Jo was fond of the Broiler, of how it was the center of much that went on in the community. A big bulletin board hung near the entrance, crowded with notices of local events. Everyone knew everyone else and warm hellos were thrown across the dining room. The aroma always made her mouth water the moment she stepped in, the smell of grease on the griddle, of deep-fry.
They took a booth near a front window overlooking Center Street. After they ordered, Jo and Jenny talked about college applications while Annie helped Stevie with the maze and puzzles on the children’s place mat. Several people stopped by to tell Jo how awful it was, what had happened on the rez, and to ask did Cork have a clue who was responsible.
They were near the end of the meal. The waitress was clearing their dishes when Ben Jacoby appeared at the table looking tremendously pleased to see them.
“Hello, Jo. What a nice surprise.”
She wasn’t sure it was.
“I drove by with your husband yesterday. Smelled delicious. I wanted to stop in before I left. Is this your family?”
She introduced the children. “This is Mr. Jacoby.”
“How do you do?” he said, addressing them all at once with a charming smile. He studied Stevie’s place mat. “Looks like you solved everything. Good for you.”
“Annie helped.”
“That was nice of her.” He turned to Jenny. “I understand you’re interested in Northwestern. That’s my alma mater.”
“Really?” Jenny’s eyes danced.
“My son’s a senior there this year.”
“Sweet,” Jenny said.
“Sweet?”
“She means way cool,” Jo interpreted.
“I’d be happy to talk to you, tell you anything you want to know. The only problem is that I’m leaving first thing in the morning.”
“Oh.” Jenny’s disappointment showed. Then she brightened. “We’re having pie at home. Maybe you could join us?”
“I’m sure Mr. Jacoby has other pressing matters,” Jo said.
“Actually, no. I’d love some pie. That is, if it’s all right with you.”
She wasn’t pleased, but there didn’t seem an easy way out.
“All right,” she said, reaching for her purse.
“I’ll just follow in my car,” Ben suggested. “How’s that?”
He sat at the kitchen table with Jenny. Jo made coffee while Annie dished up the apple pie, which, she explained, she’d made herself from a recipe her aunt Rose had given her. Ben declared it delicious, the best he’d ever tasted. Annie blushed deeply under the compliment.
Stevie went out to play, and Ben told Jenny all about Northwestern. She asked about the writing program.
“I’m not familiar with it,” he said. “You want to be a writer?”
“Doesn’t everybody?” She laughed.
“Who are your favorite authors?”
“Anais Nin, Virginia Woolf, Louise Erdrich. And I absolutely love To Kill a Mockingbird.”
“Doesn’t everybody?” It was his turn to laugh. “Do you know Tillie Olsen?”
“Should I?”
“Read Tell Me a Riddle. I think you’ll find it to your liking. Have you ever visited Northwestern, toured the campus?”
“No, but Mom and I have been talking about it.”
“I’d be glad to show you around sometime. If you and your mom decide to come down.”
“Really? That would be terrific.”
Ben looked at Annie. “And you, I’ve heard, are an athlete. Softball, right?”
“That’s my favorite, but I like all sports.”
“Notre Dame fan?”
“Go Irish.”
“It’s not that far from Evanston to South Bend. You could probably talk your mom into visiting both campuses the same trip.” He gave her a conspiratorial wink.
The back door opened and Cork stepped into the kitchen. His surprise at finding Ben Jacoby at the table with his family was obvious.
“Good evening,” he said.
Jo rose to greet him, kissed his cheek. “We ran into Ben at the Broiler. When Jenny found out he graduated from Northwestern, she had to give him the third degree.”
“Informative?” he asked Jenny.
“I’ve learned tons, Dad.”
Jo said, “Have you eaten?”
“Grabbed a sandwich.”
“How about some pie, then?”
Cork shook his head. “Looks like everybody’s finished. Maybe later.”
