He crept left and circled behind Meloux’s outhouse to come at the cabin from behind. When he reached the back wall, he paused, heard a small muffled cough, then heard Broom whisper, “Shut up.”
“I didn’t…” It was Rainy’s voice.
“Shut up.” A few moments passed, then Broom whispered, “Where is he?”
“You know everything I know.” Her voice was a knife honed sharp with anger.
“Christ, if you screwed me, I swear I’ll kill you and the old man both.”
“I’ve done everything you asked. You’ve heard everything I’ve said to him.” Then, much to Cork’s dismay, she added, “Asshole.”
Cork inched to the end of the wall and peered around the corner. The cabin blocked what little light the moon offered, and Cork saw only darkness. He had no way to assess the situation. If he came at Broom quickly, he might be able to surprise the man, but at what cost? If Broom had a firearm pointed at Rainy, it could easily discharge in the fracas, maybe on purpose, maybe accidentally. Cork ran quickly through his options as he saw them and made a decision. He retraced his steps to the outhouse, crouched, and loped far out into the meadow, where he laid himself down in the tall grass.
“Isaiah!” he called.
Broom made no response.
“If you think I’m coming up there, Isaiah, think again.”
“I’ve got the woman and the old man, O’Connor.”
“So?”
“I’ll kill ’em.”
“So?”
Broom was quiet.
Cork said, “What is it you want from me, Isaiah?”
“I want to know what you know about the Vermilion Drift. I want to know what the old man knows.”
“You could ask.”
“He’s saying nothing.”
“Maybe he doesn’t like being threatened. Look, Isaiah, you’ve got good reason to be pissed, but that doesn’t give you license to threaten folks. You want to talk, I’ll talk. I can pretty much guarantee that Meloux will talk, too, if you approach him reasonably.”
“He’s drunk, Cork,” Rainy called. “And he’s got a rifle.”
“Shut up!”
Cork heard the woman grunt.
“Rainy, you okay?”
“Yes. But I’ll have a hell of a bruise in the morning.”
“Look, Isaiah, I give you my word that I’ll tell you everything I know if you just step away from all the threats.”
“What about the old witch man?”
Old witch man? Broom evidently saw Meloux in the way many modern Shinnobs did: an anachronism. An old man of the old ways, a witch. Unfortunate because Broom might have been easier to deal with if he respected Meloux in the way Cork did.
“Just ask him, Isaiah. Ask him without the rifle.”
There was only silence from Broom’s direction. Then Cork saw movement in the dim moonlight that fell on the ground in front of the cabin. He made out Broom, pushing Rainy ahead of him to the cabin door. He heard the squeak of hinges, but no light came from inside. Then the door squeaked shut. A moment later, behind the curtain of a front window, a faint orange glow appeared. One of Meloux’s oil lamps had been lit.
Cork stayed where he was, hoping reason had prevailed.
The door opened, and Broom stood silhouetted against the light. A stupid move, if Cork had been armed. Cork could see the black outline of Broom’s rifle still held in his right hand.
“Okay, O’Connor. The old man says he’ll talk. Come on up.”
“Not until you put that rifle down, Isaiah.”
Broom leaned to his right, and when he came back up, his hand was empty.
Cork stood, slipped his Maglite into his back pocket, and walked to the cabin. Broom stepped away from the door, and Cork entered. Inside, he found Meloux bound to a chair next to his table. Rainy sat across the room on her great-uncle’s bunk. Cork turned back to Broom just as the big Shinnob pulled a target pistol from under the shirttail at the small of his back.
“Ah, shit,” Cork said. He glanced at Rainy. “You told me he had a rifle. You didn’t say anything about a handgun.”
“If I’d known I would have told you,” she replied drily.
“Sit down, O’Connor.” Broom waved him toward an empty chair.
Cork did as he was told and took stock of Broom. The smell of whiskey was strong off him. His eyes were heavy and red, and he was unsteady in his movements. He was a huge Shinnob. To stagger the way he did, he must have consumed a lake of alcohol. On the other hand, Broom wasn’t a man with a reputation for being fond of liquor, so maybe he simply had little tolerance for drink but a lot of motivation that day for drinking.
“I want to know everything you know, everything the old man knows,” Broom said.
“All right, Isaiah. Where do you want me to start?” Cork replied.
Broom didn’t answer. He turned his attention to Meloux. “Was it my mother in that tunnel?”
Meloux said, “No. Your mother long ago walked the Path of Souls.”
“Don’t play games, old man. Was that my mother’s body?”
“It was her body,” Meloux acknowledged.
“How’d it get there?”
“Like the others.”
“How’d they get there?”
“Majimanidoo,” the old Mide said.
Broom thought a moment, swaying like a tree in a strong wind. “Evil spirit?”
“Indigo Broom put them there,” Cork said.
The big Shinnob stared at him, red-eyed. “He killed my mother?”
“I think so. Her and the other women whose remains were in the Vermilion Drift.”
Broom fell silent. His legs looked as if they were becoming more wobbly by the moment. “It was him,” he said with certainty.
Meloux spoke quietly. “He showed you the tunnel, didn’t he? A long time before he put the bodies there.”
Broom lifted his eyes to Meloux.
“I know what he did to you in that tunnel, Isaiah Broom. Things only a man of evil spirit would do.”
Broom seemed angered by Meloux’s knowledge. “I never told anyone.”
“You never told anyone,” Meloux agreed gently. “But your mother knew.”
“No,” he said. Then: “How?”
“That was a thing a small boy could not hide from a mother who loved him. She wanted to kill Indigo Broom, but she vanished.”
“Loved me? You’re a liar.”
“A very long time ago, I tried to guide you to the truth, but your heart was hard, and your spirit was all fire. I could not help you. You are a man now, and I am offering you the truth again.”
Broom looked suddenly sick. He turned, threw open the door, and rushed outside. From the dark came the sound of retching.
Cork took the opportunity to grab Broom’s rifle. He checked the chamber. It was empty, and the magazine, too, which probably meant Broom intended to use the weapon only to frighten. Rainy went to her great-uncle and untied the rope that bound him to the chair.
In the light of the lantern on Meloux’s table, they waited. Broom didn’t return. Cork finally lifted the lantern and went to the door. The big Shinnob lay on his back at the edge of the meadow, passed out.
“What do you want to do with him, Henry?” Cork asked.
“Let him sleep for a while. Then I will talk with him.”
“He may be just as belligerent when he wakes up,” Cork said.
Meloux replied, “He would not have been a problem except my niece was less than hospitable. She spoke to him harshly.”
“Jesus, Uncle Henry, a drunken maniac breaks into your cabin waving a rifle and you treat him like an honored guest.”
“It is my cabin. If I choose to treat him that way, it is my right. And, Niece, until you spoke, he did not point his rifle at anyone.”
“Oh, Christ,” she said and turned away.
Meloux asked her, “Will you build a fire in the ring? Corcoran O’Connor will help you. If Isaiah Broom wakes, I will bring him there.”
Rainy stormed down the path toward the fire ring at the edge of the lake. Cork took the Maglite from his back pocket.
“I think it would be safer if I stayed here with you,” Cork said.