David Wolf series Box Set 2

by Jeff Carson

  “I don’t know what that was in there.”

  “That’s right,” she said. “You don’t.” She held her gaze in front of her, her feet crunching along the wet rocky earth of the ridgeline toward the waiting snow cat.

  Scott Reed, Deputy Patterson’s boyfriend for the past year, saw them coming and smiled, then let his face drop when he saw Wolf and Sarah’s mood.

  The cat and gondola rides were spent with a wedge of silence between them. The car ride was the same, and as Wolf turned onto Beacon Light Road and toward Sarah’s new three-bedroom, three-bath overlooking the east side of town, the monotonous silence was shattered by the beep of Wolf’s phone. He picked it up and read the screen.

  It was a text from Dr. Lorber that read: Nick Pollard confirmed with dental records.

  “What’s that?” Sarah asked, an edge to her tone.

  With a frown, he dropped the phone and pulled over. The tires scraped to a stop and he turned toward her.

  “What did I do so wrong? A scumbag comes up to our table, obviously eyeing you up, gropes you right in front of me and then I’m supposed to take it? Supposed to be grateful to meet the guy?”

  She shook her head. “You think that’s what happened?”

  Wolf blinked. “Something else happened?”

  She leaned her head back, closing her eyes in exasperation. “That man, Carter Willis, is an interior designer that we worked with for one of our projects in Aspen. He’s one of the best.” She looked at him. “And he’s also gay.”

  “Yeah right. The guy all but grabbed your ass.”

  She opened her mouth and closed it. “I knew this was too good to be true.”

  “What was?”

  “This. Us.” She twirled a finger. “We had our run, and every single time it looks like we’re going to make a good go of it again—every single time since you went off in the army, mind you—something goes wrong. We throw some wrench into the gears of our relationship, or some gay guy comes up to our table at the worst possible moment and ruins the whole mood. Or some … bitch from the FBI comes and sleeps with you for months. Or …” She stopped talking and shook her head.

  “Or you tell me you cheated on me with some guy when I was in the army, so whenever I see some guy like that give you a groping—a friendly hug, sorry—I can’t help but wonder if I’m meeting that guy.”

  “David!” Her voice rose to a yell. “How many times do I have to apologize for my mistake?”

  Wolf gripped the wheel. “Maybe Jack knows something we don’t.”

  “Yeah. Maybe so.”

  Wolf put the truck in gear and drove.

  Chapter 7

  Wolf pulled down the sloping driveway and stopped in front of Sarah’s house.

  “Good night.”

  The passenger door slammed shut before he had a chance to respond.

  His headlights reflected on the front bay windows, and his heart skipped when he saw that Jack was inside, squinting, watching the situation unfold with a front row seat.

  Christ, it was Friday night and he was fourteen years old. Wasn’t he out with his friends?

  His son’s grim expression said it all. It was as if he was watching a bad movie scene again—his mother turning her back on his father, their relationship a hopeless mess, and his dream of his mother and father getting back together, so he might one day have a regular family, evaporating into mist once again.

  It was heartbreaking for Wolf to see all that in the course of one glance.

  Jack strolled along the inside of the window toward the front door and greeted his mother as she stormed inside, and then looked out at Wolf.

  Wolf shut off his headlights, rolled down his window. “Hey.”

  Jack lifted his chin and stepped out onto the pavement in his socks. “Hey.”

  “Whatchu up to? Not out doing something tonight?”

  Jack flipped his head to one side to move his bangs out of the way. “Brian’s downstairs. We’re playin’ vids. I was just getting some food for us in the kitchen and saw you pull up.” He looked back toward the house. “Nice date for you and mom, huh?”

  Wolf looked at his son and pulled his mouth into a line. “Oh yeah, you guys have that football camp tomorrow up in Vail. That’s why you aren’t out at a movie or something.”

  Jack nodded, looking up into the sky at nothing in particular.

  Wolf nodded. “Well, be careful, all right? You’ve grown a foot since last fall, but that doesn’t make you invincible.” He poked a finger into Jack’s ribs. “You’re a freaking stick.”

  Jack slapped Wolf’s hand away and smiled. “I’m bulking up.”

