"Enough," she said, but squeezed his arm in appreciation.
He said, "So I hope you don't mind that I slipped the desk guy Simon fifty bucks before we left this morning and asked him to move all our stuff to another cabin during the day but not to reflect it on the register. I know that sounds paranoid…"
"Yes, it does, but I appreciate it." She looked up at him, smiled. "I hope we can find a little time together before I have to get the girls back."
He laughed. "Me too."
"But we have these darned girls with us."
"You're the cleverest person I know," Joe said. "You'll think of something."
"Where there's a will," she said, letting her hand slip from the small of his back into the back pocket of his Wranglers. "You haven't said much about your mother lately," Joe said. "Are things going okay?"
They drove on the road that connected the upper and lower loop toward the headwaters of the Gibbon River. Joe had noted how pleasant it looked a few days before when he passed, and noted trout rising in the evening. He thought Sheridan and Lucy might like to try fly-fishing there, although both were napping in the car at the moment.
"I've deliberately not said anything," Marybeth whispered, checking to make sure their daughters weren't listening, "becauseall the signs are still there for a train wreck coming."
Joe grimaced.
"She's had two"-Marybeth made quote marks in the air with her fingers-"arts council meetings in the past week. I asked around and confirmed that Earl Alden just happened to be at both of them. And," Marybeth said, lowering her voice even further and leaning into Joe's ear, "they left together both times. The meetings ended at eight. Mom got back to the ranch at midnight."
"Uh-oh," Joe said.
"Uh-oh is right."
"Poor Bud," Joe said.
"What's wrong with our parents, anyway?" Marybeth asked rhetorically. "Is it because they're of that generation?"
"I believe so," Joe said. "The first of the Baby Boomers. It's all about them."
"Poor us," Marybeth said. "We have to put up with those people for a lot more years." Joe beamed with pride as Sheridan and Lucy assembled their fly rods, tied on tippet, selected their own flies, and marched toward the headwaters of the Gibbon River. He could tell by the set of Sheridan's jaw that she was determined to outfish her little sister.
"Stay in sight," Marybeth called after them. She'd found a flat grassy spot near the pullout to spread a blanket. There was a bottle of wine in the cooler.
"If you catch some fish," Joe said, "don't keep more than two each for dinner. Release any more than that like I showed you."
"That won't be a problem for Lucy," Sheridan said over her shoulder, "since she won't catch anything."
"But I still get points for looking cute," Lucy said, throwing a dazzling smile over her shoulder at Joe, "which won't be something Sheridan has to worry about."
"She's right, you know," Joe said.
"Aaaauuugh!" Sheridan howled. Nate parked his Jeep behind the van as Joe pulled the cork out of the bottle of wine.
"I guess we need another glass," Marybeth said.
"And look," Joe said, feigning sarcasm, "you just happen to have three. How convenient."
Marybeth shot a sly glance at him. "I always have an extra."
"Just in case Nate shows up, I know."
"It doesn't have to be Nate."
"But he's the only one who shows up," Joe said, pouring.
"True."
Joe warmed with the realization that Marybeth now felt comfortable joking about her obvious but now harmless attractionto Nate. They were long past all of that, Joe hoped.
"Good timing on my part!" Nate said, coming down the hill. The fact that he wore his shoulder holster jolted Joe back into the situation he was in. For a moment, while he watched his daughters walk through the grass toward the stream and his wife unfurl the blanket and unpack the wine, he'd forgotten. Marybeth listened carefully as Joe filled Nate in on what had happened since they'd last talked. Nate was particularlyinterested in the flamers and asked Joe to describe them more than once. As Joe did, Nate nodded, rubbing his chin, looking inscrutable.
"It seems like it's coming to a head of some kind," Nate said. "Whoever they are decided to go after you and Demming on the same night. You must have hit a nerve."
Joe nodded. "It had to be the videotapes."
"Have you looked at them?"
"I haven't had a chance," Joe said. "I've got three entrances. I may have something worthwhile there, but as I said, Demminghad the other two entrances and her computer is missing."
"We'll need to take a look," Nate said.
"Yup."
"I've got something too."
Joe and Marybeth looked over the rims of their glasses at him.
"Cutler was holding out on you."
"Meaning what?"
"Olig was a Geyser Gazer. He and Cutler were best friends and colleagues, and apparently Olig went along on most of Cutler's forays into the thermal areas. Hoening only went along a couple of times."
Joe was puzzled. "Why didn't Cutler tell us that?"
"Two reasons," Nate said. "One, he and Olig figured somethingout that could result in murder. Two, Cutler knew where Olig was hiding all along. I think Cutler was about to tell you both things when we went to meet with him but never got the chance. My guess is Olig is still here."
"Where?" Joe asked.
"Guess."
"The Old Faithful Inn."
"Right," Nate said. "Remember how I told you about all the secret rooms and hallways in that building? The ones that were designed for who knows what? They've all been sealed off, but that doesn't mean someone couldn't live there if the manager showed him how and gave him permission."
"But it's closed," Joe said.
"Officially, yes," Nate said, "but I saw a light last night on the top floor, toward the back. As I watched, a figure passed in front of the light, then it went out. It's in that area called Bat's Alley. That's a spooky damned place, but a great place to hide."
Joe looked over at Marybeth.
"I guess I know where you two will wind up," she said.
"Not tonight," Joe said.
"Good, since we have dinner reservations at seven." She turned to Nate. "Reservations are for five, Nate."
"How did you know I'd be here?" Nate asked.
"I guessed," she said.
"Enough," Joe cautioned.
From a distance, Sheridan whooped. "Got one!" Joe saw the trout flash on the end of her line in the setting sun, looking more metallic than alive, confirming once again that there were few things more beautiful in the natural world than a rainbow trout-or his daughter catching one.
26
Saturday night, the mammoth dining room was a quarter filled with the last visitors of the season and a few people passing through. Joe had made a deal with the chef to prepare the three trout Sheridan had caught after he cleaned them and brought them to the kitchen. Sheridan couldn't stop smiling.
They had returned at dusk to find that their possessions had been moved, as arranged, to a larger cabin a quarter mile from the one they had in the morning. The girls thought it strange.
"It's like we're Saddam Hussein," Sheridan said, "moving to a new house every night. Like we're a mafia family or something." She looked to Joe and Marybeth for an explanation.
"This cabin is bigger," Marybeth said, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. "We wanted a little more room."
Lucy nodded her assent, but Sheridan eyed Joe with suspicion.He looked back stoically.
In the dining room, Marybeth said, "This is our big night. Let's all behave and just enjoy it." It wasn't necessary to point out that since Joe had lost his job there had been very few nights where they ate out, and when they did it had been fast food.
"This is elegant," Lucy said, touching each piece of silver-ware(three forks!) and glassware at her place setting with the tips of her fingers. "I was born for this."