Dead Silver hd-2

by Neil Mcmahon

  When the cops were done with me, I drove the Subaru to a parts store and replaced the cable, then dropped it off at Renee's house for her to use when she got home. Madbird met me there and loaned me a Datsun pickup that he used for hauling brush and such. It was small and beat-up, but four-wheel drive and king cab, so I had plenty of leg room-fine for running around for the time being.

  My own truck was a question mark. It still ran fine-the gunshots hadn't impaired anything mechanical and a body shop could take care of the external damage. I could get aftermarket interior door panels and seat cushions from a GMC reconstruction outfit, and do that part myself. And it was long overdue for a thorough cleaning, anyway.

  The issue was whether I'd feel Lon Jessup's presence clinging to it. I decided that if I did and that was too disturbing, I'd have to try to find another pre-planned obsolescence rig, but saving the old one was worth a try.

  By the time all that scurrying around was done, it was two o'clock in the afternoon. I still hadn't had a chance to talk to Renee, but I'd checked in with Gary Varna a couple of times, and he'd told me her flight was due in around three-thirty. He wanted to pick her up at the airport and talk with her, so I wouldn't be seeing her until four-thirty or five.

  I suddenly found myself alone and with nothing to do. If it weren't for Renee, I probably would have headed for a bar.

  Instead, I drove back to her house, let myself in, and started walking around-for the first time, taking a careful look at the remodel work that was needed. The way things had changed, maybe she'd decide to take the time for that before she sold the place.

  And I wanted to keep my mind off the man I'd killed, although it was inescapable.

  Jessup hadn't made any kind of confession before passing on, but now the police had his fingerprints and some other information from tracking his business dealings. They had identified him with fair certainty as one Raymond Tice, wanted in Florida for a fifteen-year-old string of crimes that included murdering two women there.

  I'd only gotten a thumbnail account from Gary, but apparently Tice was a backwoods Southern boy who already possessed a large measure of natural cunning, who'd joined the military and acquired the kind of training he could readily turn to a criminal career-special operations and intelligence. After getting out, he'd quickly graduated from low-level drug dealing and scams to more sophisticated swindling, eventually setting himself up as a financial adviser who preyed on Miami's large population of wealthy, lonely widows.

  His name became known to the police, but nothing stuck until one of his suspicious victims hired a private investigator and discovered that he was spending her money on a glossy lifestyle, complete with a stripper girlfriend.

  It sounded bleakly familiar, and so did the follow-up. The woman pressed charges that would have sent Tice to prison. He got out on bail and vanished-but both the older woman and the stripper were found dead.

  From there, the story was still largely speculation. It was known that he'd made his way to Colorado-he probably already had the Lon Jessup identity established-using the skills of his upbringing to get by as a woods hand. But that wasn't going to suit him for long. He was looking for his chance.

  He found it when he spotted Professor Callister and Astrid, who were in Boulder to attend an ecological convention. Somehow he met them, no doubt picking up on the fact that Astrid was hot for more radical action than endless debate and counterproposals. He convinced her that his own sympathies lay in that direction, and if the story that Buddy Pertwee had heard was true, he led her to raid a gyppo logging camp where they shot and wounded one of the men. He then used his connection with her to come visit them in Montana, soon married Evvie, and returned to his former high-rolling lifestyle.

  There things might have rested forever, except that Astrid decided she wanted more-his help in blowing up the Dead Silver Mine. But Tice knew perfectly well that he was dealing with amateurs who would certainly get caught-and that his past, including the Miami murders, was bound to come to light.

  Had Astrid seduced him like she had the mine manager who'd died with her, for the same reason-to draw out information that she could use for her own purposes? Still playing her game, not realizing how dangerous Tice truly was? Had he let slip some damning story about his past, which she then threatened to reveal unless he gave in to her demands?

  It seemed like a strong bet that that was what had gotten her killed. Just as with the other women, he hadn't considered it personal-simply a businesslike precaution.

  That chilly emptiness was mirrored by the vacant lifeless rooms of the old house. As I wandered around, I became keenly aware by contrast of the warmth that once must have filled them. The intrinsic beauty of the inlaid hardwood floors, the high plaster ceilings, the carefully fitted trim was still there.

  Sell it, hell.

  I had just enough time to do some shopping before Renee arrived.

  62

  I waited at the front door for her, like the times she'd waited for me, and walked out to meet her when Gary pulled up to drop her off. He didn't get out, just waved to me, no doubt realizing that this was a situation where three would be a crowd.

