Lightning Strike

by William Kent Krueger

  She nodded. “A gift for Duncan, which he never used. Nothing I ever gave him was good enough. So I’ve been using it. Where did you get it?”

  “It was found at Lightning Strike. Maybe you dropped it?”

  “Probably. Sometimes when I left there, I was a little… well, focused on other things.”

  Liam put the lighter back into his pocket.

  “When Big John died, was the affair still going on?”

  She closed her eyes again, lowered her head, and spoke in nearly a whisper. “No.”

  “What happened?”

  “I confessed.”

  “To Duncan?”

  “To Father Cam first. He urged me to end it, to return to my marriage, which he reminded me was a holy sacrament.”

  She raised herself up, sat straight, and took a deep breath. “It couldn’t have gone on anyway. We were from such different worlds. And the truth is, I didn’t deserve him.”

  “So you broke it off? When?”

  “A couple of days before the Fourth of July. I’d just put red, white, and blue streamers on the mast of the Sunfish.”

  “How did Big John take the breakup?”

  “He was like a rock.”

  “Was this at Lightning Strike?”

  She nodded. “I boated away and never saw him again. A week later, he was dead.”

  Little pearls of tears gathered along the rims of her eyes, then one by one began to crawl down her cheeks.

  “And Duncan knows?”

  “From the way I was behaving, he knew something was wrong. He never took notice of me before, but suddenly he was at me all the time, and finally I broke down and told him. We had a huge blowup. He’s been sleeping in the guest cottage since, getting himself stinking drunk every night.”

  “Did he know about the affair before Big John died?”

  “Yes. And he went looking for him but couldn’t find him. So he’s been taking it out on me.” She pointed toward the bruise as if it were her badge of honor.

  “I can stop him, Mary Margaret.”

  “I’ll do that on my own. I’m leaving him. He can divorce me. He has all the grounds he needs. I don’t care. But I warned him that he’s never to lay a hand on me again.”

  Like Big John, she was suddenly all rock, and although Liam understood her determination, the possibility of her confrontation with a man like Duncan Macdermid concerned him. “If he threatens you at all, Mary Margaret, call me.”

  She hesitated, then gave him a nod.

  * * *

  By the time Liam returned home, Colleen and Cork had gone to bed. Lights were still on in the bedrooms upstairs, and Colleen had left a light on in the kitchen. Liam flipped it off and mounted the stairs. He poked his head in his son’s bedroom, where Cork had his nose in a book. Jackson lay across the foot of Cork’s bed.

  “Good story?” Liam asked.

  “War of the Worlds. The Martians are everywhere.”

  “Sounds exciting. Don’t stay up too late. Papers to deliver tomorrow morning. And did your mother tell you?”

  “Tell me what?”

  “You’re responsible for the dinner dishes until we say otherwise.”

  Cork put the book down. “Why?”

  “For lying to us.”

  “Oh. Yeah.” As if he’d just remembered some long-ago transgression.

  “Could have been worse, buddy. I wanted to ground you, too. Your mom pleaded for mercy. Like I said, don’t stay up too late.”

  Colleen, too, was reading in bed. When Liam walked in, she set the book down and looked at him expectantly.

  “How’d it go?”

  “She admitted to the affair.” As he took off his uniform, folded the pants and shirt, and laid them on the chair next to the bureau, he explained what he’d learned that evening.

  “So Duncan knows?” Colleen asked.

  Liam slipped into pajama bottoms but left his T-shirt on. “She confessed to him, too. Big mistake if you ask me. He’s been using her for a punching bag since.”

  “That’s a little glib, don’t you think?”

  “But accurate. You should see her face. I’m going to brush my teeth. Be right back.”

  When he returned, she was standing at the window. “I feel so awful for her, Liam. Isn’t there something we can do?”

  She held herself as if she were chilled by the night air, and Liam put his arms around her. “She said she’s leaving him.”

  “Will she go through with it?”

  “My guess is yes. Hell hath no fury,” Liam said. Then he said, “Shakespeare.”

