Dead Silver

19

As Ward roared away with his signature spray of gravel, I started to shake, like I always did in the aftermath of a confrontation-sort of like an engine dieseling when it was switched off while overloaded with gas.

Renee came down the porch steps and surprised me pleasantly by giving me a kiss on the cheek.

"I think we deserve a drink," she said.

"I could use ten."

"It just so happens I bought you a little gift. Come on."

She led me into the kitchen, where the gift turned out to be a bottle of John Power amp; Son-a rough-edged Irish whiskey that I savored as an occasional treat.

"I love this stuff," I said. "How'd you know?"

"I asked Madbird. Tell him I got him one, too."

She had a bottle of chilled Clos du Bois sauvignon blanc for herself. I poured her a glass of it, then a healthy splash of the Powers over ice for myself. It tasted like the nectar of the gods.

"The nerve of those men," she said wryly. "Their pitch today was that they've decided to let me sell this place, but they want half."

I was almost amused. You couldn't fault them for thinking small.

Then Renee frowned, looking puzzled.

"That reminds me, I didn't see Evvie and Lon at the reception," she said. "You know, the couple that were here yesterday? She's the Realtor who wants to handle the sale?"

"They were at the funeral. I saw them going into the church."

"Huh. I can't believe she'd miss a chance like that to bond with me."

"Probably something came up," I said.

"I'm sure I'll hear. Anyway, thank God I didn't have to deal with her. Not a polite thing to say, but true." She picked up her wineglass and started toward the living room. "I'm going to run up and change. I'll only be a minute."

"You better stash that earring while you're at it. Sheriff's orders this time."

She paused and turned to me anxiously. "You talked to him?"

"I'll tell you about it when you come back."

Renee hurried on, leaving me, I had to admit, with tantalizing images flashing through my mind. Did mourning apparel mean black underwear? Was there some secret female code that dictated those things?

But my thoughts returned quickly to what had just happened. I walked outside and sat on the porch steps, aware that along with my anger and dislike of the Ackermans, guilt was creeping in.

At its core was an issue far broader than the personal one-a version of the old nature-versus-nurture debate, a complex calculus of being that involved the interaction of inherited factors and outside circumstances.

Ward, and probably also Boone, must have had a tough time in a lot of ways when they were growing up. Education and self-betterment were not priorities in their world. Their role models were lowlifes and outright criminals. God only knew what kinds of sinister doings took place in their warren of shabby dwellings. Whenever you saw a group of the younger clan members cruising around, it usually included a pregnant teenaged girl.

Then again, most of my friends had grown up without much-Madbird, for instance, on the Blackfeet reservation, a hell of a lot harsher than anything around here. My own father had spent his life as an ironworker, my mother as a grade school teacher. By and large, our household was no-frills and no-nonsense.

But my sisters and I knew that we could depend on them, that they'd provide for us and protect us, that their sternness came from concern for us-above all, that we were loved and wanted. To be a child who was neither, especially if mistreated besides, was a nightmare I couldn't fathom. And yet, so many parents kept bringing them into the world.

None of that resolved my feelings about Ward and Boone. They were still first-class shitweasels, who had made the easiest, most self-serving choices without hesitating to fuck people over. But thinking about the forces that had pushed them in that direction softened my animosity and made me face my own conceit.

Renee was a new kind of eyeful when she came out to sit beside me. I'd only seen her in around-the-house clothes and her black dress. Now she looked like a hometown girl, wearing tight jeans and a sweatshirt. And she seemed energized, even happy. With all her other problems that remained, getting done with the funeral must have been a huge relief.

The earring, I was glad to see, was gone.

"So what about the sheriff?" she said.

"It's kind of a good news-bad news situation. Gary doesn't think you should stay here alone anymore."

Her eyes changed and her mouth opened. "Are you serious?"

"He doesn't want you to be scared. Just careful."

"I'll only be here two more days."

"I can just about hear him say, 'Humor an old cop.' I'd feel better, too, Renee."

Her mouth twitched. "I hope that's the bad news."

"It's both. The good is, he agrees there's a chance your father wasn't guilty, and the real guy's still out there."

She stayed quiet for a moment, absorbing that-and probably thinking again about how she'd shown off the earring.

"I have another favor to ask you," she said. "I guess I should say, 'yet another.'"

"For this kind of whiskey, I'm all yours."

"I'd like to see the place where-this is hard to say. Where Astrid was killed. Her cabin. I've never been there, never wanted to go. But now I feel like I have to."

That idea hadn't even occurred to me. But I was curious, too. "Sure, that's no problem," I said. "I could take you now, if you know where it is."

"I don't, dammit. I was hoping you would."

I shook my head. "Just the general area."

"Well, no big deal," she said. "I'll try to find out tomorrow." She smiled, but I could tell she was disappointed.

"Let me try Madbird," I said. "He just might have a line on it." He possessed an astonishing amount of that kind of information, and if he didn't know something, he usually knew somebody who did.

I went into the house and called him. He said he'd never been there, either, but his girlfriend, Hannah, had worked in that area.

"She just come home, hang on." Half a minute later, he was back. "She ain't ever seen the cabin; it's in from the road. But she's driven by there plenty of times. When you want to go?"

"Actually, now would be good."

"Well, hell, let's call it a road trip," Madbird said. "We'll come by and get you."