Lake of Tears

by Mary Logue

  Her mouth opened and he drank her. Then he pulled at her clothes, needing to feel her skin. She kept opening and he kept moving deeper into her. She was Meg, and then she was more. She was the earth, a warm place to be safe, he wanted to be in her.

  He heard her cry out as he entered her, but he couldn’t stop. What he was after was the explosion that covered everything for a while, that took over the world for moments and made him forget. It came so fast he wasn’t ready for it: the wind, the leaves, the stars, all swept through him and then he collapsed on top of her.

  Quietness descended. He wouldn’t have known she was crying if he hadn’t felt her tears wet his hand.

  “Hey,” he whispered to her. “Are you okay?”

  “Yeah,” she said, but her voice quivered.

  He wrapped his arms around her. “Wasn’t it good for you?”

  “I just wasn’t quite ready for it.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “No, don’t be. I wanted it, too. I did. It’s just that I, well, I hadn’t done it before.”

  Andrew sat up and looked down at her. The glimpses of her white body shone in the firelight in the mess of her clothes. He reached out and touched her belly. “Your first time? Oh, baby, I would have been more careful if I’d known. I’m so sorry.”

  “No, it was fine.”

  But he could hear in her voice it wasn’t, and he felt like he had failed again. He had taken her with no thought, no contraception, no carefulness. What was the matter with him? It was like he wasn’t human anymore, just an animal surviving. He turned away from her and looked at the fire.

  To be burnt to nothing in a fire, that wouldn’t be a bad way to go.

  When Fred from the crime lab called, Claire was on her way home. It had been a very long day, and now that she was acting sheriff she could never turn her phone off. Not that she often did as a deputy, either.

  “What have you got?” she asked, no wasting time on pleasantries.

  “There’s certainly evidence of Ms. Johansen in Whitman’s car. But we knew that going in to the search. Long blond hair is in both the front and back seat. Don’t know it’s hers, but we’re guessing. Fingerprints galore, those we matched.” Fred paused and then said, “The weird thing is there is a long blond hair in the trunk too. No blood or anything—we used the luminal spray, didn’t see a thing. But there is this one long hair in a rather odd place.”

  “She wasn’t necessarily bleeding when she was killed. And she could have put something in the trunk and left a hair behind.”

  “Yes, but we found it toward the back of the trunk, not near the front where it would be likely to be if she were just getting something in or out of it. And it was caught on a piece of metal that holds the back seats in place. Looking at where it is, I’m guessing the person would have had to have climbed in the trunk.”

  “Okay, I’ll follow up on this. Thanks.”

  “Good luck. I’ll send you all the fingerprint info and the hair samples tomorrow.”

  When Claire hung up, she sat and thought about Terry. Amy had been watching his movements, and he had just left on the train for an overnight run to Chicago. He’d be back tomorrow. The hair was inconclusive, but definitely meant he should be looked at more carefully. Plus, if what Andrew said was true and Tammy Lee was thinking of dumping Terry, that would certainly give him motive.

  She walked over to Amy’s desk and gave her the news.

  Amy shook her head. “I’m not getting a good feeling from this guy. No one I have talked to has had much good to say about him.”

  “Still not enough reason to arrest him.” Claire said. “But why don’t you do a little more sniffing, go to that bar he frequents, see what you can learn, and then when he gets back tomorrow, let’s bring him in for a little talk. I think it’s time he sees the inside of this place and we have a little face time with him.”

  They sat down to dinner together across from each other at the kitchen table. Doug remembered they almost always ate in the kitchen, even though there was a dining room with a big table and six chairs. Only on holidays did they eat in the dining room. Just more cozy in the kitchen, Grandma would say.

  She had made scrambled eggs and boiled some potatoes. It wasn’t much of a meal, and still she hardly ate any of it.

  “Grandma, don’t you have any meat in the house?”

  “Oh, Dougie, it’s so dear. I only have some social security to live on, and that’s gotta last me the whole month. Barely pays the bills. It’s hard getting old and sick. No fun.”

