“That’s never been my problem.”
“Something doesn’t smell right about the way that Cates character died.”
“Don’t mention bad smells. I’m going to be smelling skunk on myself for the rest of my life.”
“It’s just a little musk. Why, they make French perfume out of the nether glands of weasels! How bad can it be?”
“Pretty bad.”
He chuckled. “I’m glad we’re having this conversation by telephone.”
“I swear to God I’m going to nail Brogan.”
“Be methodical about it if you do. Joe has friends in the governor’s office.”
Which reminded me again that a day had passed and I hadn’t heard so much as a peep from Rivard.
“I have a question for you,” I said. “When I got my transfer, you said I should introduce myself to Kendrick. What were you thinking? The guy is a world-class egomaniac.”
“I didn’t mean you should bring him a coffee cake! I meant that he was someone for you to keep an eye on. Kendrick is one of the best woodsmen I’ve ever met-and I’ve known a few-but he’s got some odd notions about right and wrong. Someone vandalized the logging equipment over on that old International Paper timberland last year. I’ll bet you a dollar it was Kendrick or one of his young apprentices.”
“In that case, I’d say your instincts were correct,” I said, “as usual.”
“Where and when should I pick you up in the morning? I’ve got skis on the Cessna.”
We agreed to meet at nine o’clock at the Gardner Lake boat launch in East Machias. I had just hung up when headlights swept across the closed curtains, backlighting the fabric, and tires crunched on the compacted snow outside my cabin. A metal car door opened and shut loudly, and I heard quick footsteps coming up the cabin steps, followed by a knock.
I peeked through the spy hole. “What the hell,” I said, opening the door.
Jamie Sewall stood on the little porch, holding a paper bag with both arms. She had arranged her hair and applied lipstick to make her lips shine, eye shadow to deepen her eyes, and liner to darken her lashes. She was wearing my binoculars around her neck.
“May I come in?” she asked.
23
I caught the smell of jasmine and warm vanilla as she stepped past me into the motel room. Sarah rarely wore perfume. I had forgotten how much I liked the right scent on the right woman.
“I wanted to give you these.” She meant the binoculars, but the suggestion of other gifts wasn’t lost on me.
“How did you know where I was?”
“You told me you were staying here when you came to see me this morning.”
She set the bag down on the embroidered doily atop the bureau and looked around with an amused smile. “This is cute!”
I had a dozen good reasons to send her packing, starting with her being the sister of a murder suspect and ending with the irrefutable fact that I needed no more trouble in my life, however beguiling the package it came wrapped inside.
“I appreciate your bringing me my binoculars.” The room was so small and the bed took up so much of the available space. “But I think you should probably leave.”
“Guess where he hid them.” She didn’t wait for me to respond. “My dad’s old wood shop in the basement. Lucas is terrified of that room, for some reason. He never goes down there. After I searched all the usual places, I tried to imagine where the last place he might go would be. Lucas is crafty. He likes codes and puzzles and things. His favorite writer is Edgar Allan Poe. That’s why he keeps that notebook with him all the time. He wants to write books and movies when he grows up. You and Lucas have a lot in common.”
I couldn’t stop myself from smiling. “I’m not so sure about that.”
“You’re both big thinkers.” She removed a six-pack of beer and a twenty-ounce bottle of Diet Coke from the paper bag. “Does this room have a refrigerator?”
“There’s an ice machine outside the office.”
“I guess it’s cold enough.” She offered me one of the Budweisers. “I thought you could use a beer after the day you had.”
I accepted the bottle from her. I hadn’t expressly stopped drinking or even announced to myself that I might be developing the alcohol problem that had bedeviled my father. But for many months, I had refused glasses of wine and bottles of beer when offered and had walked fast, with eyes turned to the floor, down the liquor aisle of the supermarket. And there was that lonely can of Foster’s back in the refrigerator in my trailer.
“And this is for me.” She unscrewed the top from the soda bottle and filled a glass to the brim with the fizzing liquid. “I had to wait for Lucas to fall asleep before I could come over here,” she said. “Tammi’s not much help with him. She forgets things. She almost burned the house down a couple of times because she forgot to turn off the coffeemaker.”
“That must be difficult.” I felt my hand growing numb from the unopened bottle of beer.
“It’s weird, mostly,” she said. “According to the state of Maine, she’s one of my dependents. I’m her legal guardian.” She raised the glass of soda to make a toast. “Here’s to family.”
She waited for me to open my beer and take a sip. She made eye contact with me the whole time. I felt my heart speeding up.
“Thanks for the beer,” I said. “But I don’t think your being here is a good idea.”
“Why was it a good idea when you came to my house, but I can’t come to yours?”
It was a question for which I didn’t have an immediate answer. We were standing in the narrow space beside the bed, hyperaware of its presence and everything it implied.
“Can we just have a drink together?” she asked with exasperation. “I just want to have a real conversation with an adult person for once. Sometimes I get coffee with Gloria-she’s my sponsor-but all she ever wants to talk about is booze and pills. ‘Are you using again, Jamie? You’re not using, are you? Keep the plug in the jug!’ I’ll tell her where to put her plug.”
She hadn’t meant it as a joke, but when I laughed, she laughed. The beer, I had to admit, tasted very good. “OK. But just one drink.”
She smiled and unzipped her ski parka. “I want to apologize for Mitch. He’s got that Napoleon syndrome. That’s why he learned karate. He works at the Shogun Studio out on Route One in East Machias. When we were married, we couldn’t go to the beach or the lake-anywhere with me in a bikini-without him challenging some dude to a fight. I asked if he wanted me to cover up, but he always said no, because he wanted to show off what a man he was despite being so little.”
I tried to avoid looking at the bed. “When did you get divorced?”
“A few years back, after the accident. But he’s had second thoughts ever since and keeps coming around like a begging dog.”
“He seems like the total opposite of Randall.”
“On the outside, maybe. But I’m glad you didn’t get in a fight with him. Mitch is tougher than he looks. Randall underestimated him, too.”
“Can I ask you a question about Randall?”
She narrowed her eyes with playful mock suspicion. “Is this a police question or a friendly question?”
“A friendly question. I’m wondering about that tattoo on his face.”
“He got it after I kicked him out.”
I felt a sense of relief, for some reason. “I couldn’t imagine your being attracted to someone who went around looking like Mike Tyson.”
“Yeah, he showed up at my door with it one night. It was all red still and bloody. I think he wanted to scare me into getting back together or something. It made me realize how fucked up I’d been to ever hook up with him.”
“Why did you?”
“Because I was an addict-and Randall had all the pills. He was handsome, before he got that tattoo, and he could be pretty charming and funny, but really it was the Oxy I fell in love with. That’s the thing about drugs. Once you start using, you’ll do anything to stay high, even convince yourself you love the man who’s giving the drugs to you.”