Kate didn’t know him that well and wondered if he was coming on to her.
“I have an idea,” Bill said. “Think Luke would want to go out on patrol with me, see a real cop in action?”
It sounded like he was kidding but his tone was serious-a real cop in action. “I’m sure he’d like that, Bill.”
He grinned. “Take her easy.”
She watched him roll down the driveway, tires crunching on the gravel. The trees had their leaves and the sky was still bright at five o’clock, staying light longer as the season changed, heading toward summer, but it sure was cold. She felt a breeze blowing in from the lake and pulled her coat closed. Leon barked and chased a squirrel across the yard into the woods.
Luke was in the kitchen when she went back inside. He took a Coke out of the refrigerator and faced her. They stared at each other, Kate hoping he’d give her something-some reasonable explanation at the very least.
Kate said, “You promised me you weren’t going to do anything else.”
“I had to come back,” Luke said.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
He pulled the tab on the can and took a drink.
Kate said, “What are you doing here?”
“I don’t know,” Luke said.
“You came back up here, but you don’t know why?”
Luke looked down at the floor.
“You’re not supposed to drive,” Kate said. “You’re not supposed to leave town.”
“I don’t care.”
Kate decided not to say anything else. She was glad he was all right.
Luke said, “Why’d you call the sheriff? What’d you think I was going to do?”
“Nothing would surprise me the way things have been going.” She was angry and wanted him to know it.
Luke’s face tightened and he turned and walked out of the kitchen. She heard the back door close and moved through the lodge to the big picture window. She could see him heading down toward the lake. She went outside, walked to the end of the yard, stood on the bluff and watched him-regretting what she’d said-Luke on the beach skipping stones across the flat dark surface of Lake Michigan.
She couldn’t believe how much their lives had changed in the past seven months. She was worried about Luke, but maybe this was a blessing in disguise. It was just the two of them now. She could spend time with him and try to help him.
DeJuan parked on the side of the highway, left Scarface on the gravel shoulder and walked-had to be a mile-through the woods. It was cold, too, freezing in his Fubu jersey and Sean John denims. Didn’t have the right clothes on ’cause he didn’t know he was going up north on vacation. His moms said his great-grandfather was Masai, lived in northern Tanzania in Africa. DeJuan looked it up. Masai were the dudes carry spears and herd cattle. Wore bright red cloaks. Young warrior called a moran had to go out, kill a lion with a spear. That’s why DeJuan was freezing his ass off-’ cause it don’t get cold in northern Tanzania.
He could see the cabin through the trees now. Saw Mrs. McCall talking to a sheriff ’s deputy in a brown uniform. It look like she knew him. They friends. DeJuan watched him get in the car and disappear down the driveway. Mrs. McCall went inside. But the dog was running around. Went in the woods and came up behind him, started barking. “Yo, pooch, be cool. Don’t want no starving, skinny-ass black motherfucker.”
He saw the kid come out of the cabin now, scan the front yard.
“Leon… want a treat?”
Dog left DeJuan there, took off running.
DeJuan was so hungry he’d eat a dog biscuit right now. He moved through the woods to the side of the cabin. Could see Mrs. McCall and the kid-looked like they in the kitchen-having a heated conversation. He saw the kid walk out the room, then come out the back of the cabin. DeJuan followed him down to the water, look like the ocean, deep blue out to the horizon. Could see cottages way off-look like miles-in the distance on the other side of a long deserted stretch of beach. Nothing the other way, either.
At first DeJuan thought he going to have to call it off. But now he was thinking, wait a minute-this out-in-the-middle-of-nowhere location going to work out better.
Bill Wink was trying to think of a way to ask Kate out without being too obvious. Invite her to do something. Not make it sound like a date. Maybe include Luke, too. But, what?
He came to Woolsey Lake, took a right, passed a gold car parked on the side of the road. He didn’t see anyone in it. He did a U-turn and drove up next to it-a 1980-something Chevy Malibu with a custom paint job and chrome alloys. He figured whoever was driving it ran out of gas or had car trouble. Lighthouse Point, the national park, was a mile or so down the road, and he guessed that’s where it was heading. Person probably hitchhiked back to the Mobile station in Northport.
He backed up and stopped and punched the license number in his computer. The vehicle was registered to a DeJuan Green, who lived on Fourth Street in Royal Oak. He didn’t check any further. His shift was over. He’d change, go into town and have a couple beers.
FIFTEEN
Luke listened to Wilco on his iPod, driving into town with his mother, turned the music up so he couldn’t hear her, didn’t have to talk to her. He liked “Hummingbird” on disc two; it was his favorite. He listened to it three times in a row, reminding him of “Mr. Blue Sky” by ELO. He saw a couple of deer as they drove on their private drive through the woods-almost a mile to the county road, and then passing cherry orchards on the way to Northport, trees blossoming with white flowers giving off a sweet smell.
They split up in town. His mom had to run some errands and he walked the street, stopped in a video arcade for a while, played a few games of Mercenary Force and then walked down to the lake. He could see the dark shape of a freighter creeping on the horizon, hull pointing south, heading for Chicago or Milwaukee.
He started to go back into town and saw Del’s, an old log building with a sign on the front that said “Hunting Outfitters since 1955.” His dad used to take him there when he was younger.
Luke opened the door, went in, let it swing closed behind him and then it was quiet, not a sound. He stood looking at a wall of heads all staring at him-elk, caribou, whitetail, bighorn, pronghorn, antelope, boar, dik-dik, Kodiak blacktail-and more animals, their bodies stuffed and perched on the exposed log rafters: a fox, raccoon, badger. Across the room there was a seven-foot grizzly ready to attack, and next to it, a full-size polar bear with a king salmon in its claws.
From somewhere in the room, a voice said, “Dropped ever one of ’em with sticks and strings.”
Now Del Keane appeared from some unseen place, a big man with a dense gray beard and gray hair combed straight back and tied into a braided ponytail that went halfway down his back, like a hippie version of Santa Claus. He wore suspenders over a flannel shirt.
Luke was staring at a deer head with a twelve-point rack.
“That fine gentleman,” Del said, “was the Pope and Young world-record Kodiak black tail, November 1988. Put one through his wheelhouse, never knew what hit him. What’s your name, boy?”
“Luke.”
“You a hunter, Luke?”
“Not anymore.”
“I’m Del Keane at your service, what can I do for you?”
“I don’t know. Nothing, I guess.” He was nervous, uncomfortable all of a sudden. He took a step toward the door and Del moved with him.
“You’re Owen McCall’s boy, ain’t you?”
Del took a pipe out of his shirt pocket and lit it, blowing smoke that smelled like sweet cherrywood into the room.
“I better go,” Luke said.
“Awful thing that happened,” Del said. “Lost my own daddy when I was about your age.”
He took the pipe out of his mouth, holding the bowl. He looked off across the room and then back at Luke. “Ever talk to him?”
Luke didn’t know what to say.
“Your daddy,” Del said. “Ever talk to him?”