Spencerville

by Nelson DeMille

  The letter was okay.

  I don't think so. Hey, what's wrong with you two?

  Keith smiled. Bad luck, lousy timing. He got into the Blazer and rolled down the window. We'll work it out.

  You came real close to doing that this time. She put her hand on the car door and said, Keith, I know my sister, and I wouldn't tell this to another soul except you . . . she's frightened. She had a bad week with him.

  Do you think she's in any danger?

  She didn't think so, but . . . I think it got to be too much for her this morning. She started getting worried about you . . . so she called up at their lodge in Michigan, and he answered the phone, and she hung up. She felt better knowing he was there and not around here. Just the same, about an hour later, she said she was going home. That was about two hours before you got here. I'm surprised you didn't pass each other.

  I took another route.

  She probably went past your place.

  Maybe.

  Try to speak to her before you leave. She needs to hear from you.

  That's not easy.

  I'll drive out to see her tomorrow. I know I can't call her on the phone. But I'll stop by after church and get her alone somehow. I'll work out a meeting for you two.

  Terry, I really appreciate what you're doing, but she and I both need time to think.

  You had over twenty years for that.

  And another few weeks won't make a difference.

  They could.

  No, they can't. Let's let it slide for now. I'll contact you in a few weeks. By then, everyone will be thinking clearly, and we can take it from there.

  Terry stepped back from the Blazer. Okay. I don't want to interfere.

  You've been very helpful. He started the car.

  You're angry.

  No, I'm not. He smiled. If I tell you you're as good-looking and sexy as your sister, will you be a real midwestern lady and slap me?

  She smiled. No, you get a kiss. She leaned through the window and gave him a peck on the cheek. Take care of yourself. See you soon.

  Hope so. He backed out of the drive and headed back to Spencer County.

  Being an intelligence officer for twenty years had its advantages. For one thing, you learned how to think differently than most people, you played life like a chess game and thought six moves ahead, and you never gave away your game plan and never gave out more information than the other person needed to have. He could trust Terry, of course, but he didn't trust her judgment. It was best for her to think he was angry or whatever she was thinking. He wasn't trying to manipulate her, and through her, Annie. But Cliff Baxter had to be reckoned with, and the less Terry knew, the better.

  Annie's letter. He didn't have to read between the lines—it was all there in her own words. She was disappointed, perhaps hurt. She was concerned about his safety. She didn't want to be a burden to him. He took all this at face value. What she wanted from him was a reassurance that it was still okay—the trip to Washington was nothing to be concerned about, Cliff Baxter didn't worry him, she wasn't a burden, she lifted his spirits.

  Still, she asked him to wait, and no doubt she meant it. Even if he wanted to wait, which he didn't, Cliff Baxter's actions were unpredictable. She had a bad week with him.

  He recalled what Gail had told him about a firearm incident at the Baxter house, and it occurred to him, not for the first time, that Annie was going to kill her husband. He couldn't let that happen. It didn't have to happen. But if it was going to happen, she'd wait until Keith Landry was gone, so Keith had some time to make sure it didn't happen. If Keith had played his cards right with Terry, she'd tell Annie that Keith Landry was going to leave, and, by the looks of him, he might not be back. That may have been a little manipulative, he admitted, but it was necessary. All's fair in love and war. Maybe not all, but a lot.

  He crossed the line into Spencer County, and, within twenty minutes, he was in Spencerville. He drove past Annie's house on Williams Street, but there was no car in the driveway. He went downtown and stopped at the bank, hitting the cash machine for the maximum, which was four hundred dollars in these parts. He drove around town for a while, but didn't see her white Lincoln.

  Keith headed out of town, got on Highway 22, and stopped at Aries's self-service gas station.

  Keith got out and pumped.

  Bob Aries ambled out of the office and waved to him. How you doin?

  Keith replied, Fine. How about you?

  Okay. Bob Aries walked over to Keith. Got yourself a new Blazer.

  Sure did.

  Like it?

  I do.

  You got rid of that other thing?

