Tamarack County

CHAPTER 7

Marsha Dross wore jeans and a rust-colored turtleneck. At forty-two, she was more than a decade younger than Cork, and there were already a few noticeable lines on her face-a furrow between her brows when she was deep in thought or frowning, crow’s-feet when she squinted at the sun, two wrinkles that were like parentheses around her mouth when she smiled. Her eyes were dark, a blue that was almost black. She was nearly Cork’s height, and her hair, in its color, was very similar to his, though much thicker. For years, she’d worn it short, so that from a distance, in uniform, she might have been mistaken for Cork. Because of this similarity in appearance, she’d once taken a bullet meant for him, a wound that had nearly killed her and had ended any hope she might have of ever bearing a child. She liked a good steak, single-malt scotch, and once upon a time, line dancing. As far as Cork knew, she didn’t dance anymore.

When Cork arrived at the Four Seasons, she was already into a scotch. She’d been seated at a table near a window that overlooked the marina behind the hotel. There were no masts to see, only the empty moorings. Far out on the frozen lake stood a little village of ice fishing houses. Although the shanties themselves were lost in the dark, Cork could see tiny squares of light from the lantern glow through the windows of those that were occupied.

“Better?” he asked as he sat and nodded toward her glass of scotch.

“I still need a steak in me,” she said.

As soon as Cork sat down, a waitress approached, a redhead whose once sharp curves had been softened by the years. “Hey, Cork. How are you?”

“Tired and hungry, Julie. You could start me off with a Leinie’s Dark.”

“Coming right up. You doing okay, Marsha?”

“Fine, Julie. Thanks.”

They spent a few minutes on small talk. She said she’d heard Anne was home. Cork said yes, and it was good to have her. That was all he said, and he knew that because he didn’t elaborate Marsha would let the subject drop. She did. He asked about her father, whom he knew, though not well, a retired cop living in Rochester. She told him he was fine but bored, then she went quiet and her eyes drifted across the dining room, which because it was a Friday evening, was quite full. Cork knew where her head was.

“Can’t let her go, even for a few minutes,” he said.

“Who?” she asked.

“Evelyn Carter.”

She shrugged. “I keep going over things.”

“What things?”

She settled into her seat, hands locked around her scotch glass, and leaned toward him. “Yesterday, Father Green told me that he’d talked to her in town earlier that evening and had seen her leave for home. He said she looked very tired. So, I keep turning over the possibility that something went wrong physically, a stroke that affected her thinking, and that she wandered off into the woods.”

“A reasonable possibility.”

“Like you said out there today, why didn’t the dogs pick up her trail?”

“They’re not infallible, especially in the conditions they’ve had to work in.”

“In which case, we won’t find her until the snow melts in the spring, and then only by luck.”

“But you’re thinking that’s not it,” Cork said.

“There are only two possibilities. She’s out there or she isn’t.”

“And you’re thinking she isn’t.”

She said, as if it irritated her no end, “I keep coming back to the possibility of an abduction.”

“Did Azevedo come up with anything on Charles Devine?”

“Devine’s still in the supermax at Oak Park Heights.”

“So you think it could be someone else, someone who just stumbled onto Evelyn out on the Old Babbitt Road and for the hell of it picked her up and-what?”

“Not all people like Devine are behind bars.”

“Lightning seldom strikes in the same place twice, Marsha.” Which, he could tell, was not what she wanted to hear. So he leaned forward and said quietly, “I’ve been thinking about her gas tank. If she’d filled it, as the Judge said, a couple of days ago and hadn’t done much driving, even with her gas guzzler, it would have taken several hours to empty that tank. How much time passed between Father Green seeing her leave town and Adam Beyer reporting her abandoned car?”

“Three hours.”

“And the car had already been there awhile. That’s not enough time. Although I suppose the Judge could simply have been mistaken about her putting gas in the tank.”

Dross shook her head. “We checked out her recent credit card charges. Evelyn filled up at the Tomahawk Truckstop Wednesday. Forty-four dollars and twenty-nine cents’ worth.” She went suddenly quiet, and although she was still looking at Cork, it was as if she wasn’t seeing him.

“What is it?” he asked.

“I just realized something about her credit card and her car. When we looked at those charges, she’d also filled the tank on Tuesday, the day before her visit to the Tomahawk Truckstop. And she bought that gas in Saint Paul.”

Cork said, “It’s a long way to the Twin Cities. Takes a lot of fuel.”

“That’s not the point. When I talked to him, the Judge told me that Evelyn never goes anywhere anymore except into Aurora. He says she won’t even drive to Duluth. She’s not comfortable behind the wheel, doesn’t trust her driving, especially at night. He was surprised that she’d even be out on the Old Babbitt Road.”

“Did you ask him about that gas charge in Saint Paul?”

“No, I hadn’t seen her credit card information then.”

“Interesting. So it appears that she does more driving than her husband is aware of.”

“I wonder what else there is about Evelyn he doesn’t know,” Dross said.

“And I wonder what he knows about Evelyn that he’s not telling you. I think you need to talk to him again.”

Dross stared at the window overlooking the lake, and Cork followed her gaze. The glass showed mostly the reflection of the restaurant dining room and her and Cork together at the table. “I wish Ed hadn’t gone on vacation,” she said.

She was speaking of Captain Ed Larson, who was in charge of major crime investigations for the department.

“How long is he out?”

“Two weeks. San Diego. Christmas with his son’s family.”

“You could call him, ask him to come back.”

She shook her head. “I’ll handle it.”

His beer came, and the waitress asked if Marsha wanted another scotch. Dross slid her glass away and stood up. “No thanks, Julie. I need to run.” She looked across the table at Cork. “A rain check?”

“On one condition.”

“Name it.”

“You let me go with you to the Judge’s.”

She thought a second. The line in the center of her brow furrowed deeply, then she said, “Deal, but I ask the questions.”