Northwest Angle

THIRTY-FIVE

Rose, Mal, and Anne sat at the table in Bascombe’s lodge. Rose had made coffee, and the three of them sipped and listened to the wind and watched the clock set in the driftwood on the wall. Rose thought she’d never known time to pass so slowly. She wasn’t sure what the others were thinking, but she was praying.

“I remember once when I was a kid and Dad was sheriff,” Anne said eventually. Despite the heat of the day, she had her hands wrapped around her coffee mug as if she were cold. “He had to go out to a cabin where a man was holding his wife hostage.”

“Vernon Lucasta,” Rose said.

“Right,” Anne said.

The clock on the wall ticked away.

“What happened?” Mal finally asked.

“Dad got there and went inside, unarmed. He found Mrs. Lucasta—”

“Bianca,” Rose said.

Mal glanced at her.

“She sang with me in the St. Agnes choir,” Rose explained.

“Right. Bianca,” Anne said. “Anyway, she was tied to a chair in the bedroom, and Lucasta had a rifle and he told Dad he was going to kill her if someone didn’t get the damn bugs out of the cabin.”

“Insects?” Mal asked.

Anne shook her head. “Listening devices. Lucasta was convinced someone was spying on him, and his wife was somehow involved.”

“Delusional?” Mal asked.

“That’s what Dad thought,” Anne said.

“And with good reason,” Rose added, taking up the story. “Vernon was an odd duck.”

Anne said, “Remember when he joined the kids in the Christmas pageant and he was dressed like an elephant?”

“An elephant in Bethlehem?”

“He wasn’t even supposed to be a part of the pageant, Uncle Mal,” Anne said. “He just showed up. I think he might have been drunk.”

“He wasn’t,” Rose said.

“Okay,” Mal said. “So he’s got his wife tied up and is threatening her. What did your father do?”

“He told Lucasta he’d look for the bugs. He was thinking that, while he did that, he might be able to talk sense into the man or figure a way to surprise and disarm him.”

“Did he?”

“No. He found three bugs.”

“What?”

“One in the telephone. One in the bedroom, and one in the bathroom.”

“Who put them there?”

“Bianca,” Rose said. “She sold Tupperware and was convinced that, whenever she was away, Vernon had women there. She wanted proof.”

“What did Cork do?”

“He talked Lucasta into giving him the rifle, then talked them both into going into therapy that very day.”

“He didn’t arrest the guy?”

“No. In the end they divorced, but it was amicable, more or less.”

Mal said, “And the point of your story?”

Anne said, “I was just thinking that I’m afraid for Jenny, but if there’s any good thing about her situation, it’s that Dad’s with her.”

Rose smiled and put her hand on Anne’s arm in a gesture of understanding and agreement. But she didn’t say what she herself was thinking. Which was that, even though Cork was a good, reliable man, if bad weather blew in across the big water, everyone in that little boat was in trouble.

They heard the launch coming. Mal went to the window. “It’s Seth,” he said.

Bascombe arrived and stood in the doorway with his arms crossed, eyeing them sternly. “Well?”

“They got off,” Mal said.

“Anyone see them?”

“I’m pretty sure not,” Rose said.

Bascombe nodded grimly. “I’ll feel better once we get the call that they’ve made it safe.”

He’d given Kretsch the GPS coordinates for a cabin on the south shore of Lake of the Woods, northwest of Zippel Bay. The cabin was empty, he knew, because the man who’d owned it was in prison for smuggling cigarettes into Canada. The land was now forfeited property of the U.S. government, but nothing had been done with it, and the cabin sat abandoned. Bascombe had used the place himself for a weekend fishing rendezvous with a couple of his old pals from ATF. It had a good dock and was isolated and ought to work well for getting the baby onto the mainland without anyone seeing.

The plan was for Aaron to drive his truck to the cabin, along with Stephen, pick up Jenny and the baby, and all of them head to Tamarack County and the safety they hoped Henry Meloux would offer. Kretsch and Cork would return across the big water and begin the hunt for Noah Smalldog.

Bascombe plopped his big body down at the table. “That coffee smells good, Rose. Any left?”

“Let me pour you a cup, then I’ll make a fresh pot,” she said.

“How’s our baby?” Bascombe said, nodding toward the basket where the swaddled towel lay. “Did you show that guy plenty of affection out there on the dock?”

“Don’t worry. She played her part well,” Mal answered. “Did anybody follow you to Windigo Island?”

“Yep. Had a tail all the way.” Bascombe sounded quite pleased. “He kept his boat pretty far back, so I didn’t get a good look at him. But Indian I’d say.”

“Smalldog?”

Bascombe shook his head. “One of his cohorts, I figure.”

Rose put a cup full of coffee down on the table in front of him. “What about Stephen and Aaron?”

“Didn’t see anyone take off after them, so I think they’re in the clear. I’m guessing I was followed because I’ve got the best boat. Tom was right about that. I just hope to God he doesn’t run into any heavy weather in that little Tyee of his. The open water on that south section of the lake is so huge it generates its own unpredictable weather systems. Squalls can come up out of nowhere.”

That put a damper on conversation for a little while. Rose busied herself making another pot of coffee. Mal stood up and limped to the wall where a map of the Lake of the Woods and the Angle hung. He studied it a moment.

“I’ve been trying to figure out the Northwest Angle,” he said. “To get here, you’ve got to cross the border and drive through sixty miles of Canadian wilderness, or else cut across forty miles of open water on Lake of the Woods. What’s a piece of U.S. territory doing this far north?”

“Northernmost point in the forty-eight contiguous states,” Bascombe said, with a note of pride. “The result of a misunderstanding during the negotiations for the treaty that set the border between us and Canada.”

“What kind of misunderstanding?” Anne asked.

Bascombe slurped his coffee, closed his eyes, and let the good brew trickle down his throat. “Where exactly the headwaters of the Mississippi River lay. Everybody thought they were much farther east than they ended up being. The result was a little northern jut of territory that cut across Lake of the Woods and included the Angle. Up here we call it ‘the chimney.’ ”

Mal hobbled back to join the others at the table. “How long have you been on the Angle, Seth?”

“Been coming here all my life. My aunt and uncle ran this little resort. When they passed, they left the property to me. I was working ATF then, so I couldn’t really do anything with it. I’d come here occasionally, try to see to things, but the old place pretty much went downhill. Finally, when I’d had one day too many of wearing a Kevlar vest at work, I retired, and moved here for good to reopen the place, try to make a go of it. Discovered real fast that I didn’t have the temperament for that kind of enterprise. I live here alone now. Suits me fine.”

Rose finished putting the new pot of coffee together and turned back to the table, where Bascombe sat sprawled, looking worn.

“How long before we hear from them?” she asked.

Bascombe thought it over. “If they don’t run afoul of the weather, and if Tom has no engine problems, and if Smalldog didn’t somehow get wind of our ruse and is waiting for them out on the big water, I’d say three hours.”

“Three hours of waiting,” Anne said.

In her niece’s tone, Rose heard what they all probably felt: Three hours would seem like forever.

“Mal, Seth,” she said, putting all the robustness she could muster into her voice, “you two should get back out on the dock and show a presence here. Annie, let’s bake some cookies.”