Eye of the Tiger Lily

by Ann Yost

  “I know. But no more. I’m ready to get my real life back.”

  He looked at her, compassion in the dark eyes.

  “And the baby?”

  Her heart tripped as she remembered the morning sickness.

  “I’ll deal with that if it happens,” she said, firmly.

  “You know I’ll be around,” he said. “Whatever you need.”

  For once his willingness to set aside his own needs in favor of hers, annoyed her.

  “You’ve sacrificed enough for me,” she said. “It’s time for you to have a family of your own, Daniel.”

  She’d never spoken to him like that and he looked faintly surprised.

  “I didn’t see it as a sacrifice.”

  “I know. But it was. And now you have a chance for happiness.”

  He dug up a bed of weeds as he answered. She saw his broad shoulders tense.

  “You’re talking about Sharon.”

  “I can see that you care for her. I think it’s mutual.”

  He shook his head.

  “It wouldn’t work, Kolokhas.” Raven.

  The word made Molly wonder, again, if Sandra Tall Tree had left the dead bird on her doorstep. Had she been a party to Big Eddie DiMarco’s murder? Was Davey harboring a viper who would turn on him? She wondered whether Jake had found any proof that Winston had shot the casino manager.

  Molly turned her face to the horizon and watched the setting sun play hide and seek with the colorful autumn leaves. Yesterday at this time she hadn’t even received the ominous shoebox, the shooting hadn’t happened and the magical night with Cam Outlaw was still ahead of her.

  Now everything was all over.

  “Sharon and Cam have broken up,” she said, abruptly.

  “I know. It doesn’t matter. I’m not right for her.”

  “Why? Because she’s not an Indian?”

  “That.” He spoke without rancor. It was almost impossible to make Daniel lose his temper. “And I’m too old to start a family.”

  “That’s ridiculous.”

  He shook his head.

  ”You think she still loves Cam?”

  It was a ridiculous question. What woman wouldn’t love Cam Outlaw?

  “They are from the same world. I don’t know whether they’ll get back together. I imagine that will depend, in part, on you.”

  ”This isn’t about me or Cam. It’s about you, Daniel. You love her, don’t you?”

  “That’s neither here nor there, Molly. And, I’d like you to change the subject.”

  Molly felt a terrible emptiness under her heart and this time it was for her friend. He’d spent all these years taking care of everyone else and when personal happiness finally showed up in the person of a tall, red-haired innkeeper, he intended to turn his back on it.

  Molly got up slowly and moved toward Daniel. She took his callused hand and held it.

  “Don’t do this. Tell her how you feel. I wouldn’t be a bit surprised to find out she loves you back.”

  He squeezed her hand and then disentangled his own.

  “Next summer you should plant some daisies.”

  ****

  Cam turned onto Rural Route Two and left the rez behind without speaking. He was lost in his thoughts and, when Sharon spoke, he glanced at her in surprise. He’d forgotten he wasn’t alone.

  “How long have you cared about Molly?”

  He didn’t pretend to misunderstand. What was the point?

  “Forever. All my life. Thirteen years.”

  “Oh, wow. That explains so much. Was it just a matter of bad timing?”

  “Something like that.”

  They rode in silence for a few minutes, each thinking their own thoughts.

  “Do you think Dwight Winston shot DiMarco and then himself?”

  Cam frowned. “Why?”

  “Well, it doesn’t exactly make sense, does it? I mean, if Winston was such a crack shot that he could make it look like a professional hit on DiMarco, how could he have lost control of his own gun?”

  The same thought had occurred to Cam.

  After he dropped Sharon at the inn he stopped at the sheriff’s office but his brother-in-law was out.

  Well, hell. He went to his own office and put in eight hours of badly needed work and finally he went home.

  Daisy was there and Hallie, Baz and Robert as well as Asia nevertheless the big Victorian seemed less like home than the small cottage on the rez.

  Over the next few days Cam compared notes with Jake and with Grey Wolf. They found proof of fraud on the part of Ed DiMarco on the purloined laptop but no provable mob connections.

