by R. R. Irvine
“I don’t know. That’s the truth. All she’d say was that she gave him away so that you’d be sure to come looking for her.”
He closed his eyes.
“For her and your son,” the woman added.
“Is there anything else you can tell me?”
“He’s in southern Utah somewhere, I think. At least that’s the impression she gave me. Are you going to look for him?”
Traveler thanked her and hung up, wondering if Stacie Breen wasn’t part of one last game Claire was playing on him. One last fruitless search.
He was still mulling that over when his father came through the door, carrying a soggy brown paper bag under one arm and an equally soggy newspaper under the other. Once both were deposited on Traveler’s desk, Martin shrugged out of his raincoat and dropped it on the client’s chair.
“I mailed back Ellis Nibley’s fee,” Traveler said.
“That means I’ll be paying the rent again this month.” Martin shook his head and began rummaging in a filing cabinet. “Got ya,” he said after a moment. He held up a stack of paper cups, separated out two, and filled them from the whiskey bottle inside the decomposing paper bag.
“What are we celebrating?” Traveler asked.
Martin raised his cup. “I read it in the newspaper. This storm front goes all the way to Sanpete County. The fires are out in Wasatch too.”
Traveler drank until his eyes watered.
“One casualty was reported,” Martin added. “A man named Enos Odell. They said he was killed while fighting the fire.”
THE END