  My anticipation was cut by concern when I first glimpsed Renee's face. Her expression was one I'd seen before, suggesting that something had gone wrong. It changed to a welcoming smile as she stepped into my arms, but her embrace seemed like less than it could have been.

  We walked on into the house. I'd gotten a good blaze going in the fireplace and turned on a cheerful array of lights. A pair of filet mignons and trimmings were in the refrigerator, and the aroma of baking potatoes was starting to fill the air. I had a dozen roses sitting on the table, flanked by bottles of chilled sauvignon blanc and Powers whiskey.

  Her pleased surprise was obvious and she hugged me again. But I could still feel that undercurrent of trouble.

  "Look, I got a notion," I said-speaking hastily, trying to push past it. "I could get this place in decent shape in a few months. So, you know, a couple of people would be comfortable living here again. It's the kind of job Madbird and I love. Wouldn't break the bank, just the cost of materials and his wages."

  "Oh, Hugh, what a lovely thought," she murmured. She stepped back, holding both my hands and raising her gaze to mine.

  "I feel like I owe you a debt I can never pay back," she said. "It's almost like one of those old myths-you saved me from the monster that was haunting my life."

  "The only debt any of us owe is to our lucky stars, especially me. They lined up when I needed them."

  "But I just coasted on through and never really got touched. You had to do the hard part, and you'll have to live with that forever. Are you okay with it? It must be such an enormous thing, I can't even imagine."

  "It'll be there in my head," I said. "But I'm more than okay with it. Is that what's bothering you? Feeling like you've got to be nice to me because you're obligated? Lose that. You don't."

  She lowered her gaze. "No. Look, I need a few minutes to get settled. Then can we talk about the house?"

  "Sure," I said, relieved. "Whenever you feel like it. Take your time."

  Then she started crying, breaking away from me and covering her face.

  "I think Daddy knew," she got out. "That it was Lon who did it. He had to-had to at least suspect."

  I stood there poleaxed, in a stillness underscored by the sounds of her weeping and the merrily crackling fire. Then I stepped to the table, opened the bottles, and poured us drinks, mostly for something to do. I took one of her hands and pressed the glass of wine into it. She sipped and gave me a tremulous smile of thanks, but it faded fast.

  "That night I heard Daddy and Astrid arguing?" Renee said. "There was another part I'd blocked out. When she was mocking Daddy that he never did anything but talk-he snapped back at her, something like, 'I'm the one who shot that man, not you. And for what? Just to prove to you I could.'"

  "You heard your father say he shot a man?"

  "I should have t
old you about it, I know. I didn't want to admit it, and it didn't seem to be part of this. But then when we found out about Lon, it made sense. I think he was talking about Lon taking Astrid to raid that illegal logging camp in Colorado. Daddy must have gone with them. Maybe Lon even maneuvered him into it-made him feel like an old man, competing for her." Renee shook her head, looking both wounded and angry. "That's how stupid I am. All along, I thought they were friends, but really Lon had that terrible hold on Daddy."

  And Professor Callister had never summoned the courage to break it, because if he'd voiced his suspicions about Lon Jessup, Lon would have turned him in for the Colorado shooting, an unprovoked assault that would have carried a long prison sentence.

  Talk about a devil's bargain.

  So now, instead of experiencing the ecstatic relief of learning that her adored father was not a murderer, Renee was devastated by his cowardice.

  "You haven't mentioned this to anybody else?" I said.

  "Just you."

  "Is that how you want it?"

  "For now. Maybe forever, I don't know."

  "That's how it'll stay, then," I said.

  She nodded gratefully, but her eyes were starting to tear up again. "I'm sorry. I'm a mess, I've hardly slept."

  "My fault; I should have realized that," I said. "Let's take a rain check on dinner, huh?"

  "If that's okay. I wouldn't be much company tonight."

  "You feel like talking?" I said. "Maybe unload a little?"

  "I think I just need to crash."

  I nodded. It was about as gentle as a dismissal could be, but it was still a dismissal.

  Renee picked up the Powers bottle and pressed it into my hands. "Here, at least take this."

  We walked together to the door. One warm, tear-salted kiss later, my whiskey and I were on our way home.

  63

  On a Thursday toward the end of May, with spring ripening into summer, Madbird and I finished remodeling the final cabin at the Split Rock Lodge. By the time we picked up our tools and gave the place a once-over with a Shop-Vac, it was three in the afternoon-perfect for starting a long weekend. We headed for the bar.