  Made a chicken coop out of it.

  Aries laughed, then asked him, Hey, did Chief Baxter ever look you up?

  Keith glanced at Aries and said, He stopped by last week.

  Yeah, he said he might. I told him you was in here one day.

  Thanks. Keith finished pumping and put the nozzle back. He and Aries went into the office, and Keith paid for the gas. Keith inquired, Does he come in here much?

  Bob Aries's expression changed. Well . . . he did. We get a lot of the city and county business here. But . . . uh . . . we had some problems.

  I think I might have heard about that.

  Yeah . . . a lot of people heard about that.

  Keith went through the door into the convenience store, and Bob Aries followed him. There was no one behind the counter, and Keith asked, Where is Mrs. Aries?

  She's away for a while. He added, I guess you know why, if you know about that church meeting out by Overton.

  But why did Mrs. Aries leave?

  Uh . . . well . . . I guess she felt kinda . . . maybe a little nervous after she went and shot her mouth off.

  Was she telling the truth?

  Hell, no. I mean, you got to give a little to get a little in this here world. Women don't understand how business is done. Aries shook his head and added, The chief and his cousin, Don Finney, who's the sheriff, came in here and told me they was gonna get the city and the county to switch accounts to someplace else. You know how much of my business that is? I'll tell ya. Damned near fifty percent. You know what's gonna happen now? I'm out. Because she shot off her damned mouth.

  So you don't see Chief Baxter anymore?

  Oh, he comes in, just like he used to, 'cause this is where the city has to charge it until the city council changes it. But he don't say much to me, and what he says ain't nice. Aries added, He says he got a bone to pick with Mary. I told him he won't be seeing her around here for a while.

  Does he still help himself to whatever he wants?

  Hey, he never did that. He always paid. And if I wanted to give him a few things to munch on, so what?

  Keith threw a few items on the counter, things to tide him over for the weekend. Aries went behind the counter and rang up the items.

  Keith said, I'm leaving Spencer County. Monday.

  Yeah? For good?

  Yes. No work here.

  Told ya. Too bad, though. Need more people. That'll be twenty-one dollars and seventy-two cents.

  Keith paid him, and Aries bagged. Aries said, Next time you come through, you'll see this place closed.

  Keith said to Bob Aries, Your wife did the right thing. You know that.

  Yeah, maybe. But I don't need Chief Baxter for an enemy, and I don't need to start over again at my age.

  I wouldn't count on Baxter being chief much longer.

  Yeah? Ya think?

  You read the transcript of the St. James meeting?

  He nodded.

  What do you think?

  Well . . . the man ought to have better control over his dick. Aries smiled. Hey, you know why men give their penises names? 'Cause they don't want a total stranger makin' ninety percent of their decisions. Aries laughed and slapped the counter. Get it?

  Sure do.

  Aries got serious again and said, But this other stuff they's sayin' he did . . . like fillin' up hi
s private car here for free . . . hell, even if it was true, which it ain't, nobody got hurt. Now, the thing about him and those women, well, my wife says that makes him unfit to be police chief. I don't know, because I don't know if them women is lyin', or what. But I do know that those kinds of charges ain't doin' much for his home life. Hey, you know Mrs. Baxter?

  We were schoolmates.

  Yeah? Well, that's a fine, fine woman. She don't have to hear that kind of crap from those sluts what got up in church, brazen as can be, and told all.

  Try to make the next meeting. My regards to Mrs. Aries. You should be with her. Keith picked up the bag and left.

  From a pay phone around the side of the convenience store, he called Charlie Adair's house and got the answering machine. He said, Charlie, my plans are postponed. I'll get back to you in a day or two. Sorry I can't make it tonight. Regards to Katherine. Meantime, if you call my home phone, assume it's tapped by Police Chief Baxter, who has this crazy idea that I'm interested in his wife. Stewart did a great job. He should be back before midnight. I'm still thinking about the job offer. Can I have a grow-light in my basement office? Tell the president I said hi. Speak to you.

