A Grave Denied Part 22

"Yeah, yeah," she said without heat. "Enid says it was pretty much the same for her."

"Enid made the first move?"

"Yeah."

"Seems a little out of character."

"It is. It was when Bernie was sleeping with Laurel. Enid found out."

"Ah," he said, understanding. "A revenge f.u.c.k."

"Two of them, to be exact."

"The second one being when Bernie walked in."

"She seduced Dreyer aka Duffy in one of the cabins. I'm just going to call him Dreyer if you don't mind," she added. "Main reason I hate aliases, just gets too d.a.m.n confusing."

He considered. "Enid wanted Bernie to catch them at it. Catch her at it."

"Yeah."

"Nice little quadrangle, if that's the right word. Bernie sleeps with Laurel, Enid finds out and sleeps with Dreyer, Dreyer sleeps with Laurel." He straightened. "Wait a minute. How serious was Bernie about Laurel?"

"Not enough to leave Enid," Kate said sharply. "And not enough to kill Dreyer, either, even if he knew about Dreyer and Laurel. Which he probably didn't."

"Enid can talk," Jim said.

"I know. But I don't think she did about this. The less conversation she had with Bernie about Laurel, the better."

Jim wasn't slow. "He didn't care, did he?"

"Who?"

"Bernie. He didn't care when he caught Enid with Dreyer."

She said nothing.

"Ouch," he said. "That had to sting."

"Not enough to murder."

He gave her a thoughtful look, and left it alone for now. "What else?" She met his eyes and he said, "Come on, Kate. You're holding out on me. You found something out in Anchorage. What?"

Laurel came over and topped off their mugs. Kate barely registered on her peripheral vision, but she gave Jim a wide, warm, one might even say inviting smile, and underlined it by putting a little extra into the sway of her hips as she walked away. Waitresses. He watched her go with pure male appreciation. When he turned back he found Kate looking at him, one eyebrow raised. "Don't change the subject," he said firmly.

She thought about it, but he was right. She took a deep breath. "Remember Gary Drussell?"

He frowned. "Can't say as I do."

"He was a fisherman out of Cordova. Had a homestead about ten miles out of Niniltna. Married. Three daughters."

About to drink, Jim put his mug down heavily.

"Gary's had one lousy season after another, going on ten years now. Commercial fis.h.i.+ng in Alaska isn't what it once was. The two oldest daughters were college age or about to be. He decided to sell out, move to Anchorage, and go back to school, learn a new trade. So he put his homestead up for sale. And of course, like every other homestead staked out a hundred years ago, it needed work."

"And he hired Len Dreyer to do it."

"Yes."

"Which daughter?"

"The youngest. I think. n.o.body admitted anything. But I'm pretty sure." Kate shook her head. "I don't know, the vibes I got from the mom and the other two daughters... well, they were pretty intense. Dreyer might have given them a pa.s.s because they were too old, but I'd bet money the youngest girl's been talking. Gary himself is in total denial."

With studied casualness, Jim said, "Did you ask him the last time he was in the Park?"

Kate remained silent.

Couldn't, he thought. Couldn't bring herself to open that wound any wider. "Does Gary fly?"

"I don't think so, but I don't know for sure." The quickness of her answer told him she'd given it some thought.

"I'll check for a license. In the meantime, you ask George if he remembers ferrying Drussell in or out last fall."

She muttered a.s.sent.

"Has to be done, Kate. No matter how much it's starting to look like justifiable homicide."

"I know. I know. I just... I know."

"Yeah," he said. "Me, too."

They were sitting in glum silence when Kate looked up to see Jeffrey Clark standing at Jim's shoulder. "I talk to you?" he said.

She was almost glad to see him. "Sure," she said.

He jerked his head. "Not here."

She followed him outside.

He pulled the collar of his jacket together. "I want my brother to come home with me."

"You've made that pretty clear," she said.

"He won't come."

"Like I said before," Kate said, displaying for her a remarkable amount of patience, "that's pretty much his decision to make."

He spoke with a kind of dogged persistence that she had to admire. "I want you to help me to convince him that it's the right thing for him to do."

