Mystery

“Buddy Redwing is pissed off at me because his girlfriend turns out to like me better,” Tom said. “He was planning to get married to her. In fact, his family is pissed off at me too, and so is hers. But I don’t think any of them would try to kill me. Buddy tried to beat me up yesterday, and I hit him in the stomach, and that was the end of that. I don’t think he’d climb a hillside with a rifle and try to shoot me through a window.”

“You have to be sober to do that,” Truehart said. “Which more or less lets Buddy out.” He pursed his lips and looked down at his hands. “Spychalla is up in the woods now, looking for anything he can find, shell casings, cigarette butts, anything that would be around where the shooter had to be. But realistically, the most we can hope for is some idea about what kind of rifle he had. You don’t find footprints up there, not with that kind of ground cover.”

“You don’t think it was a stray shot from a hunter?” Tom asked.

“The odds are, that’s what it was. But a lot of stuff has been happening on Eagle Lake lately.” He let this sink in. “And you’re not just an ordinary summer visitor.”

These men wanted what you had handed to you on a plate, Tom remembered.

Truehart said, “I can’t pretend to understand what’s going on there, but something sure as hell is getting stirred up. And I have to consider that somebody might be getting at your grandfather through you.”

“My grandfather and I aren’t very close.”

“That might not make any difference. I can’t offer you any extra protection, but I think you ought to be careful about staying away from windows. In fact, you ought to be careful in general—Spychalla told me that you claim to have been pushed into the traffic on Main Street last Friday. Maybe you shouldn’t go too many places alone for the next couple of weeks. And maybe Barbara Deane ought to spend more nights here with you. Do you want me to talk to her about it?”

“I could do it,” Tom said.

“She likes her privacy, but right now she might want some company.”

“There is one other thing,” Tom said. “It’s connected to her. I know there have been break-ins around this area in the past few years. I don’t know if you’ve thought about this or not, but Ralph Redwing’s bodyguards have a lot of nights and evenings free, and before they started working for Ralph, they called themselves the Cornerboys and did a lot of stealing. I think they did some burglaries on Mill Walk, and I think—” He decided not to mention Wendell Hasek, and instead said, “I think Jerry Hasek, the one who’s sort of the leader, enjoys killing animals. I know he killed a dog when he was a teenager, and Barbara Deane’s dog was killed, and the other day I saw him go nuts in the Lincoln when Robbie Wintergreen, one of the bodyguards, said the word dog in front of me.”

“Well, well,” Truehart said. “Do these people live in the compound?”

“In a house by themselves.”

“I can’t go in there, of course, unless I’m invited or can persuade a judge to give me a search warrant. But do you think they’d take the risk of storing stolen goods in the compound, where they’d have to carry them in and out right under Ralph Redwing’s nose? Unless you think Ralph Redwing is getting a cut.”

“No,” Tom said. “I think I know where they put the stuff.”

“This is getting better and better. Where is it?”

Tom told him about seeing the light moving around von Heilitz’s lodge, following it up the path in the woods, getting lost, and finding the path the next day. Tim Truehart leaned forward on his elbows and listened to Tom’s story with a bemused expression on his face. And when Tom described the house in the clearing and the skinny old woman who had come out carrying a rifle, he put his hands over his face and leaned back against the couch.

“What’s wrong?” Tom asked.

Truehart lowered his hands. “Well, I’ll have to ask my mother if she’s storing stolen goods for a guy named Jerry Hasek.” He was grinning. “But she’d probably hit me over the head with a frying pan if I did.”

“Your mother,” Tom said. “Mrs. Truehart. Who used to clean the houses around here during the summers. Oh, my God.”

“That’s her. She probably thought you were checking out her house for a robbery.”

“Oh, my God,” Tom said again. “I apologize.”

“No need.” Truehart laughed out loud—he seemed vastly amused. “If it was me, I’d probably have done the same thing. I’ll tell you one thing, though, I’m glad you didn’t say anything about this to Spychalla. He’d be talking about it until his jaw wore out.” He stood up. “Well, I guess we’re through for now.” He was still grinning. “If we find anything up in the woods, I’ll tell you about it. And I do want you to be careful. That’s serious.”

They left the study, and walked across the sitting room to the front door.

“Give me a call if you see this Hasek character do anything out of the ordinary. He might be a live one. And try to spend as much time as possible with other people.”