  At about nine o'clock that evening, Keith figured he'd been up for about thirty-six hours straight, and he got ready for bed. He opened the drawer of his nightstand and saw that the Clock was missing.

  He thought a moment. The Porters knew where the key was, but they wouldn't help themselves to the pistol. He looked through his wardrobe cabinets and noticed now that things were slightly disturbed.

  Obviously, Baxter had gotten into the house, which, for a policeman with at least one or two locksmiths on call, was not difficult.

  Nothing seemed to be missing except the pistol, and there was nothing compromising in the house for him to be concerned about. He'd burned Annie's last letters to him, and her past letters of two decades had gone through one government paper shredder or another. He wasn't much of a saver, and he was glad now that he wasn't.

  Letters aside, the Glock was gone, and Baxter had been through his things. That was reason enough to kill the man, and he would have except for his promise, and except for the fact that Baxter was about to lose his wife, his job, his friends, and his town. Death, as the expression went, was too good for him.

  Keith found his old K-bar knife and put it on his nightstand. He turned off the lights and went to sleep.

  He awoke at dawn, showered and dressed, and went downstairs. It was a cool, crisp Sunday morning, and when he went outside, he could see his breath. He walked to the cornfield and peeled back the husk on an ear. The color was about right, and so was the dry, paper-thin husk. Almost but not quite ready. Another week or two, weather permitting.

  He walked around the farmyard, surveyed the buildings, the fences, the grounds. All in all, he'd done a good job, and all it took was some money, a lot of time, and backbreaking labor. He didn't know, really, why he'd done it, what the objective was, but he felt good about it. He knew he'd touched things, fixed things, that his father and uncle had touched and tinkered with, as had his grandfather.

  There weren't many physical remains from his great-grandfather's day, or his great-great-grandfather, the original settler, but he was walking the same ground they walked, and in the early morning and in the evening, when the countryside was quiet in half-light, he could feel their presence.

  He went to church. Not St. James, but St. John's in Spencerville. This was a different congregation, to be sure—better dressed, better cars. The big brick and stone church was the best building in Spencerville, aside from the courthouse. If the county had an establishment church, it was St. John's Lutheran, firmly connected to the early settlers and the present power structure. Even the Episcopalians dropped in now and then, especially if they were running for office or had a business in town.

  Keith looked for the Baxters but didn't see them as he walked in. Even if he'd literally bumped into Mr. Baxter's ample body, there wouldn't be a problem; it was Sunday, this was a church, and Spencerville's God-fearing gentry wouldn't tolerate discord or disharmony in or around the Lord's house on the Lord's day.

  Keith went inside. The church was large and held about eight hundred people. Keith scanned the backs of the congregation in the pews, but still he didn't see Mr. and Mrs. Baxter. If they were there, however, he'd see them coming out if he stood at the bottom of the steps after the service.

  Keith took a seat on the left toward the rear, and the service began with Pastor Wilbur Schenk, Mrs. Baxter's confessor, officiating.

  It wasn't until about halfway through the service that he realized that Annie was in the choir, sitting on the far right side of the altar, so he had a good view of her.

  The choir rose to sing, and she looked at him as though she'd noticed him long ago and was impatient with him for not seeing her. They made eye contact for a moment, and he winked at her. She smiled as she began singing Rock of Ages, then looked down at her hymnal, still smiling. She looked angelic, he thought, with her red choir robe and her eyes that sparkled in the candlelight. When the hymn was finished, she folded the hymnal and glanced at him again as she sat.

  Before the service ended, Keith left and drove out of Spencerville.

  He stopped at the Cowley farm and knocked on the door, but no one answered. It was unlocked, so he went in and called out for Billy Marlon, but the house seemed to be empty. He went into the kitchen and found a pencil and an envelope from a piece of junk mail and wrote: Billy, leaving town for a while. See you next time. Stop the boozing. Go to the VA hospital in Toledo for a checkup. That's an order, soldier. He signed it, Landry, Colonel, U.S. Army, Infantry. Keith didn't know how much good the note was going to do, but he felt some sort of need or obligation to write it. He put a hundred dollars on the kitchen table and left.

