved. “No,” he said. “My wife was. She went up to use the bathroom. I’ll bet you found her prints there.”

  Capriano smiled at him in encouragement although he gave no sign of agreement. “How well did you know Dr. Richardson?”

  “I met him through Ellie. They came to dinner at our house and Ellie had us over a few times. We went to a movie once or twice with them. Joel and I went to a basketball game at Pitt one Saturday. I had a great time but he wasn’t much into sports so I didn’t ask him again.”

  “Did he talk about his past?”

  “No. I knew he’d been in ’Nam. One time when we went by for a drink at his place, he showed me a collection of some sort of daggers that he’d brought back. I guess as a surgeon he’d be interested in that kind of thing.”

  “Did you ever see him use these daggers?”

  “No, I don’t think I ever saw them again.”

  “And that was it? A few dinner dates, a ball game. Your wife and Dr. McKay are good friends, aren’t they?”

  Arlen nodded.

  “So, wouldn’t it be logical for you to become good friends with Richardson?”

  “I guess, but he wasn’t the good-buddy kind of guy, if you know what I mean.” He looked at Capriano for agreement, and the detective nodded and waited. “He was, I don’t know, kind of weird. He had secrets.”

  “Did he ever tell you any of those secrets?”

  “No, why would he?”

  “What was the name of the girl you followed home?”

  “Karen, Karen Schuster. Why?”

  “Just curious. Why did her father have you arrested?”

  “I told you. I followed her home.”

  Capriano waited. A minute ticked by.

  “Okay, okay,” said Arlen, “I had a gun. I wanted to show it to her. I wanted
her to think I was somebody.”

  “And then what happened?”

  “She freaked out, and her father came to the door and he started yelling and I pointed it at him.”

  Capriano waited.

  “That’s it. Her father took the gun from me and the police came and I went to jail for about an hour and my folks came and got me and that was that.”

  Capriano smiled and nodded, then stood up. “Someone will drive you home now, Mr. Gerstead. Thank you so much for cooperating with us. It helps a lot.” He watched the relief flood Arlen’s face and he knew there was more, perhaps much more, to all this, but he decided to bide his time. Arlen wasn’t going anywhere.

  18

  When he suggested she stay in town a while longer, Al hadn’t been thinking of just Ellie. He really did want to do some work on the place—have Consuelo and her crew come out and clean it top to bottom, maybe repaint the bedroom—but he also knew he had to talk with Gracie and tell her what he had done before he moved Ellie to the ranch. It seemed only right. So after he dropped Ellie at the motel, he drove by Gracie’s to see if she might be home. Her 4x4 was in the driveway. He parked behind it, went in through the open garage, and knocked on the kitchen door.

  “Come on in,” he heard her say. She was wrapped in a Navajo-plaid fleece robe and big wool socks, her red hair tousled as if she’d just gotten up. She was sitting in the recliner, watching Oprah. She grinned when she saw who it was and muted the TV. “Hey, where you been?”

  “Traveling,” he said.

  She raised her eyebrows and gave him a quizzical look. Then she shrugged and smiled again. He moved toward her and she put up a hand. “Don’t come too close, honey. I’ve got one hell of a cold and you sure as hell don’t want it.” It was then he noticed the box of tissues and the lineup of cough syrup and medicines on the table next to her.

  “Thanks for the warning.” Al went over and moved the newspaper aside and sat down on the couch.

  “Sorry about the mess,” she said. “I’ve just felt like crap the last couple of days.” She blew her nose loudly in a tissue and pitched it into the wastebasket that sat a little ways from the recliner.