  It was not like his grandmother to complain. But when he looked over at her, he wondered if she was really the same woman anymore. Like him. You go through something and it changes you so much, you’re never the same. You can’t go back to what you once were.

  He remembered how easily he had moved through life in high school. He had been a star football player, all the girls wanted to go out with him. Now he was damaged inside and out, and no woman wanted anything to do with him. It was like they smelled the dead on him, the dying he was doing inside.

  Seemed the same with Grandma. She was just shuffling through life, moving from the toilet to the recliner to the kitchen and back again. Not really living. Just waiting to die.

  “I’m sorry, Grandma. Wish I could stay and take care of you.”

  She patted his hand. “Don’t be sorry for me. I’ve had a good life, most of it. Just wish it were over, that’s all. I’m no good for anyone now, and can’t even pay my doctor bills. I’m afraid they’re going to take the house.”

  Doug looked around the old place. He could tell that nothing had been done on the upkeep for years. Windows were cracked, paint peeling off the clapboard, gutters hanging loose from the roof. But she had lived in it most of her life.

  “Do you want to move?” he asked.

  “No, I want to die right here. Is that too much to ask?” She got up and started to clear the table.

  “You go lie down, Grandma. I’ll take care of this.” Doug ran a sink full of hot water and used the last few drops in the bottle of dishwashing soap. He washed all the dishes and the pots and pans that had accumulated on the stove. He wiped down the stove and the refrigerator and the table. He thought of washing the floor, but then thought, what’s the use? At least the kitchen was clean. People wouldn’t think she had neglected her duties.

  When he peeked into the living room, she was sleeping in her recliner. Her face had smoothed out and her hands were folded in her lap. He had always loved her and this was one last thing he could do for her.

  He walked up the stairs to his room to get the gun.

  CHAPTER 18

  Andrew hated not working. He’d lie in bed as long as he could stand it, then get up and go downstairs and drink coffee with his mom. She would make him some eggs without even asking what he wanted. The radio would be on, giving the weather report, so important in farming. After that, classical music would fill the room and she would clean up the kitchen, humming softly to herself, not usually matching the music but playing off of it.

  His mom never asked what he was going to do—either with his day or with his life. It was one of the many things he liked about her. She knew how to let a man be alone. Sometimes he’d wander out and try to help his dad, but there wasn’t that much to do. Harvest was over and his dad was usually tinkering away on the old tractor or some other piece of machinery, just to pass the time. He didn’t really want any help, and Andrew wasn’t that good at it.

  After breakfast Andrew pulled on a jacket and went outside, but rather than try to find his dad he decided to walk the fields, see if he could scare up some pheasants just to see them fly their bullet-flight low over the broken cornstalks.

  He still felt horrible about last night with Meg. She had assured him that he had done nothing wrong, that she had wanted it too, but had just been taken by surprise. Yeah, I guess, your first time and the dink of a guy doesn’t even know enough to take it slow. Next time he would do it right. If there was
a next time.

  She had kissed him as sweetly as ever when he dropped her off a few blocks from her house, but he wondered. She was so young. She knew so little of what life could be like. Her mother was only trying to protect her from men like him. Maybe Meg wouldn’t want to see him again.

  Maybe he should leave her alone. It would be better for her. He had little to offer anyone right now.

  He walked to the edge of the field, a place where he knew he could get pretty good cell phone reception. He needed to talk to Doug, find out what he was doing. Maybe they should meet and talk things over. He owed at least that to Doug. After all, more than just Brian had died that day on the ridge.

  Andrew dialed Doug’s cell phone number, which he knew by heart. He didn’t expect to get through.

  The phone rang and rang. Andrew counted up to ten and then disconnected. No voice mail, nothing. He’d expected this result, but he had hoped, since Doug had called him yesterday, that he might have left the phone on and maybe even would answer it.