  He considered going to the Porters' house, but he'd said his goodbyes and didn't want to alarm them with a change of plans; another case of the less they knew, the better for them. Cliff Baxter and his cohorts not only had to be reckoned with, but they were setting the agenda for a while.

  Next call was Aunt Betty's. On the way, he stopped at a big indoor farm stand and bought jams, homemade candy, maple syrup, and other sugar products that would have put most people into sugar shock, but which Aunt Betty seemed to thrive on.

  She was home, ready to go to Lilly and Fred's house for Sunday dinner, she informed him. She invited him in, but like most elderly people he knew, especially his German relatives, she didn't know how to handle a small change in her day. She said, I have to be there in an hour.

  Lilly and Fred lived about twenty minutes away, and Keith recalled with a smile Aunt Betty's theory of time relativity as it applied to herself and to other people. He said, I'm only staying a minute. If you hurry, you can make it. Here, I brought you a few things. He put the bag on the dining room table, and she emptied it, item by item.

  Oh, Keith, you didn't have to do that. You're such a sweet man. And so on.

  He said to her, Aunt Betty, I'm leaving for a while, and I wonder if you'd be good enough to keep an eye on the place.

  You're leaving again?

  Yes. I don't do it often. Once every quarter century or so.

  Where are you going this time?

  To Washington to take care of some leftover business. I've asked some other people to keep an eye on the place, as well. Jeffrey and Gail Porter. Jeffrey is an old schoolmate of mine.

  Which Porter is he? The one with the three sons?

  No, his father had three sons. Jeffrey is one of them. Jeffrey is my age. Anyway, I just, wanted you to know.

  Wait here. I have something for you. She went into the kitchen and returned with his bottle of French red Burgundy, cold from the refrigerator. This will just go to waste, so you should take it.

  Thank you.

  Why don't you come to Fred and Lilly's with me? I'll call. They can put out another plate. She always makes too much. Wastes food, that woman. I told Harriet, that daugh
ter of yours wastes—

  I have another engagement. Aunt Betty, listen to me. I know you don't listen to gossip, spread gossip, or believe gossip. But in a few days or so, you're going to hear some gossip about your favorite nephew, and about Annie Baxter. Most of what you hear will probably be true.

  She only glanced at him a moment, then turned her attention to the items on the table.

  Keith kissed her on the cheek. Don't speed. I'll write you.

  He left Aunt Betty in the dining room, probably worried about getting to Lilly's on time with less than an hour to spare. Keith smiled. Well, he'd gotten his wine back, which was a good trade.

  He headed home, back to the farm. It was midafternoon now, and the October sun was in the west, clouds had appeared, along with a north wind, and the countryside seemed dark, cold, and lonely on this Sunday afternoon.

  He had a sense of loneliness himself, a feeling of closure, but also an assurance that he'd done things right. He would leave in the morning, with or without her, but she would be with him in his heart, and he'd be with her. Next week, or next month, or even next year, they'd be together.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  At about six P.M., Keith was in the living room, reading and drinking his Burgundy, which was at room temperature now. He'd found a box of his old college books in the attic and had chosen Edith Wharton's Ethan Frame. He'd enjoyed Wharton in college, as well as other American writers from that period, including Henry James, Theodore Dreiser, and Ohio's native son, Sherwood Anderson. He suspected, however, that no one read these people any longer. He made a mental note to ask the Porters if Anderson was still required reading at Antioch.

  His reading since college had been mostly current affairs and political nonfiction, the sort of stuff that appeared on the Washington Post best-seller list and probably nowhere else. He looked forward to spending the next twenty-five years reading things that had no immediate relevance whatsoever.

  He had the radio tuned to a Toledo station that played oldies, and Van Morrison had just finished Brown Eyed Girl, which he liked, and Percy Sledge was now crooning When a Man Loves a Woman, which Keith considered one of his favorite songs to make love by.