“Dad,” Jenny said. “I’m going canoeing with Alexandra Cunningham tomorrow on Higman Lake. You said I could borrow the Bronco, remember?”
Cork said, “I’ll leave the keys on the counter for you.”
“Thanks.”
“It’s a beautiful evening out. Why don’t we have our coffee on the front porch?” Jo suggested.
“I’d like that,” Ben said.
“Can you stay, Cork? Or do you have to get back?”
“I’ll stay.”
The children cleared the table while the adults stepped out onto the porch.
“A porch swing.” Ben smiled. “I’ve never actually seen one except in movies. May I?”
“Be our guest,” Jo said.
He sat down and began swinging gently. Cork leaned against the porch railing. Jo joined him there.
“I hate to bring up an unpleasant topic, Cork, but did you make any headway on Eddie’s murder today?” Ben said.
“Maybe. I need to follow up a couple of things before I know for sure.”
“Promising leads?”
“Leads often look promising but end up nowhere.”
“You must have a lot of patience.”
“What he has,” Jo said, “is obsession. Once he starts on an investigation, he can’t stop until he’s solved it.”
“Bulldog Drummond, eh?” Ben laughed.
It was Friday evening, the sun had just set, and Gooseberry Lane was cradled in quiet and a soft amber light. In the O’Loughlin house across the street, someone played easy blues on a guitar. Stevie stood in the yard tossing a baseball into the air. It fell back into his glove with a little slap of leather.
“This is nice,” Ben said. “All so very nice.” He sipped his coffee. “I understand you were a cop in Chicago for a while, Cork. You ever miss the big city?”
“Never. This is my hometown.”
“Mine is Chicago. I love it, but this is pretty damn fine, I have to admit. What about you, Jo? Miss Chicago?”
“No, but I would love to get down there soon. My sister lives in Evanston.”
“Rose?”
“Yes. With her husband Mal.”
“Convenient. Especially if Jenny decides to attend Northwestern.” Ben scanned the street, the yards in late shadow, and gave a satisfied sigh. “All the arrangements have been made to fly Eddie’s body home. We’ll be leaving first thing in the morning. Jo, it’s been a pleasure seeing you again. Cork, you’re a lucky man.”
The front door opened and Annie said, “Dad, there’s a phone call for you. She said it’s important.”
“I’ll be right there.” He glanced at Ben. “Excuse me.”
“Of course.”
When Cork left, they fell into silence, but Ben didn’t take his eyes off Jo. She wanted to say something but wasn’t sure what, and was relieved when Cork returned.
“I need to go,” he said.
“Business?” Ben asked.
“It was Dina.”
“Dina?” Jo hadn’t heard the name before.
“A consultant the Jacobys have brought in to help with the investigation.”
Ben drank the last of his coffee. “What did she want?”
“She was a little circumspect, but she seems to think it’s important.”
“Should I come?”
“You’re leaving tomorrow, Ben. I’ll be consulting with Dina when you’re not here, so I might as well start now. Anything important, she can fill you in.”
“Of course.”
&n
bsp; Cork started toward the steps. “I might hit the office afterward, Jo. Don’t wait up. Ben, I wish I could say it’s been a pleasure, but this hasn’t been pleasant business.” He shook Jacoby’s hand. “We’re going to solve your brother’s murder.”
“I’m sure you will.”
On the way to his Bronco, Cork said something to Stevie, who giggled. A minute later he’d backed out of the drive and was gone.
Jo glanced at her watch, then at the sky, where the light was fading rapidly. “I should bring Stevie in. It’s time to begin winding down for bed.”
As if he knew what was coming, Stevie suddenly bolted across the street and disappeared behind the O’Loughlins’ garage. Jo guessed that he’d spotted Rochester, the O’Loughlins’ cat, for whom he had a great affection.
“Winding down?” Ben asked.
“He gets into his pajamas, we have a cookie and milk together, then I read to him-or sometimes these days he reads to me. The kind of bedtime stuff you probably did with your son.”