  “Congreve, actually,” Colleen said. “Mom told me folks on the rez know about the affair. Billy Downwind has been talking.”

  “But did they know while it was going on?”

  She shook her head. “Seems to have caught everyone by surprise.” She stepped from his embrace and looked into his face. “Do you think Duncan MacDermid killed Big John?”

  “I don’t have enough evidence yet to prove that. But when I find it, I swear I’ll make certain that man never draws another breath outside a prison cell.”

  “I know you will.” She smiled at him. “But you’re off duty for this day. Come to bed now.”

  She took his hand and he was happy to be led there.

  CHAPTER 28

  When Cork came downstairs in the dark of the next morning for his paper deliveries, he heard voices in the kitchen. He stepped into the doorway and found his father and Sam Winter Moon standing at the counter, each of them holding a mug of coffee and so engrossed in their conversation that they didn’t notice him.

  “That’s not what they want to hear on the rez, Liam. They want to hear that you’ve put MacDermid behind bars.”

  “I’ll say it again, Sam. Until I have proof, my hands are tied. But listen, I’ve been thinking. Mary Margaret said that she and Big John broke up a few days before the Fourth of July, and she never saw him again. Do you know if anyone on the rez saw him after that?”

  “I can’t speak for everybody, but I don’t recall seeing him for quite a while before the boys found his body.”

  “He’d been hanging from that tree at Lightning Strike four or five days before that. Between his breakup with Mary Margaret and when he died, at least four or five days must’ve passed? That’s maybe nine or ten days total. If nobody saw him, where was he?”

  Sam said, “He was the best guide in these parts. Maybe he had a job.”

  Jackson, who’d been lying on the floor in the corner near his water bowl, got to his feet and trotted to Cork. Cork knelt, ruffed the dog’s fur and said, “Hey, boy.”

  His father turned from the counter. “Didn’t see you, Son. We have company.”

  “Hey, Sam,” Cork said.

  With his coffee mug in hand, Cork’s father moved to the table and sat down. Sam Winter Moon remained standing, as if what he’d come for was finished.

  “Sam was just catching me up on news from the rez before we both go to work.”

  “What news?” Cork asked.

  “Lots of talk about Big John,” Sam said. Cork saw his father give a faint shake of his head, and Sam quickly changed the subject. “I’m headed back to my Quonset hut. Would you like a ride to your paper box?”

  “Thanks,” Cork said. “Can Jackson come along?”

  “Fine by me. You and Jackson go on out. I’ll be right with you.”

  “Come on, boy,” Cork said, and Jackson followed eagerly.

  He paused on the mud porch. In the kitchen at his back, he heard Sam say, “There’s a storm brewing on the rez, Liam. It’s not just Big John, but his death is like a lightning rod for a lot of old grievances. When that storm breaks, watch yourself.”

  Dawn was just a vague promise of azure light along the eastern horizon as Sam drove his truck along the empty streets of Aurora. Cork stared out the window on his side of the cab, wondering about the trouble Sam had said was brewing.

  “Does everybody on the rez think my dad should arrest Dun
can MacDermid?”

  “Seems to be the general sentiment.”

  “What do you think?”

  “Your dad says all he has at the moment is circumstantial evidence. You know what that is, right?”

  “Sure.”

  “He says that circumstantial evidence isn’t good enough to convict someone of a crime like a murder, even though anyone who’s Ojibwe has seen it happen. But he swears it’s not going to happen on his watch. If he’s going to arrest Duncan MacDermid or anyone else for murder, he’s dead set on getting indisputable proof first.” Sam Winter Moon pulled up to the drop box, where two bound stacks of morning newspapers awaited Cork. “He’s a man of principle, your father, not an easy thing. So, what are you up to today?”

  Cork had no idea. He’d had direction for a while, following crumbs, looking for answers. But there seemed no more trail for him to follow. It left him with an unsettling sense of being without purpose, a feeling he’d never had before. Before, summers had been mostly about doing nothing and enjoying every moment of doing nothing.

