Mystery

The path widened before him. Pale morning light fell on the long grass of a clearing ahead and on the pine trees behind it. On the other side of the clearing, the path would wind through oaks and pines until it came to a road—maybe the highway between Grand Forks and Eagle Lake, maybe some deserted county trunk road. It was a long way to carry stolen goods, but nobody could say it wasn’t secluded.

This theory collapsed halfway to the clearing, when the stone and glass side of a house appeared. He walked nearer. More of the house came into view. Additions of large mortared stone with windows in thick stone embrasures stood on either side of a small brown shack with a wooden stoop before its front door. A big stone chimney came out of the slanting roof of the right side. Bright pansies and geraniums grew around the front of the house.

Just as Tom decided to walk back to the lake, something stirred in the woods beside him. He looked over his shoulder. A burly, black-haired man in a red plaid shirt stood twenty yards away beside an oak. The oak was not larger around than the man. He crossed his arms over his chest and regarded Tom.

Tom’s throat went dry.

A door slammed, and in an instant the man disappeared. He did not shift his body or move in any way, he just was not there anymore. A raspy voice screamed “Who are you?” Tom jumped. A little old man in jeans and an embroidered denim shirt stepped down on the grass in front of the wooden stoop. He had a hooked nose and a seamed face, and long white hair fell straight past his shoulders from a widow’s peak. He was pointing a rifle at Tom. “What do you think you’re doing around here?”

Tom moved backwards. “I went out for a walk, and the path took me here.”

The old man moved nearer, holding the rifle on Tom’s chest. “You get out of here, and don’t come back.” His eyes were flat and black. Tom stepped back and saw that the old man was a woman. “Too many thieving bastards around here,” she said in her raspy shrieking voice.

Slowly, Tom turned around. Off to the side, the burly man in the plaid shirt emerged into visibility again.

“Get out!” shrieked the old woman.

Tom ran down the path.

Bitsy Langenheim was stooping over the ground near her garbage can in a tired grey sweatsuit, throwing the cans and bottles back in. She gave him a sour, hungover look. She tossed a vodka bottle at the can and missed. “What are you staring at?”

“Nothing.”

“What were you doing back in those woods?”

“Taking a walk.”

“Stay out of there. The Indians don’t like it.”

Tom wiped sweat off his forehead. “So I learned.”

She grumbled at him and retrieved the bottle.

“Some men came to see you,” Barbara Deane said. She stood up, gripping her purse in both hands. “About ten minutes ago. I told them I thought you were still in bed, but they wouldn’t leave until I looked into your room. I hope you don’t mind.”

“Of course not,” he said. “Who were they? Did you recognize them?”

“Ralph Redwing’s bodyguards.” She looked at the door, then back at him. “Is one of them named Hasek? He was the one who made me go up to your room.”

“Did they say what they wanted?”

She took a step toward the door. “Only to see you. They didn’t say any more.” She looked back at him. “I don’t have any idea what they wanted, but they looked awfully unpleasant.”

“I think they want to warn me away from Buddy Redwing’s girlfriend.”

She surprised him with a smile. All at once, she looked less anxious and not at all autocratic. She relaxed her hold on the bag and tilted very slightly back to give him the full benefit of her smile. “Buddy Redwing, of course, being too important to do that by himself.”

“I don’t think Buddy does anything by himself,” Tom said. “He likes to have at least one actual person around him.”

“I think I know what you mean.” She hesitated. “Did you have a decent sleep? The bed all right?”

“Fine,” he said.

“I’m glad. I wanted things to be nice for you. You’ll eat at the club tonight? I thought I might spend the night in my house.”

He said he would eat at the club, and asked if she were going into town.

She raised her eyebrows.

“Would you mind giving me a lift?”

“Well, I guess it would be a pleasure,” she said. “Yes, I don’t see why it shouldn’t be a pleasure.”

They went outside together, and Tom followed her across the track to a rutted double path slanting into the trees. It had been deliberately obscured by a leafy branch she tugged out of the way. A little way down a dark green Volkswagen beetle stood beside a wild azalea bush. Barbara Deane asked him to wait while she moved the car, and he walked far enough down the path to see a weathered barn at the end of a small field bordered by forest. She turned to look at him through the rear window when she had pulled the car out, and he ran back and got into the seat beside her.