Johnny eyed him. “You got a lot of room to park out here, you had to park it right behind Kate’s truck?”
“Yes,” Jim said, and something in the tone of his voice shut Johnny down cold.
He was Jack Morgan’s son, though, so only for a moment. “It’s your funeral,” he said, and turned to Vanessa. He was too manly to try anything with Jim watching, but she had no such qualms. She kissed his cheek, a swift, shy gesture, and murmured something that Jim didn’t catch. Johnny blushed, and with a quick glance over his shoulder murmured something back. With a little wave, Vanessa went up the steps and in the door.
Jim followed her. “Hold on,” he said before she vanished. “Find Kate for me, will you? Tell her I need to talk to her.”
She nodded. He stood in the doorway and waited.
“Hi, Aunt Telma. I’m home.”
“So I see, dear,” a pleasant voice said.
“Where’s Kate Shugak?”
“Why, I don’t know, dear. Kate who?”
“Kate Shugak, Aunt Telma. Her truck is parked out front.”
“Oh.” A brief silence. “Did I give her cookies?”
“You might have. You give everyone cookies. Was she here?”
“Someone was here.”
“When?”
“Oh, I don’t know, dear. A while ago.” A pause. “Would you like some cookies?”
“No, thank you, Aunt Telma.”
Vanessa came back down the hall. “She’s not in the kitchen or the living room.”
“Your aunt seems – ”
“Yes. She is.” Vanessa stood very straight and looked him directly in the eye.
“Yes. Well.” Jim respected loyalty, deserving or not. “Maybe Kate’s with Virgil outside somewhere. I’ll go look.” He went back outside.
“Where’s Kate?” Johnny said.
“I don’t know.” A faint unease whispered around the edges of his mind. After a moment he identified it. Where was Mutt? Generally speaking, he couldn’t set foot within a mile radius of Mutt without being instantly attacked. She never strayed far from Kate’s side, except when Kate was tucked in for the night. So where was she?
Maybe Kate had left her at home. But Kate seldom did so, and would Mutt allow that anyway? Unlikely.
Without thinking, he reached down to unsnap his holster.
Johnny’s eyes got big. “What’s wrong?”
He tried for a reassuring smile. “Nothing. Stay here, okay? In fact, get in my truck and lock the doors. If Kate or Mutt show up, beep the horn.”
“Okay.” The boy looked up at the house. Rapunzel, Rapunzel, let down your long hair. Ain’t love grand. Young love, anyway. Grown-up love was a colossal pain in the ass.
Jim walked around the house, not tiptoeing exactly, but not announcing his presence, either. He walked between the house and the garage, a neat pathway paved with irregular stones with a flat surface, worn by much use and bordered with neat beds of raked soil, ready for planting.
He heard a sound and followed the path to it, around a stand of paper birch and through a tiny grove of what he thought might be apple trees, although he didn’t know how fruit trees could survive either the cold or the moose in the Park.
He came out of them onto a large plot of turned earth. Virgil was digging in it with a number two shovel, taking earth from a pile of dirt and tossing it into a hole.
Jim walked forward, his footsteps muffled in the grass. “Hey, Virgil,” he said.
As uneasy as he was, he was still unprepared for the other man’s reaction.
Virgil dropped the shovel and lunged for a shotgun that Jim only just then noticed propped upright by its butt in the dirt. He tried to grab it before Virgil got hold of it, but Virgil was closer and quick for an old man. He swung it around, both barrels pointing at Jim.
There was nothing more mesmerizing in this world than the twin barrels of a.12-gauge shotgun staring down at you. Jim could hardly take his eyes off them. He kept his voice soft. “What seems to be the problem here, Virgil?”
Virgil squinted at him. His thin cheeks were sunken, his eyes hollow. “Jim Chopin?” The shotgun began to lower.
“That’s right,” Jim said, risking a step forward and halting when the barrel jerked back up again. He grabbed a quick look over Virgil’s shoulder and what he thought he saw made his blood run cold. “Virgil,” he said urgently, “put the gun down. Now.”
Virgil shook his head. “I am very sorry to disobey an officer of the law, but I cannot to do that, Jim Chopin. My Telma, she would not like that.”
“Put it down, Virgil.” Jim saw Virgil’s knuckle tighten on the trigger and felt sweat pop out on his forehead. “At least tell me why,” he said. “Why, Virgil?”
Virgil looked behind Jim, and Jim dared a glance backward. Virgil was looking at the house, at the second floor, where the light was on and a woman, Jim guessed Telma, was brushing her hair. “Because, Jim Chopin, love doth make fools of us all.” And he fired.
Involuntarily Jim closed his eyes.
There was no blast.
He opened his eyes again.
Virgil fired the other barrel. Jim flinched, but again no shot.
The shotgun was empty.
Virgil sighed. “I guess I forgot to reload.”
Jim had the shotgun out of his hands and Virgil on the ground with his hands cuffed behind his back in thirty seconds. In the next second he was up and running for the hole in the garden. “Oh god,” he said in an agonized whisper, “no, no, no, no.”
He stumbled into the hole and began digging at the dirt with both hands. Flesh and fur both showed. His heart was beating so hard in his ears that he couldn’t hear and he couldn’t get enough air into his lungs. “No,” was all he could say, over and over again, “no, no no no.”
He got Kate out first, so covered in dirt and blood he hardly recognized her. He shoved her out of the pit and scrambled up beside her. She was warm to the touch, thank god she was warm. He put his ear to her mouth and remembered to count to five. Nothing. He beat back panic and tried for a pulse in her neck, forced himself to count off ten seconds. Nothing.
“No,” he said. He forced his thumbs into her cheeks, opening her mouth, and sucked out the dirt and spat, once, twice. He pulled her head back to create an airway and started CPR. Fifteen and two, fifteen and two, fifteen and two. Not too hard, don’t want to break any ribs. Get air into the lungs, into the brain. Fifteen and two, fifteen and two, fifteen and two.
He looked up once and saw Johnny standing in front of them, a stricken look on his face. “Get Mutt,” he said, jerking his head, and went back to breathing for Kate.
He seemed to have been doing CPR forever, he had nearly given up hope, when her breast rose and fell on its own. She choked, and then she coughed, and then she puked, a gory mass of coffee and cookie chunk with plenty of dirt in it. He turned her to her side and then he puked, too, right next to her, on his hands and knees like a dog.
Like a dog. He turned and saw that Johnny had somehow managed to muscle Mutt out of the pit. She looked as bad as Kate did, but she was breathing on her own. “Stay with them,” Jim said, and got to his feet.
The boy, dumb, kneeled between woman and dog, his face wet with tears, as Jim jumped over Virgil and ran for the crew cab.
“Why?” Jim said. He was too tired and too angry for subtlety. If Virgil gave him the slightest excuse, he was going to knock him flat on his back. He didn’t care that Virgil was twenty years older than he was. He didn’t care that Virgil was seated, with his wrists cuffed. He was tired from being up all night and if Virgil didn’t answer all of his questions straight out and straight up, he might kill him and use the hole Virgil had dug for Kate and Mutt to bury the body.