He stared into his empty cup. “Unfortunately, no. We’d probably have a better relationship if I had.” He looked up, smiled a little sadly. “Thank you, Jo.”
“For what?”
“I know my being here isn’t your choice, but I appreciate that you let me come. It’s good to see how happy you are.”
“You’re not?” she said.
“The last time I remember being truly happy was when I was with you. But that’s the past. Or maybe just the nature of the past. Everything seems better in retrospect.”
“You were the one who left,” she reminded him.
“That I was.” He stood up suddenly and put his cup on the porch railing. “I’d best be off. We leave early tomorrow. Good night, Jo.”
“Good-bye, Ben.”
He took her hand briefly, then left the porch. He glanced back once and waved. A minute later, he was in his car, heading down Gooseberry Lane in the same direction Cork had gone.
Jo stood for a little while, alone, aware of a feeling like loss, but a small one, in her heart. Then she turned on the porch lamp and called, “Stevie, time to come in.”
Almost immediately her son appeared, loping through the growing dark toward the light of home.
20
Cork had not been happy to find Jacoby in his house, at his table, eating with his family. The man was an acquaintance from Jo’s law school days, and what was the harm in offering him a little hospitality, particularly considering the circumstances that had brought him to Aurora? Still, it gnawed at him. Maybe it was just the surprise, because Jacoby’s presence had been so unexpected. Maybe it was territorial, because his wife and children seemed to enjoy the man. Or maybe it was because he still didn’t know what to make of Ben Jacoby. With rich people, Cork was always on the lookout for the power play. In his experience, people with money held the belief, however veiled, that there was nothing that was beyond the influence of their wealth. In Lou Jacoby, it was as obvious as if he’d worn a suit made of hundred-dollar bills. The old man was used to getting his way. It was possible the same skewed thinking existed on some level in Ben, but he was better at hiding it.
Cork met Dina at the bar in the Quetico Inn, where the Jacobys were staying. He could have invited Ben Jacoby along, but he didn’t see any reason. Dina could report to her employers if they really wanted to know what was going on.
She sat next to a window with a view. A small candle burned in the center of the table. Dina was looking at the lake, which, as night crept in from the east, had turned a dark, velvety blue. A drink in one hand, she didn’t turn when Cork’s image loomed behind her own in the glass.
“Is it always this pretty?” she said.
“To me it is.”
Cork took the seat across from her at the table, but she still didn’t look at him. She had a nice profile; a small nose with a little squaring of the tip; soft, full lips; good bone structure. Her eyes, he’d noticed, seemed to change color with the light. They were now a dark, intense green.
“Pretty even in winter?” Those full lips formed a smile and she finally looked at him. She wore the sweater she’d had on in Cork’s office earlier that day, but she’d done something to her face, defined the features with makeup that made her seem a different kind of woman from what he’d imagined at first, a little less business. He put that information in the Wait and See file in his mind.
“It has a different beauty in winter,” he said.
“I guess I’ll have to take your word for that. Buy you a drink?”
“Sure.”
She signaled the cocktail waitress. Cork ordered whatever Dina was having. It turned out to be Glenfiddich on the rocks.
While he waited for his Scotch, he said, “So what have you got?”
“Who is Harmon LaRusse?”
“LaRusse? Why do you want to know about him?”
“Because a Chevy pickup registered to one Harmon LaRusse followed you all over the reservation this afternoon. Loved the sticker on the rear bumper. ‘If this is tourist season, why can’t I shoot ’em?’”
“How do you know he followed me?”
“He was parked down the block from the Sheriff’s Department and he pulled out after you when you left this morning. I happened to observe him do this, and I tailed him.”
“ Happened’?”
When she smiled, her green eyes danced. “I intended to follow you, too, but he beat me to it.”
“I thought you were going to work with Ed Larson.”
“A misconception on your part. Who is LaRusse?”
