Trickster's Point

CHAPTER 34

Cork was deep in thought when he was startled back into the moment by a knock on the window of his door. He turned, surprised but very pleased to see Rainy Bisonette smiling at him through the glass. He rolled the window down.

“I called to you,” she said. “You seemed to be in another world.”

“A lot on my mind,” he apologized.

“I just came into town to do a little shopping at LeDuc’s store. Do you have time for some coffee at the Mocha Moose?”

“For you, I’ll make time.”

He got out, and together they walked to the little shop. There were a couple of other Shinnobs at tables drinking coffee and eating some of Sarah LeDuc’s locally famous cowboy cookies. Sarah, who was full-blood Ojibwe, appreciated the irony of that situation, and she was fond of saying that, when she made the cookie batter, she just wished John Wayne was still alive so he could see an Indian woman beating cowboys. Cork greeted the other customers with a raised hand and said “Boozhoo” to Sarah, and he and Rainy got their coffee and a cookie to split and sat at a table near the window.

“So, is it true?” Rainy asked. “Isaiah Broom confessed to killing Jubal Little?”

“Yes.”

“Is that what you’re thinking about so deeply?”

“No.”

“Because you believe he did it? Case closed?”

“I don’t think he killed Jubal. I think he’s covering for Winona Crane.”

“You believe Winona killed Jubal?” She seemed utterly amazed.

He explained to her briefly the history of Winona Crane and Jubal Little, two sides of the same leaf, a complicated connection that included an abiding love and, in the end, rejection and hurt. “The wrath of a woman scorned,” Cork finished.

“What a load of crap,” Rainy said and took a bite of the cookie.

“Yeah, that’s what I’ve decided, too. But I think Isaiah Broom believes it. He’s been in love with Winona since we were all kids. I think maybe he believes this is his chance to prove his love for her, a love greater than anything Jubal ever gave to her.”

“Love,” she said, picking up on the word. “After you left this morning, Uncle Henry and I talked about Jubal Little’s killing. He says he believes you’ll discover that Little was killed because of love.”

“I thought so, too, but like I said, I don’t think Winona did it, or Isaiah.”

“Not romantic love, necessarily. Love of money, love of power, love of territory, love of people. Uncle Henry says that more often than not we kill to protect the things we love. We kill to hold on to them.” She drank her coffee and looked at Cork over the cup rim, her dark eyes gently probing his face. “So, who has something to protect?”

Only one name came to Cork at the moment. The last guy left on his short list of suspects. Lester Bigby.

“Do you really think Bigby could have killed Jubal Little?” she asked, after he’d explained.

“The question of the day,” he said. “He certainly has something to protect. That resort development. It’s clear he’s lied about where he was the day Jubal was killed. And I’ve been thinking about the John Doe on the ridge. A white guy. I don’t see Isaiah Broom or Winona Crane throwing in with a chimook. But Lester Bigby might.”

“Or one of his investors,” Rainy offered.

Cork didn’t want to think about that. It opened up a whole new list of suspects. And he still had no idea who Rhiannon was or what part she played in all this and why she was important and threatening enough to put Cork and everyone he loved in imminent danger.

Rainy said, “You told me that a lot of what you do is just turn over rocks to see what’s there. What rocks are left to turn over, Cork?”

“What I really ought to do is track down Winona. It would be best if I could talk to her in person. But I keep hoping she’ll come out of hiding on her own. Even if she doesn’t talk to me, maybe she’ll go to Henry.”

“And then you’ll pump my uncle for answers.” It was a statement, not a judgment.

“Henry?” Cork laughed. “I could put your uncle on the rack and tear his arms out of their sockets, and he still wouldn’t tell me something he didn’t want me to know.”

They left together, and he walked Rainy to her Jeep. She would drive back toward Crow Point, park on an old logging road that ended a couple of miles from her cabin, and walk the rest of the way from there, a Duluth pack full of supplies on her back.

“I’d love to have you come home with me,” she told him as they stood together under the heavy overcast.

He shook his head. “Miles to go before I sleep.”

She put her hand to his face. Her palm was warm against his cold cheek. “You could use a vacation.”

“What I need is a good long lie-down in your arms. And a few more answers.”

He kissed her and stood watching as she drove away.

Then he turned back to all the miles still ahead of him before he slept.