  “I’ll probably just goof around with the guys,” he finally said.

  “Sounds fun,” Sam said.

  But it didn’t. Not to Cork.

  * * *

  At nine A.M., Liam O’Connor walked into Borealis Outfitters at the end of Oak Street. The building was constructed of white pine logs, and although it had been built five decades earlier, the scent of evergreen still permeated the air. It was filled with racks of outdoor wear, shelves lined with camping gear, and books covering every aspect of roughing it in the great Northwoods. Behind the store were canoes and kayaks and all manner of camping necessities, available for rental by tourists drawn to Aurora because it was the gateway to the vast Quetico-Superior Wilderness, the Boundary Waters.

  The two sisters, Sarah Andersen and Kim Krabill, were arguing behind the counter, not an unusual situation in Liam’s experience. Both women were smart and strong-willed and seemed to enjoy the little skirmishes that arose in the course of making everyday business decisions.

  “Remember what happened last year when we rented canoes to that group?” Sarah said.

  The two women looked nothing alike. Sarah was short, brunette, and full of energy, a little powder keg exploding. Kim was tall and blond, and there was a feel about her that made Liam think of how a cattail might bend in the wind but never seemed to break. Their father had owned Borealis Outfitters. They’d been raised in Aurora but had left for college and built lives far away. When their father died, the sisters, both widowed, chose to return to their hometown and take the reins of the business their father had spent his life building. Colleen had told Liam that when they were kids, folks referred to them as the Borealis sisters. When they returned to Aurora, folks slid right back into calling them that again.

  Kim, the tall Borealis sister, said, “We should always give folks a second chance.”

  “They used the canoes like battering rams, for goodness’ sake. The bows came back looking like the noses of prizefighters who had no business being in the ring.”

  “They’ve all matured a year, and I’ve spoken to the pastor. He assures me the kids will be more responsible. And, Sarah, they’re coming all the way from Omaha. He told me the kids have been looking forward to this trip for a whole year.”

  “Fine. Let the pastor rent his canoes from Gowdy’s.”

  “Gowdy’s canoes are barely floatable.”

  “Because he rents to kids who use them as battering rams. You were a doctor, Kim, but you can’t perform surgery on a canoe that’s taking on water in the middle of a Northwoods lake. I’ve been a businesswoman all my life. Let me handle this business. I’ll be diplomatic, I promise.”

  They both seemed to notice Liam at the same moment and turned to him smiling, as if the spat he’d just witnessed was absolutely nothing. Which, Liam understood, it was.

  “Morning, Sheriff,” the two sisters said with one voice.

  “Morning, ladies. Got a minute?”

  “Going to arrest us?” Kim said, sounding as if that might be fun.

  “Just a few questions to ask.”

  “All ears,” Sarah said.

  “Or mouth, in your case,” her sister said.

  “About Big John,” Liam said, and the two women suddenly became serious.

  “We miss him,” Kim said. “Miss him terribly.”

  “Big John was a fine wilderness guide,” Liam said.

  “The best. Always in demand. We had a waiting list.”

  “Did he have an outing scheduled sometime around the Fourth?”

  “Yes,” Sarah said. “A group of businessmen from Chicago. He was supposed to take them out that weekend, but a couple of days before the Fourth he came in and canceled. We gave the job to Ollie Grimson.”

  “Did he say why he canceled?”

  “No, but something was clearly troubling him.”

  “Did you see him after that?” The sisters shook their heads and Liam said, “Nobody on the rez seems to have seen him either. Any idea where he might have gone?”

  The women exchanged a knowing glance and Sarah said, “From the way he looked, all tied up in knots, we figured he was probably heading alone into the Boundary Waters. He always said there was no place so healing to him.”

  “How would he have gone in?”

  “The way most folks on the rez go in,” Sarah said. “Up Spider Creek to Moose Lake.”

  “Spider Creek,” Liam said. “A stone’s throw from Lightning Strike.”