  Nothing on the laptop indicated that Dwight Winston had been any more than what he’d appeared to be—the manager of the Blackbird Spa. An autopsy provided the rest of the information. He’d been shot in the heart with the pistol registered to him.

  “It seems incredible that he’d have shot himself,” Cam said to Jake. The two had met in the sheriff’s office.

  “The bullet came from that gun and it was the only weapon on the scene.”

  “Right. But neither Molly nor I saw the pistol in his hands.”

  “And Sandra Tall Tree claims she never touched it.”

  “Think she’s telling the truth?”

  Jake shrugged his big shoulders. “There are no fingerprints and she wasn’t wearing gloves, right?”

  Cam nodded.

  “Makes a nice tidy case,” the sheriff said, leaning back and stretching his long arms over his head. “There’s no one left to prosecute. Of course, the money’s not accounted for.”

  “Maybe Big Ed or Winston hid it somewhere.”

  “That’s our working theory.” Jake’s voice was dry. “That was a pretty traumatic scene out at the Tall Trees,” Jake said, changing the subject, slightly. “How’s Molly?”

  “Fine. I guess. I haven’t seen her.”

  Jake nodded. “You never did tell me how you happened to be out there.”

  Cam had avoided thinking about Molly for the past few days. Her explanation about the past had made him take another look at what had happened all those years ago. He knew now that he loved her. That he’d always loved her. He just didn’t know whether it was too late or whether she would be willing to live off the rez.

  He forced himself to tell Jake about the dead raven in the shoebox. And the daisy.

  “So you thought your daughter was being threatened and you went out to the rez to check things out. In the dark. And rain.”

  “No.” Cam gritted his teeth for a moment. “I was afraid Molly would do something crazy.”

  “Like casing the Tall Trees.”

  “Or like marching up to the door and demanding to speak with Sandra.”

  “I’ll bet she didn’t expect to see Dwight and Sandra standing on the front stoop.”

  “No.”

  There was a brief pause.

  “Hallie told Lucy you stayed out at her cottage all night. Again.” Cam had stayed there several months earlier the night his partner in the casino, Nate Packer, had been killed. His reluctance to reveal his whereabouts had led to his continued position at the top of the suspects list.

  “Anything illegal about that?”

  Jake lifted his big hands. “Not a thing. I’m just saying the women know.”

  Cam nodded. At the moment, that was the least of his problems. He needed to figure out what he wanted from Molly. And he needed to find out the truth about his late wife. Had Elise lied to him?

  Suddenly Cam knew that the two problems were connected. He couldn’t proceed with Molly until he knew whether or not he was infertile.

  That night, after he put Daisy to bed, he hunkered down in his study. After the move from Boston, he’d filed most of his business papers but he’d dragged his feet on his personal ones. He had not been ready to re-live the painful years with Elise.

  He hauled out several boxes. It took only a few minutes to find the eight-by-eleven envelope with the Spotswood
Fertility Clinic logo. His heart accelerated as he leafed through the half dozen sheets of paper and he frowned when he came to the one with his signature. Damn. He’d given the clinic permission to use the leftover sample. He remembered now. They’d called just after Elise had died and, still in shock, he’d signed a Faxed consent form.

  Why? Why had he done it and why had they wanted lazy sperm?

  If it was lazy. He’d gotten Molly pregnant the first and only time they’d made love.

  He picked up the phone to leave a message for the clinic director. Whether it was sluggish or not, he wanted to withdraw his sperm from circulation. He no longer saw it as a viscous mass of seminal plasma but as part of two beloved souls, Daisy and the child who’d died.

  ****

  The morning sickness that had struck with such violence did not return. Molly told herself it didn’t mean anything. As a midwife, she was something of an authority on morning sickness and she knew that it followed no rules. It would probably attack again when she least expected it.

  She used the period of good health to check on her patients and her parents. She refused to think about the night she’d spent with Cam Outlaw. It was a relief to have told him the old secret. It had been gratifying to know that he still wanted her. It was clear, if unsurprising, that he did not want her again. She reminded herself nothing had changed. She’d never expected a second chance with him. That ship had sailed.

