Tamarack County

CHAPTER 19

Cork got the call from the hospital an hour later, but it didn’t come from Stella Daychild.

“Dad, it’s Stephen. Marlee’s ready to go home.”

“You’re going to take them?”

“No. Marlee doesn’t want to see me.”

Stephen’s tone was flat, unemotional, not like him at all.

“Okay,” Cork said. “I’ll be right over.”

He found Stephen in the hospital lobby, alone, sitting on an orange plastic chair, one in a long bank of orange plastic chairs. His son was staring at a far wall that was strung with sparkly holiday garland in a wavy line that reminded Cork of the readout on a heart monitor. He took the chair next to his son. “So. What’s the story?”

“I don’t know.” Stephen didn’t look at him, just kept his eyes on the wall. “I tried to see her, but her mom said not today.”

“Was that because Stella preferred it that way?”

Stephen shook his head. “Pretty sure it was Marlee’s idea.”

Cork let a couple of quiet moments slide by, then said, “She’s been through hell. She’s got a lot to process.”

“I was there in hell with her.”

“I know. Maybe she doesn’t want you to see her looking the way she probably looks today. Those bruises of hers are only going to get uglier.”

“I don’t care how she looks.”

“But she does. Give her time.”

The front doors slid open, and a woman entered with a child, a boy of maybe five, dressed in a bulky red snowsuit and coughing like the bark of a loud dog. She glanced toward Cork and Stephen, dismissed them immediately, turned her child toward a hallway running in the opposite direction, and ushered the kid that way, as if she knew exactly where she was going.

“Did you have any chance at all to talk to Marlee today?”

Stephen shook his head.

Cork tiptoed delicately toward his next question. “Stephen, if Marlee were keeping a secret of some kind, would you know it?”

Stephen finally looked at his father. “What kind of secret?”

“That’s pretty much the question. I’m trying to figure out why someone might want to harass Marlee. It’s possible that has to do with her mother, but I’m also wondering if it’s because of something Marlee may be involved in.”

“Like what?”

“Have you ever had the feeling that she’s . . . well, that she wants to tell you something but just can’t quite bring herself to do it?”

“Dad, if Marlee has something to say, she says it.” Stephen’s voice cracked at his father, whip-like, angry.

“Okay. That’s fine. I’m just kind of fishing here, guy.” Cork sat back and rubbed the knuckles of his right hand, which were chapped and flaking from the dry winter cold, and decided to change the subject. “So, did you get Annie all squared away on Crow Point?”

“Yeah. Only she’s not in Henry’s cabin. She said it felt like a trespass. So we put her in Rainy’s cabin instead. That was all right, wasn’t it?”

“I’m pretty sure. I’ll give Rainy a call just to be on the safe side. By the way, Annie’s got a visitor from out of town.”

“Who?”

“Does the name Skye Edwards mean anything to you?”

“No.”

“Didn’t to me or Jenny either. She’s a friend of Annie’s from California. She came out because she’s worried about your sister. She’d like to see her.”

Stephen looked uncomfortable. “I’m not sure Annie wants company.”

“How about you do me a favor? Give her a call. If she says it’s okay, take Skye out to Crow Point. Would you do that?”

“Sure. And you’ll take Marlee and her mom home?”

“That’s the plan,” Cork said.

“Okay.” It was a situation clearly acceptable to him, though not ideal.

Stephen got up, moved to the other end of the lobby, and used his cell phone. Cork could hear only snatches of the conversation that followed. After a minute, he shut his phone, came back, and said, “Where is Skye?”

“Staying at the Four Seasons. Annie said yes?”

“Yeah, but . . .”

“What?”

“It was really strange, Dad. Annie sounded . . .” Stephen frowned, thought, finally settled on the right word. “Afraid.”

* * *

Marlee moved like an old woman, as if each step hurt her somewhere, everywhere. A bruise, dark purple and long, lay like a great fat leech across the left side of her face, and her left eye was swollen nearly shut. On the way home, she sat in the backseat of the Forester, brooding silently. Up front, Cork and Stella talked of inconsequential things.

At the house, he stood by while Stella helped her daughter inside.

“You’re welcome to come in,” Stella said.

“Thanks, no.”

“Don’t go away,” she told him. “I’ll be right back.”

While he waited, he walked the clearing in the way he had before, looking for clues to the violation of the Daychilds’ sense of peace two nights earlier, looking for anything he might have missed. It was habit, this visiting and revisiting the elements of a crime. At the entrance to the trail that led through the trees to Iron Lake, he spotted something that he hadn’t seen before. Off to one side was an aspen sapling that stood only eight feet high and with branches that began just above the snow line. Cork noticed that a couple of the lower branches had been broken, one snapped off completely and the other hanging from the trunk by threads of bark. It was the kind of damage that neither wind nor any freeze and thaw cycle would have caused. Something had blundered there, some substantial body. The surface of the snow was smooth, no tracks, and Cork figured that the damage had been done before the recent storm.

He stood, inhaling air so bitter cold that it was like a sharp blade slicing the inside of each nostril and exhaling explosions of vaporous white.

He knew there were explanations for the damage that were reasonable and innocuous. It might have been caused by the passage of a deer or bear or even the boisterous bounding of Dexter. But it might also have been the result of a two-legged animal sliding through, seeking, perhaps, a place from which to observe the house unseen.

His cell phone rang. He pulled it from his belt holster and saw that it was Marsha Dross.

“Morning, Cork,” she said.

“What’s up?”

“I thought you’d want to know. The Judge went a little crazy last night. Attacked his daughter.”

“Attacked? How?”

“Tried to strangle her.”

“Provocation?”

“In a way, I suppose. She told him she thought it was best for him to live in a nursing home.”

“Did he hurt her?”

“Bruises on her neck.”

“Witnesses?”

“No, but those bruises are pretty compelling evidence.”

“What’s the status?”

“He’s been sedated. Frank Parkkila is reviewing the situation to see if he thinks charges are warranted.”

Parkkila was the Tamarack County attorney.

Cork said, “Any more on Evelyn?”

“Nothing.” Dross sounded tired and a little irritated. “Christ, it seems like she’s just vanished into thin air.”

“Not without help,” Cork said. “Did you get the Carters’ phone records?”

“Yes, and we’re following up on the calls the Judge made before his wife went missing. So far, nothing of interest, but we’re still at it. You have anything more on the Daychilds?”

“Not at the moment. I’ll keep you posted.”

Cork ended the call. He heard the front door of the house close and looked up as Stella came down the porch steps and started across the clearing. He met her halfway.

“How’s she doing?” he asked.

“Beat up in so many ways,” Stella said. “But she’s tough. Cork, I have another favor to ask. It’s a big one.”

“What is it?”

“Ray Jay gets released from jail tomorrow. He should know about Dexter before he comes home.”

“What do you need from me?”

He expected that Stella would ask to borrow the Forester so she could go into Aurora while he stayed and kept watch over Marlee. Her actual request caught him completely off guard.

Stella asked, “Could you tell him?”

“Me?”

“I would, but Marlee doesn’t want me to leave her,” she explained. “I know it’s a lot, but could you?”

“I’m not on the list of authorized visitors.”

“I’ll bet you could get that waived. Everybody knows you’re cozy with the sheriff.”

“This really feels like something that should come from you.”

“Ray Jay’s my brother, but we’re not that close. He keeps his distance from everyone. The only thing he cares about is Dexter. Please, Cork.”

He could have said no. This was family business, between Stella and her brother. But Stella gazed up at him, her brown eyes imploring, her face soft and worried and, he thought, unusually lovely. What could he say but yes?