  The name brought a dark cloud to the faces of both sisters. Kim said, “We heard that there was something going on between Big John and Mary Margaret MacDermid. We heard that Duncan MacDermid might have had something to do with Big John’s death. Is that true?”

  “Where’d you hear it?”

  “Around,” Kim said.

  “Don’t believe everything you hear.”

  “It’s interesting because MacDermid was in here just after Big John canceled out on those Chicago businessmen.”

  “What did he want?”

  “He was looking for Big John.”

  “What did you tell him?”

  “What we just told you. That we thought he was in the Boundary Waters. Then, just like you, he asked how Big John would’ve gone in.”

  “And you told him?”

  “No reason not to. Then, anyway.” Sarah leaned toward Liam in a manner that felt a little threatening. “Look, Sheriff, we don’t believe for an instant that Big John killed himself. Did Duncan MacDermid have something to do with his death?”

  Kim stepped close to her sister, and the two women became an imposing wall of outrage.

  “In my experience,” Liam said, “rumors are like the plague. They spread quickly and they can kill. So I’d ask you both to be careful what you say. But I’ll promise you this: As soon as I know anything substantial, I’ll let everyone in this county know it, too.”

  He made a move to leave, but the wall the Borealis sisters had created didn’t part immediately. They held their ground for a long moment before finally allowing Liam to pass.

  CHAPTER 29

  Though it was a normal summer day, nothing felt normal to Cork anymore. He shot hoops for a while with some other boys at the court behind Garfield Elementary, came home for lunch, tossed a ball with Jackson in the backyard, read some more from War of the Worlds, delivered newspapers with Jorge, after which they hit Sam’s Place for chocolate shakes. These were all things he would have done on any summer day, but that day they felt pointless and empty. Everywhere he went, he carried with him the deep, unshakable sense that there were important questions needing answers, and he was doing nothing about them.

  Grandma Dilsey came to dinner that night. Cork could feel the tension around the table. There were so many things he wanted to ask, things he wanted to say, but his mother had instructed him—and Grandma Dilsey—not to talk about Big John or anything that had to do with his father’s investigation. So he listened as t
he women carried on a light conversation about the annual Aurora Blueberry Festival, which was only days away, speculating which of the princesses would be crowned Blueberry Queen, talking about past festivals and past queens. His father added almost nothing to the conversation, and when supper was over, said he had official business to attend to and left the house.

  Cork was on dish duty as punishment for lying, but his mother and Grandma Dilsey cleared the table and stacked the dishes for him. Then Grandma Dilsey made lavender tea, which she claimed helped her to sleep, and sat with her daughter at the kitchen table.

  “You know the problem with men?” she said.

  Cork could smell the lavender even over the scent of the dish soap that dripped from the plates as he washed them.

  “They’re like firecrackers,” Grandma Dilsey said. “They keep everything inside, then one day they just explode.”

  “You think Liam’s going to explode?”

  “I sure get that sense. Don’t you?”

  “He’s always been quiet.”

  “Quiet, yes. But at dinner this evening, he didn’t say three words, Colleen. Did you put the same restrictions on him, no talking about the important things that are happening?”

  “I didn’t want any arguments this evening. I wanted a normal dinner.”

  “You think that was normal? The food was good, but the talk was tasteless.”

  “He wouldn’t have said anything important anyway. He’s worried that whatever he says will find its way back to the rez.”

  “Because of me?”

  “Well, Mom?”

  “If I’m asked to keep something to myself, Colleen, I keep it to myself. If that’s not asked of me, I see no reason not to share what I know with my friends and family in Allouette. There’s no reason to keep them in the dark about things that affect them directly.”

  “Like Big John’s death?”

  “Big John’s murder,” Grandma Dilsey said. “Do you know what they’re saying on the rez? That Liam sent Sam Winter Moon out asking about Oscar Manydeeds only so that he could muddy the waters, blame an Indian for a crime probably committed by a white man. They’re saying that’s what white cops have always done.”