  Wolf smiled. If it weren’t such a harrowing experience for Jack already, Wolf would have laughed out loud at the audacity of his son’s transformation as he underwent puberty, springing up from five foot nothing to over six feet tall during nine months and acquiring the voice of Barry White. And Jack still complained about pains in his legs. The kid was going to surpass Wolf in no time.

  “I’m not going to be able to make it up to the camp. Sorry.”

  “Yeah, I heard about the bodies at the lake. It’s all over the news.”

  Wolf frowned. Damn it. That had been a quick reaction by the media, and he still hadn’t told the Pollards about Nick’s body. Hell, he’d only just confirmed the body’s ID. He looked at the glowing clock on his dash and wondered if he should be acting. But it was late. Almost ten p.m. He would talk to the Pollards first thing in the morning.

  “Dad?”

  Wolf turned to Jack. “What?”

  “Nothing.” The disappointment on his face told Wolf everything.

  “Look. Jack. Your mom and I …”

  Jack held up a hand. “Don’t worry. I know. You guys both love me.” He slapped Wolf’s hood and walked back toward the front door.

  “I love you,” Wolf called after him. “Have a good weekend. Give me a call and tell me how the camp went. Or give me a call during.”

  Jack waved over his head without turning and disappeared inside. Wolf stared at the closing door, then flipped on his headlights and backed away.

  Chapter 8

  “Oh! That’s what I’m talking about!” Wolf watched the ex-sheriff of Sluice County, Harold Burton, lean back on his bar stool and pour a brown shot of liquid down his throat, slam the glass on the bar counter, and wipe his mouth. His hand shot up in a fist and his eyes clinched shut. “Ahhh, I’ll take another beer, please, sire.”

  Jerry Blackman, owner of Beer Goggles Bar and Grill, stood behind the counter. “How many is that you’ve had?”

  “I’ve got a cab on retainer.”

  Wolf came up next to Burton and leaned his elbows on the bar. “Yeah, I bet you do.”

  “Oh!” Bob Fitzgerald, one of Hal Burton’s drinking buddies, pointed at Wolf and covered his mouth. “Busted!”

  Burton swiveled and burst out laughing. He gripped Wolf in a vicious headlock and started scrubbing his hair. “This guy is my boy! Get him one, too!”

  Wolf escaped Burton’s painful embrace and smoothed his hair.

  Looking resigned and exhausted, Jerry raised his eyebrows at Wolf.

  Wolf nodded. “I’ll take a Newcastle.”

  “That’s what I’m talkin’ bout!” Burton repeated, slapping the counter.

  “Wow, I didn’t expect to see you drinking with such aggression. What happened? Cheryl leave you?”

  Burton’s smile faded as he reached for the next draft beer that sloshed in front of him. His face was red and puffy, like he’d just been upside down for an hour, and his walrus mustache was wet. “Nah. She’s outta town. She gets home Tuesday. She’ll be none the wiser.”

  Wolf smiled to himself. After leaving Sarah’s, he’d called Burton on his cell phone, and when he hadn’t gotten an answer he’d called Burton’s wife, Cheryl. She’d pointed him straight here. She may have been out of the state visiting her sister, but she was as aware of her husband’s predictable movements as if he wore an ankle m
onitor.

  Jerry pushed a dripping bottle in front of Wolf and waved him away when Wolf pulled out his wallet.

  Wolf watched Jerry leave down the back of the bar, swerving in between another bartender frantically stacking glasses and the shelves.

  The overhead speakers blared jam-band music Wolf had never heard—two electric guitars, bass, drums, and keyboards. It was ten o’clock, and the weekend crowd was swollen and alive, like the Chautauqua River flowing outside the windows.

  He put a five on the counter and took a sip of the beer. It was ice cold, and with the mood he was in, tasted like he could sit and drink six of them.

  “What’s goin’ on?” Burton looked at his watch, did some drunken mathematics in his head and looked back up at Wolf. “I thought you were with Sarah tonight. It’s early, ain’t it?”

  “No, not tonight,” Wolf lied, taking another sip. “Listen, I have to talk to you.”