  Then Andrew remembered that the number Doug had called from yesterday had not been the cell phone number. He looked it up and hit dial. The phone rang three times, then someone answered with a very tentative, “Hello.”

  It wasn’t Doug, but it was a man.

  “Yes, is Doug there?”

  “Doug who?” the man asked.

  “Doug Nelson.”

  The man cleared his voice. “This is the Nelson residence, but I don’t think Doug is here. It’s his grandmother’s house. She’s been killed. I need to call the police. Just came over to drop off some eggs for her. Was Doug here?”

  “I think so. He called me from there.”

  “Well, I’m sorry to be the bearer of such sad tidings, but it looks like someone came in the house and shot his grandma. She always left the door unlocked. We all do. That way I can check on her. Who are you?”

  “I’m—” Andrew wasn’t sure what to say. “I guess I’m a friend of Doug’s.”

  “Well, let him know if you talk to him. She hasn’t been that close to her family in a long time.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Yeah, she was doing poorly, but she didn’t deserve this. She had nothing worth stealing, that’s for sure.”

  Andrew hung up the phone. Now his number would be recorded as having called her. And he knew that Doug had been there the night before. What the hell was going on with Doug? Would he have killed his grandmother?

  Doug had always wanted control in a world that had gone crazy. He was the one who was always planning what the three of them would do after their tour of duty.

  Doug was the one who had persuaded them to take the vow.

  Andrew knew he had to get in touch with him before anything else happened.

  In a way, he was responsible for it all.

  “There he is,” Amy said, pointing out to Claire the young man dressed in a jean jacket with a skull cap pulled down right over his forehead. Terry Whitman didn’t strike her as an aggressive man, but that was to be seen.

  They had been sitting in a squad car at the train station, waiting for the train from Chicago to pull in. The train was almost an hour late. Claire was well aware of this, because she had already called Rich once to tell him to hold dinner. Depending on how their conversation went with Terry Whitman, she warned him that she might not even get home before midnight.

  Claire and Amy stepped out of the car and approached Terry Whitman from both sides.

  “Hey, Terry, Deputy Amy Shroeder. We need to talk to you about some new evidence we’ve found about Tammy Lee.”

  He stopped and looked at her. “You got some info on Tammy Lee? Well, it’s about time. I talked to her folks last night and they’re torn up about this.”

  “Yes, I can imagine.” Claire took his arm to steer him toward the squad car.

  He shook her off. “I can talk, but not now, man. I just got off my shift. I’m beat. I need some sleep.”

  “So you don’t want to hear about Tammy Lee.” Claire stepped closer to him. He wasn’t much bigger than she was.

  “Yeah, sure I do. But I need some shut-eye. Can’t I call you later?”

  “Terry, we went through your car.”

  He bent his head slightly, then came up for air. “So?”

  “So we found something.” Claire thought she’d let him dangle a bit. See what he did with this information.

  “Like I said, Tammy Lee was in my car all the time. So what if you found her fingerprints or whatever.” He tried to walk away from them.

  “We need to talk now.” Claire grabbed his arm, and this time wasn’t so gentle about it. She wheeled him toward the squad car. Amy already had the back door open. He ducked his head and sank into the back, looking like he was both resigned and exhausted.

  “What did you find?” he asked when she started driving.

  “We’ll talk at the station,” Claire told him.

  “I already talked to her.” He pointed at Amy. “She knows what happened. What about Andrew Stickler? He’s the guy. He wanted her back, but she was having none of it. She told me so herself.”

  “Do you know what happened to her ring?” Claire asked, curious what he would say.

  He sunk further down in the seat and stared out the window. “She said she lost it. She said it slipped off her finger. I couldn’t believe it. How can you lose a real diamond engagement ring? That was like a month’s salary for me.”

  Claire didn’t say anything more. She drove back up to Durand, Amy sitting quietly next to her, Terry dozing in the back seat.

  She turned to Amy. “I want you to go to the bar where Terry was the other night when he got home. Ask around. See what kind of mood he was in, find out if he talked to anyone about Tammy Lee.”