“A Shinnob, used to live on the rez. Big guy, goes by the nickname Moose. I busted him five, six years ago for a string of burglaries. He did a nickel at Stillwater. Must be out by now.”
“A Shinnob?”
“Short for Anishinaabe. LaRusse is full-blood Ojibwe.”
The Glenfiddich came. The waitress asked if Dina wanted another. “Later, maybe,” Dina replied.
“He followed me everywhere?”
“The hospital, the store in Allouette, the bar.”
“Son of a bitch.”
“I can’t imagine it has anything to do with Eddie Jacoby’s murder, but it might have something to do with the shooting on the rez, and so it’s really not my concern. But that bar you went to is.”
“The bar?”
“I just came from there.”
“You went to the North Star alone?”
“I wanted to ask a few questions.”
“That wasn’t smart.”
“I got answers.”
“You got answers at the North Star?” He didn’t try to hide his skepticism.
“Here, let me show you a trick.” She reached down, grasped the bottom of her sweater, and in one quick, fluid movement, pulled it off over her head. Underneath she wore a low-cut top of some thin scarlet material that hugged her body like a surgical glove. Under that was a push-up bra that offered up her breasts with enough cleavage to swallow the Titanic.
Cork dragged his eyes from her chest. “They teach you that at Quantico?”
“I learned that one in the field.” She made no move to put her sweater back on.
“Going in alone was a dangerous thing to do.”
“I wasn’t alone.” She reached down and lifted the right cuff of her jeans, exposing an ankle holster fitted with a small Beretta Tomcat. She let the cuff drop.
“Eddie Jacoby sometimes met a man named Stone at the North Star. You know him?” she asked.
Cork said, “I know him.”
“What would Eddie want with him?”
“Stone’s the kind of guy who’d traffic in anything. Drugs, guns, information. I’m guessing it’s that last one he was selling to Jacoby.”
“What kind of information would Eddie buy?”
“The kind that might be used to influence a vote of the RBC on whether to sign a contract with Starlight.”
“How would Eddie know of him?”
“I don’t know. Slim
e finds slime. It’s entirely possible Stone was the one who made the approach.”
She sipped the last of her Scotch and the ice clinked against the glass. The sound seemed to intrigue her and she stared for a few moments at the cubes, whose hard edges had been rounded by the Glenfiddich. Cork caught himself glancing again at her breasts.
“Did you see the girl behind the bar?” she asked.
“Lizzie Fineday.”
“Somebody hit her.”
“Will, that’s her father, says it wasn’t him. Probably wasn’t.”
“She have a boyfriend?”
“Stone has a claim on her. I wouldn’t call it love. He’s a hard man, but I don’t think he’d hit Lizzie. Fineday would kill him. But get this. In the bar today, when I tossed Jacoby’s name out there as a possibility, Fineday tossed me out.”
“That so? It might be interesting to talk to her.”
“I’ve been thinking the same thing,” Cork said. He took a long, burning swallow of the Scotch. “Want to be there when I do?”
21
That night Cork woke, looked at the clock on the stand beside the bed-1:47 A.M. -and realized he was alone. He got up, stepped into the hallway. Downstairs a dim flow of light came from the direction of Jo’s office.
He found her sitting at her desk, staring across the room at a window where the blind had not been lowered. There was nothing to see but the empty glass, the vague reflection of the room on the pane.
“You okay?” he asked.
“Couldn’t sleep,” she said.
“Something bothering you?”
She tilted her head back and laughed, not a mirthful sound. “Now, why would you think that? Someone shoots Marsha but they probably meant to shoot you. My client Edward Jacoby is brutally murdered. And you’ve stopped sleeping. What’s to worry about?”
He walked to her desk, sat in the client’s chair. “Anything else?”
“That covers it pretty well, I’d say.”
“Tell me about Ben Jacoby.”
She’d been asleep when he came home, or had seemed to be. He’d been thinking about Jacoby a lot and wanted to talk to her about him, but he hadn’t wanted to disturb her rest.
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