  “Shoot.” Burton swilled his beer.

  Wolf stared expectantly.

  “Oh, like in private?” Burton turned to the back of the room. “There’s a booth … you wanna go there?”

  Wolf sat across from Burton in a rear booth by the windows. The pleather cushion squeaked as he looked out the window at the river below. The light of a full moon reflected off the shifting rapids of the raging water, which was running high now that it was the peak of melt-season. A few warm days in a row and this building might be swept down the river.

  “Runnin’ high.” Burton read his thoughts.

  “We found Nick Pollard today.”

  Burton lifted his drink, took a sip, and then clacked it down hard, beer splattering onto the table and into Wolf’s lap.

  “Shit, I’m sorry!” Burton raked the spilled beer back towards him with his hairy arm, squeegeeing it onto the booth seat next to him.

  Wolf looked closer at Burton, into the glossy, half-closed eyes, and saw there was little consciousness left in the man. Burton in a bar was like a dog locked in a room with a fifty-pound bag of food; he was going to get all he could until he could ingest no more.

  “You found him?” Burton rubbed a hand over his silver buzz-cut hair. “Where?”

  Wolf wiped the table with some napkins. “In the lake.”

  “In the lake!”

  A table of men and women stared at them, laughing.

  “What the hell you lookin’ at, scrubs?” Burton’s voice was like a train horn.

  Their faces dropped and they looked at their table.

  Wolf raised his eyebrows. “You done?”

  “With what?” Burton grabbed his own handful of napkins and helped wipe the mess, leaving wet beads on the tabletop. “In the lake. God damn, your dad was right.”

  “About what?”

  “Your dad scuba dove down there, oh … must have been five times. Never found anything. It was too deep. Couldn’t get to where he wanted to go.”

  “He did? How did he know where to dive?”

  “The moon guy.” Burton looked down into his beer and burped, then took another swig.

  “The moon guy? What are you talking about?”

  “Vietnam vet, lives up on the lake, on top of that cliff. Used to draw the moon. Had a telescope.”

  Burton put the glass to his lips again and a stream of beer flowed down his chin.

  “Can you start from the beginning?” Wolf asked. “I wanna know what you guys knew back then. Tell me about Nick Pollard. The whole thing.”

  “The whole file’s in records.”

  “Yeah, I know. But I wanna hear it from you.”

  “Well, I’m gonna need another beer for that. This one’s empty.”

  Wolf slid his bottle in front of him.

  Burton smiled and settled into his seat. “Let’s see. It was the fifth of July when Nick Pollard’s mom called us. Afternoon. Said her son never came home the night before. We said, So what? The kid was a misfit. One of those kids always runnin’ with the wrong crowd. Druggie. Weed, probably coke, meth.”

  “Probably?”

  Burton shrugged. “Ran with the crowd. Like I said.” He sipped his beer and then gazed out the window for a few seconds. When he looked at Wolf again he broke into a big smile. “It’s good to see you.”

  “Nick Pollard’s mother called you. Said her son was missing. You guys checked on it, I’m assuming.”

  “Yeah. Yeah. We did. She said Nick went up to Cold Lake because he was dating a girl who lived up there. Went up to watch the fireworks show with her. And then he never came back.”

  “Who was the girl?”

  “Kimber. Kimber Grey, with an ‘e’. We went up and talked to her and her family that afternoon. I me-member they were pretty standoffed. Standoffish. Said they ne’er saw him that night. Said he musta been lyin’ to his mother.” Burton took another swill and put the bottle down on a wet napkin so it teetered at an angle.

  Wolf stabilized it.

  “And then what?”

  “I’m gonna be hurtin’ tomorrow. I’m freakin’ hammered. Every time—”

  “And then what?”

  Burton looked at him, twisting his face with ridiculous effort. “Where was I?”

  Wolf leaned back. “Nick Pollard’s mother says Nick went up to visit Kimber Grey at her cabin on the lake. The Greys said they never saw him. What did you think about that?”

  “But they were fuckin’ lyin’!” Burton’s train-horn voice triggered sideways glances, and as the speakers played the opening bars of a familiar bluegrass tune, Wolf’s knuckles played tabletop percussion. His abrupt palm slap shook Burton back to the conversation.