  Amy nodded.

  Claire didn’t like the guy. She knew that shouldn’t matter in how she went at the case, but she couldn’t help not liking him. He was arrogant and cocky, and under it all, she was sure, very insecure. A bad combination. Even his reaction to the lost ring showed his anger. She just hoped Tammy Lee hadn’t been the victim of an eruption that could have resulted.

  Meg grabbed the keys of the pickup. She didn’t care what her mom wanted her to do, she was going to see Andrew. He had called and hadn’t sounded very good. He was stuck at his parents’ house. He had tried to tell her something about a friend’s grandma dying, then something about a vow, but then it sounded like he had started crying. That had scared her. Why was he crying about someone else’s relative?

  He had tried to explain. She told him she would be right over.

  It didn’t matter that a storm was moving across Lake Pepin, a roiling, seething monster of a storm that was already shooting off spears of tearing light that shattered the sky. This conversation could not happen over the phone. She needed to be there with him.

  In normal weather, it would take her twenty minutes to get to his house. Tonight, if the rain let loose, it was hard to tell—maybe she would race the storm across the land and beat it. She set off in the pickup, keeping an eye on the weather to the west.

  Within minutes, the wind caught up with her. She could feel herself wrestling with the steering wheel. The rain came down so hard she could only see the road for a moment after the wipers cleared the glass. She watched for the yellow line, drove slow but steady.

  Then ahead of her something cracked, and a tree came lashing down only yards in the front of the truck. She stepped on the brakes and the truck came to a rest, held in the tree branches, but unhurt.

  What was she doing? How important was Andrew to her? What was she risking by seeing him again?

  Meg climbed out of the car, went around to the other side of the tree, and started to pull at the tree’s branches. The tree wasn’t that big, but it was heavy. She was barely able to move it a few feet, but it was enough so that the truck was no longer tangled with tree limbs.

  Soaked to the skin, she climbed into the truck, backed up and skirted around the tree. She
turned down a road leading away from the lake and the storm abated, sheltered in the bluffs. When her teeth started chattering, she thought to turn on the heat, blower on high.

  By the time she got to the Stickler farmhouse, she had dried off a bit, but her clothes were still damp and her hair was hanging in strands down her neck. The rain had eased up but she knew she would get wet again, running to the back door of the house. As she jumped out of the truck and slammed the door, she saw Andrew walking across the yard with an umbrella in his hand, held up high. She ran to him and he grabbed her tight with his free hand. They kissed, a wet kiss mixed with rain.

  “Thanks for coming,” he said.

  “No prob.”

  “I’ve got two beers waiting for us in the barn. It will be a little more private there.” Still holding her around the waist, he walked her to the open barn door. A few feet in, a table was set up with two bales of hay pushed close for chairs. Two bottles of Leinenkugel beer were already open.

  “So fancy,” she said.

  “Nothing but the best. Plus, this way we can watch the storm.”

  They sat down close to each other on one bale and tipped their beer bottles together. After they drank, Meg wiped his hair back from his face and asked, “So tell me what is going on?”

  Andrew picked at the label of his beer bottle and said, “I don’t know where to start. It’s just so hard to explain what happened over there.”

  Meg guessed he meant Afghanistan. She stayed quiet.

  “Life was this weird combination of really boring and bone-sizzling scary. We spent most of our time waiting for something to happen and then when it did we just hoped we’d come through it alive. I got to be pretty good friends with these two guys—I told you about them—Doug and Brian. One night we were goofing around and Doug said, let’s take a vow. We were drinking and knew something was up. It had grown kinda quiet around us and that meant some action would happen in the next day or two. So he says, yeah, let’s vow that we all three make it out of this, or none of us do. That we go down together or we leave together. I can’t explain why, but it seemed like a good idea at the time. Like we were linked, and that way we’d be stronger. So we vowed we’d be in it together, praying we’d all come out alive.”