  Molly stopped by the community center to talk to Davey. She’d been worried about him after the shooting. He told her Sandra seemed to be all right, if somewhat subdued, and that she’d gone to New York for a few days for what he called “retail therapy.”

  It seemed a little insensitive to have watched your lover shoot himself and then go shopping but Molly knew Sandra was an unhappy young woman. Maybe a new pair of shoes would help. She decided against mentioning the dead raven to Davey.

  ”Say, Molly,” he said, as she stood to leave, “did the sheriff ever find that money?”

  “Not as far as I know.”

  He nodded. “That Dwight Winston probably hid it somewhere.” He sighed, dolefully “I think Sandra and I will be all right,” he said, “now that the casino’s closed. It was the casino that was the bad influence on Sandra. She’s very young, you know. And she was an orphan. She never had anything.”

  “I know.”

  The pinched look on his pudgy face pulled at her heart. As far as his marriage was concerned he was the Pillsbury dough boy headed for the oven.

  ”I like for her to have nice things,” he added. “And it’s important that the wife of the sagama look good.”

  She thought about that. No one on the rez ever dressed to impress. It was the first time she’d even heard anyone discuss the importance of clothes.

  “Sandra always looks nice,” she pointed out. “When she gets back I’d like to talk to her about the crafts co-op.” Maybe Sandra would find some happiness at getting involved in a charitable project with other young woman.

  “Sure,” Davey said

  Molly stopped in at the Trading Post, the market attached to the community center but she couldn’t concentrate on shopping. She kept thinking about Davey’s odd marriage. Why had the beautiful half-breed woman married a dumpy, middle-aged man like Davey? He’d been a tribal cop in a place where there was little to no crime and he’d been elected chief, mainly because no one else raised his hand.

  Was Sandra the deprived orphan Davey made her out to be or was she playing a deep game? Had she known Dwight Winston before her marriage? Had she known Big Eddie?

  Molly was almost certain that Sandra was behind the dead raven. Was that threat neutralized now? Or was Cam’s young daughter at risk?

  She wished she had the right to keep an eye on Daisy but she didn’t and she had to trust Cam. Suddenly she missed the child and her father so much it was like a pain in her heart. She tried to shake it off as she searched for groceries. She needed bananas and oranges. She was definitely low on vitamin C. On her way to the fruits and vegetables she passed the shelf devoted to personal hygiene and there, between the lip gloss, cotton swabs and toothpaste was a lone pink-and-white box. Molly picked it up. It was time to face the truth.

  There was no reason to be self conscious about buying an early pregnancy test, still, Molly was relieved to see silent Hank Deerkill behind the counter instead of Maggie “Magpie” Woods, the cashier who considered it her personal mission to keep everyone on the rez informed about everyone else’s business.

  It was a good sign.

  She’d reached the vegetable aisle in her progress toward the counter when the little bell over the door jingled.

  “Hey, Molly,” called out Maggie. “Tell me all about the shooting out at Davey’s place, will ya? I’ve been waiting forever for you to come in.” The older woman’s sharp black eyes glittered with curiosity and Molly reacted without thinking, snatching the E.P.T. box out of her basket and thrusting it behind a can of creamed corn.

  When Molly had finished a brief recital of events, Maggie produced a basket of deerskin bracelets.

  “Think you could sell these in Eden?”

  Molly examined the hand-tooled, leather jewelry. It was rustic but striking in its way.

  “I’m almost sure we can. Eventually we’re hoping to set up an online storefront. That way we can sell to people all over the country. Can I take these with me?”

  She was, in fact, heading into town to deliver to the co-op Ellen Waters’s hand-woven baskets, Gwen Racer’s beaded necklaces and the carved totems created by Charlie Watson. She stopped at her parents’ trailer to pick up the dream catchers Muriel fashioned out of hemp and beads and feathers.

  The Indians believed if a dream catcher was nailed to the wall above a bed, positive dreams would slip through a hole in the center then slide down to the sleeper below. The bad dreams, not knowing the way, were supposed to get tangled in the knots and feathers and expire with the first rays of the sun.