  “Who was lying?”

  Burton looked over at a different table of people across the room and his eyes went mean.

  “All right. I’m taking you home.”

  “I’ve got a cab on retainer.”

  “Let’s go.”

  Wolf mimed to Jerry that he was taking Burton home. Jerry nodded, held up Burton’s credit card and put it in a drawer. Wolf gave him the thumbs up.

  The screen door squeaked and slapped shut behind them, and Burton stumbled over a knot of grass and landed on his knees on the gravel lot.

  “Shit!” He got up, pushing Wolf’s hand aside, and stumbled forward, barely putting his arms down in time to break his fall.

  By the time he’d got into Wolf’s truck, the old man’s bloodied, pasty forearms looked like candy canes.

  “You going to be all right?” Wolf eyed the pile of flesh and bones in his passenger seat.

  “Yeah. We worked that case.” Burton lifted an index finger.

  As Wolf reversed out of his spot, Burton folded his arms and burrowed himself against the dangling, unused seatbelt. Within moments, Wolf heard the old man snoring.

  Chapter 9

  Wolf pulled through the arch to his ranch at 11:18 p.m. to a familiar sight. The one-story L-shaped house and barn off to the side—built by his father a lifetime ago and completely rebuilt after an explosion three years prior—stood lonely in the moonlight with black holes for windows. He was used to it—coming home after dark to a dark house. He liked solitude, but loneliness was niggling at him tonight.

  But there was something different after all. He leaned forward and squinted when he saw the shiny paint of Sarah’s black Toyota 4Runner in the circle drive. His longing for company turned to anticipation. Looking inside the cab of her vehicle as he slowed to a stop, Wolf saw it was empty.

  Pulling forward, he parked in the carport and got out.

  He stood and stared at Sarah’s SUV through the fog of his breath, listening to the sounds of the forest to the rear of the house. A symphony of crickets chirped and he heard an owl somewhere in the distance.

  The hinges complained as he pushed open the kitchen door and stepped inside, and he thought it was warmer than he was used to. The thermostat had definitely been raised. The kitchen and the entire house beyond were dark. Curtains were drawn in the living room, blocking out the glint of the full moon.


  A faint parallelogram of light showed his bedroom door as open, moonlight illuminating the interior.

  “Sarah?”

  No answer.

  “Sarah! You there?”

  Something felt wrong. He walked fast to the rear of the house, his pulse quickening with each step.

  He pulled the chain to the ceiling fan hanging in his family room as he walked under it, and had to squint in the sudden brightness. When he got to his room he reached around the corner and flipped the light switch, like he was a cat pouncing to catch his prey.

  The light went on and he saw what awaited him.

  Sarah sat on his bed, the sheets pulled up to her armpits. She dug her fists into her eyes and bared her teeth.

  “Ah, turn that off.”

  “What are you doing?”

  She made a visor with her hands. “I wanted to see you. To say I’m sorry. Can you please turn that off?”

  Wolf flipped the switch and the room went dark again.

  The sheets rustled, and then Sarah was in front of him, wrapping her naked body around him, locking her wet lips over his, plunging her soft tongue into his mouth.

  She pulled back and pushed him. “Ah! You’re freezing!”

  Through the swimming circles of light in Wolf’s vision, he watched her stark-naked figure jump back onto the bed, lie down, and pull the sheets over her head.

  He smiled, pulled his clothes off and climbed in after her.

  Chapter 10

  Wolf woke up from a dreamless sleep, and found himself alone in bed. The clock said 7:14 a.m. He rolled to his side and rubbed his eyes, wondering for a second whether he’d imagined the night before; then he caught sight of Sarah’s jeans, T-shirt, sweater and underwear neatly folded on the chair in the corner, and he smiled, remembering pulse-quickening images and sensations from the night before.

  He got up and pulled on his boxer shorts, then walked toward the noise in the kitchen.

  Sarah paced by the opening of the kitchen straight ahead and then poked her head back into view. She was wearing a red-and-black flannel shirt of his with nothing on underneath.