“You haven’t changed things much,” Solemn said.
Cork lit a burner on the stove and put a frying pan over it. He dropped in a pat of butter, then broke six eggs into a bowl, added a little milk, salt and pepper, and began to beat the mixture with a fork.
“Never saw much that needed changing,” he said over his shoulder. “Sam put things together pretty well.”
“Even smells the same,” Solemn said. “Fry oil.”
Cork poured the beaten eggs into the hot pan. He took a grater from a drawer and began to grate cheese onto a cutting board.
“Coffee?” he said.
“Sure.”
“In the cupboard, in a jar.” He nodded to his right. “Don’t have a drip coffeemaker. You’ll have to let it perk on the stove.”
Solemn took the old aluminum pot from the back burner and set about making the coffee.
“When’s the last time you were here?” Cork asked. With a spatula, he rolled the eggs carefully in the pan, cooking them gradually to keep them from becoming stiff and dry.
“Three years ago. Before Sam died.”
“You’ve never come by since I took over the place.”
“Figured it wouldn’t be the same.”
“Almost nothing ever is.”
Solemn looked around. “You’ve done a good job of keeping it up.”
“I spend a lot of time out here, even in winter. I use it as a getaway.”
“From what?”
“Bills. Phone calls. Life.”
Solemn lit a burner and put the coffeepot on the stove. “There’s a good spot for ice fishing about a hundred yards out.”
“I know,” Cork said.
Solemn walked to the table and sat down. Cork scraped the grated cheese off the cutting board into the eggs and stirred to melt it.
“I watch sometimes,” Solemn said.
“Watch what?”
“You. Here. With your kids. I stand out there in the trees.” He waved toward the copse of poplars to the south.
“What are you looking for?”
Solemn shrugged.
“What you had here once with Sam maybe?”
Solemn didn’t answer.
Cork turned the flame down low and put a lid over the frying pan. “When the coffee’s ready, we’ll eat.” He took a chair and sat near Solemn. “Why’d you run last night?”
“Because they think I killed Charlotte and because that ass-hole looked at me and grinned like I was some kind of rat he had in a cage.”
“The sheriff?”
“Yeah.”
“It was Gooding you slugged.”
“Was it? I don’t remember much. I just knew I had to get out of there.”
“How do you feel about it, knowing that Charlotte was murdered?”
Despite his moments of fire, Solemn, like many Ojibwe, could wipe all emotion from his face in an instant, become absolutely unreadable, and that moment he did. But that in itself was a sign. He had something to hide. Was it guilt? Or had he genuinely cared about Charlotte and didn’t want Cork or anyone else to know?
The coffee began to perk. Cork went to the cupboard and pulled down a couple of plates and cups. He took flatware from the drawer and put the things on the table. He let the coffee perk until the color was deep brown.
“Why don’t you pour us some,” he said to Solemn, “and I’ll get the eggs.”
At first they ate in silence. Solemn’s predicament didn’t affect his appetite. He stuffed the food into his mouth in huge forkfuls, and he followed each bite with a deep gulp of coffee. It was the way a hungry teenager ate, as if every meal were the last. Cork, as he watched Solemn, saw so much about the young man that was still not formed, but forming.
“What are you going to do now?” Cork finally asked.
“I don’t know. Talking to the sheriff sure didn’t do me any good.”
“At least you know where you stand.”
“Yeah. In deep shit.” He spoke around a mouthful of eggs. “I’m thinking of going to Canada.”
“Your truck’s been impounded.”
“Hell, I could walk from here.”
“Then what?”
“I don’t know. I’ll figure something.”
“Not much of a plan.”
Solemn stopped eating and for a moment poked idly at his food. “What do you think I should do?”
Cork looked at him, looked deeply into the eyes that were not quite Indian or quite white, into the face that was not quite that of a grown man. And he asked the question no one had bothered to ask yet. “Did you kill her?”
Solemn put his fork down. “No.”
“Then my advice is to turn yourself in.”
“Are you kidding?” Solemn’s look began to turn dark. “They’ve got enough right now to put me behind bars forever.”
“You run, it seems to me you’ll be putting yourself in a different kind of cage, one that’s not any better.”
“No way.” Solemn scooted his chair back and jumped up. He began to pace the room. “I need money.”
“If that’s what you came to me hoping for, you’ve made a mistake.”
“I wasn’t asking. But I’m in this mess because I listened to you.”
“You were already in this mess. Now, if you want my help, I’ll give it. That means going at this thing head-on, not running away.”
Solemn had a frightened look in his eyes, as if he were watching the door to freedom close on him. “It’s all lies. I didn’t do anything.”
“Then somebody’s gone to a lot of trouble to make it look like you did. I’ll do my best to find out who.”
“Your best?” His voice was tight, climbing in pitch.
“That’s all I can offer. But I’ll make you a promise. I’ll stay with you the whole way. You won’t go through this alone.”
Solemn looked as if he couldn’t decide between laughing or crying. “Is that supposed to mean something? Who the hell do you think you are? You make hamburgers, for Christ sake.”
Cork waited a moment, then said calmly, “So did Sam.”
Solemn spun angrily away.
“Do you see anyone else stepping forward, Solemn? I’m willing to help, but the choice is yours. This is what I’m going to do. I’m going to leave here and go get Jo. We’ll come back. If you’re still here, we’ll all head to the sheriff’s office together. If you’re not… well, Solemn, I guess you’re on your own.”
Cork got up from the table and headed to the door. He turned back with his hand on the knob. Solemn was watching him now.
“While I’m gone,” Cork said, “how about you do up those dishes.”
12
Cork parked in front of Pflugelmann’s Rexall Drugstore across from the county courthouse. He found Jo in the courtroom of Judge Daniel Hickey. She sat at the plaintiff’s table, jotting notes while Ed Mendez, the defendant’s attorney, argued something about “interpretation of the trust language.” Hickey looked bored. The clients weren’t present, and the courtroom was mostly deserted. Cork sat behind Jo, on a bench in back of the railing that blocked off the spectator area. He waited a few minutes for an opportunity to make his presence known to Jo. It came when the judge asked to have a look at a document Mendez held. As defense counsel approached the bench, Cork leaned across the railing and handed Jo a scrap of paper on which he’d scribbled a note. She read it and nodded.
When Mendez started away from the bench, Jo stood. “Your Honor, I apologize, but I’d like to request a ten-minute recess. A rather pressing personal matter.”
Hickey, a little man with a white billy goat beard, shook back the sleeve of his robe and glanced at his watch. “Any objection, Ed?”
Mendez thought a moment. “No, that’s fine.”
“All right. Ten minutes I think we can handle, Jo. Court is in recess until nine-forty.” He sealed his pronouncement with a tap of his gavel, and he yawned as he left the bench.
Jo turned to Cork.
“Not here.” He motioned her to an empty corner of the courtroom.
“Where is he?” Jo asked.
“At Sam’s Place,” he whispered. “He spent the night there. He’s ready to turn himself in.”