  Molly, who had one of Muriel’s dream catchers above her bed, believed in the tradition, just as she believed in the other Native rituals. She knew her family’s ways had startled Cam when she’d first met him all those years ago. He’d thought them quaint but she knew the life he wanted to share with Molly would be based on concrete reality and it would be centered in town.

  Molly hadn’t worried about the discrepancy between them—not until she’d discovered she was pregnant.

  Farrell’s Pharmacy on Eden’s Main Street was empty except for Agatha Farrell, the mother of the present proprietor. The matriarch, sixty, plump and inquisitive, squinted at the E.P.T. kit through her thick bifocals. Molly knew the older lady would assume the kit was for a patient as the midwife was unmarried.

  “How’s the baby business?”

  “Booming,” Molly replied. “We had a bumper crop at the last full moon.”

  Mrs. Farrell chuckled. “When will it be your turn, dear?”

  It was a friendly question and one Molly had heard often enough. She found a smile for the older woman and delivered her stock answer.

  “I should probably find a husband first.”

  Mrs. Farrell nodded. “Don’t wait too long, child. Life goes by fast.”

  Molly swallowed around the lump in her throat as she climbed back into the Jeep and deposited the brown bag containing her purchase on the passenger’s seat. She’d turned into a leaky faucet lately. The probability that her rampant emotions stemmed from pregnancy did not comfort her.

  The crafts cooperative called the Maine Event was located on Main Street in the space previously occupied by the family-owned White’s Department Store, an institution that had closed its doors years earlier, after Eden lost its last textile mill.

  Sharon, Hallie, Molly and several others had chosen the spot for its central location and its luxurious floor space. They’d opted to set it up as though it were actually someone’s living room with bookshelves filled with handcrafted items, pictures on the wall, handwoven rugs
on the floor and handmade wooden furniture. One alcove held the display of silver jewelry and another, the colorful Norwegian sweaters Mrs. Cat had made. As Molly pulled into a parking space behind the co-op, her heart sank as she spotted Sharon’s forest green SUV. It looked like she was going to pay for her good luck at the pharmacy with an awkward encounter here. Whatever the relationship between Sharon and Cam, Molly felt guilty about sharing intimacies with a man the other woman had cared for so recently. And she wondered about Sharon and Daniel. Did the innkeeper feel anything for Molly’s own ex?

  She lectured herself as she climbed out of the Jeep. It was an unfortunate coincidence that she and Sharon had the same taste in men. What was important, she reminded herself, sternly, was that she and Sharon were both colleagues and friends and nothing would alter that.

  The scent of peppermint tea, the soothing sounds of a recorded string quartet and Sharon Johnson met her met her just inside the back door.

  ”Molly! I didn’t expect you today.”

  Sharon looked lovely, as usual, in a pair of designer jeans, a dashing emerald-colored poet’s shirt with her brilliant hair tied back in a matching emerald scarf. Her hazel eyes sparkled and there was a faint flush under her freckles. She really was the most striking woman.

  “Are you feeling better?”

  Dang. The reminder that Sharon had been at her cottage when she was sick, that she’d gone home with Cam Outlaw and that she, Molly, hadn’t heard from him in the subsequent five days, stung.

  ”Much better,” Molly said, pleasantly. “Thank you for asking.” She set a load of baskets down on the front desk.

  ”Got anything else in the Jeep?”

  “A few things.”

  “Great, I’ll go get them.”

  Molly flashed on the pink-and-white early pregnancy test in its brown paper bag. Sharon would think it, too, was a craft for sale.

  “No! I mean, no thanks. I can carry the rest. Is that peppermint tea?”

  “It is. Will you join me in a cup?”

  Molly didn’t love peppermint tea and she felt more awkward than she’d thought possible with Sharon. It wasn’t just guilt, she realized. She felt jealous. Good grief. She was annoyed with herself and her mood didn’t improve when the tea tasted like the dregs of the Penobscot River.