  Pam Bryce brought us drinks on the house and set them in front of us, with her mouth turning down in a playfully sad little pout.

  "I can't believe you guys aren't going to be around anymore," she said. "I've gotten so used to you, like…" she gestured in the air, bracelets tinkling, trying to find the right comparison.

  "The junker cars?" I said. She laughed and swatted at my hand.

  "Don't worry, we'll be dropping by," Madbird said. "We ain't that easy to get rid of."

  There were a few regulars in the barroom, including our tool thief, Artie Thewlis. He gave us a cautious wave but kept his distance. Artie had made a big step up in the world-he and Elly May had become an item, maybe bonding over the trauma we'd caused them. He'd gained weight, put new tires on his truck, and now carried himself with an enhanced sense of authority, like a country squire who had come into his inheritance. I preferred him the way he'd been before, but he still wasn't too hard to take and he'd probably end up back there, anyway.

  In general, things were pretty quiet around Split Rock these days. Darcy was gone, staying with her immediate family for a while in the reservation town of Browning. Madbird figured it wouldn't be long before she was in trouble again, but with any luck, it wouldn't be life-threatening.

  When the Callister story had hit the news, including Seth Fraker's affair with Darcy, the congressman's political career took a predictable nosedive. He'd resigned his legislative seat, citing as a reason-I do not lie-that he wanted to spend more time with his family.

  Whether or not he was actually guilty of foul play in the drowning of the St. Martin woman would probably never be known. I'd mentioned it to Gary Varna, and he answered sourly, "I hate like hell to say this, but it ain't my problem." I suspected that after a couple of years, when things settled down and memories dimmed, Fraker would make a quiet return.

  Things were calm around my cabin, too. The black tomcat and I settled into life as usual. The vet was right about him getting used to his missing limb; at first he lurched around like a drunk, but pretty soon he was climbing trees and running fence rails, maybe just to prove he could.

  And I finally had a name for him-Stumpleg, just like the gulch.

  I hadn't seen any more signs of the bobcat. Probably with the warming weather he'd taken off into the mountains. But I didn't look too hard for him; my taste for wandering around my place had fallen off. As little time as Renee had spent there, it seemed I'd always see something that brought back one of those moments.

  She was still in Seattle, living in her apartment and back at her job. At first we'd talked on the phone fairly often; she had asked if I'd come visit her and I'd said sure. But she never extended any actual invitation, and the intervals between calls had gotten longer. It had been a couple of weeks now.

  She never mentioned her fiance, Ian, which made me guess that she was seeing him. Probably that sensible life she'd been skittish about looked a lot better now, after what she'd been through.

  And I couldn't help wondering if there was another element, along the lines of Darcy with Madbird when he'd sparked her breakup with Seth Fraker-if Renee had to blame somebody, however irrationally, for the emotional shock of what she'd learned about her father. Although I had nothing to do with it, it wouldn't have happened except for me.

  As near as I could tell, nothing had changed at her house-no work being done, no FOR SALE sign. But I'd stopped driving by there.

  There was one more footnote to the whole business, the kind of irony that inclined me to believe there really were forces of fate at work behind the scenes, and that sometimes they had a sense of humor that was hard to appreciate.

  The Dead Silver Mine appeared to be coming back. I'd started noticing news articles to the effect that the market in precious metals was strong enough to spark renewed interest, and industry lobbyists were garnering support for allowing the Dodd Company to proceed on the good-faith promise of safe operation and cleanup, rather than a cash bond. There was opposition, but no firebrand like Astrid to spearhead it.

  To be perfectly truthful, I didn't give a pack rat's ass.

  FB2 document info

  Document ID: fbd-e375bd-f828-3e4d-a49a-7306-17e1-670b1f

  Document version: 1

  Document creation date: 02.01.2012

  Created using: Fiction Book Designer, FictionBook Editor Release 2.6 software

  Document authors :

  About

  This file was generated by Lord KiRon's FB2EPUB converter version 1.1.5.0.

  (This book might contain copyrighted material, author of the converter bears no responsibility for it's usage)

  Этот файл создан при помощи конвертера FB2EPUB версии 1.1.5.0 написанного Lord KiRon.

  (Эта книга может содержать материал который защищен авторским правом, автор конвертера не несет ответственности за его использование)

  http://www.fb2epub.net

  https://code.google.com/p/fb2epub/