Kate did sigh this time. She hated having to repeat herself. "First of all, Bobby is a grown man. He's kind of already got his pa.s.s/fail in Living 101. Second, he's my best friend, and the surest way I know to screw that up is to start telling him how to live his life. Third? I don't know that his going home is the right thing to do."

He glared at her. "Our father is dying."

"I know the story," she said, holding up a hand to stem the tide. "Spare me the lecture. Tell me something. Why do you really want Bobby to go home again?" Again, she held up a hand. "No. I want the real reason. From anything Bobby's told me, your father has been pretty hard-nosed all his life, with fixed notions about right and wrong. Bobby screwed up and your father didn't just turn his back on him, he condemned him out of hand at Sunday-go-to-meeting in front of all your neighbors and friends. You were there, weren't you? You saw and heard it?"

He looked away, face set in stubborn lines. "Yes."

"Well, then."

"He has to forgive him."

"Why?"

"Because my father's not dying easy," Jeffrey said heavily. "I've been calling home every day. He's calling for Robert. It's all he can think about. He wants him to come home. He needs him to come home."

She examined him long enough for him to begin to look uncomfortable. He might even have squirmed.

"What?" he said, defensive now.

"That's the first time I've heard you sound like a human being, with all our faults and frailties," she said.

He stiffened.

"Oh, lose the att.i.tude," she said, exasperated. "Swear to Christ, if I didn't believe my own eyes I wouldn't think you were in any way related to Bobby."

Taken aback, he said, "I beg your pardon?"

"So Bobby married a white woman," she said, "so what? So he's best buds with a Native woman, and he's friendly with more, and a bunch of white folks besides. I don't know that you've noticed, Jeffrey, but this ain't Tennessee. It's a lot bigger, and with way fewer people. It gives us a lot of freedom and a lot of autonomy, and at the same time draws us closer together, no matter who we are or where we come from."

She paused for breath, and went on in a milder tone. "The Park has a way of weeding out the unfit. Bobby fits. He always has. Because it's not what you're used to doesn't make it not his home. Okay," she added, "I know there's like a triple negative in there somewhere, but you've been here what, a week now? You've had time to see that-well, h.e.l.l." She turned to go back inside. Over her shoulder she said, "Bobby's found a place he loves that loves him back. Near as I can make out, he's been looking for that place ever since your father booted him out."

"He didn't boot him out! Robert ran away!"

She thought of Johnny. "In this case, Jeffrey, I don't see the difference."

"Everything okay?" Jim said as she slid back onto her stool.

"No," she said.

"You think Bobby should go home?"

She curved her hand around a now cool mug. "I keep thinking about Emaa," she said.

"Your grandmother?"

"Yeah. I was angry at her for a long time. We were just starting to work things out when she died. I have some regrets."

" 'Remorse is the ultimate in self-abuse," " Jim said.

"Who said that?"

"Travis McGee."

She couldn't help the grin. "And a better detective than you or I'll ever be, Chopin."

"One of your greater twentieth-century philosophers," he agreed. "You know what they say about hindsight."

He was trying to comfort her in that ham-handed way men do, and she was a little touched. "It's okay, really. But Bobby, at the very least, needs to say good-bye. From what Jeffrey says, it doesn't sound like he's got a lot of time left to get it done."

"Not your problem," he said tentatively.

She fixed him with a steady look. "Like h.e.l.l it isn't. What kind of friend am I if I see him in trouble and I don't try to help?"

"Depends on if he wants you to, I would think."

"And you would think wrong."

"Okay," he said, "obviously not an argument I'm destined to win. Besides, I think you're probably right. There'll be an unsaid good-bye hanging out there until the end of his life if he doesn't."

"If it was your father?" Kate said.

"I'd go home, make my obeisance. I don't know that my father would notice, but I'd be doing it more for me than for him anyway."

And Kate had thought her relations.h.i.+p with her grandmother was complicated. Men and their fathers raised an appreciation of the word dysfunctional to a whole new level.

For a long time she'd felt suffocated by Emaa's expectations. The bloodlines that tied her to the Park were tenacious to the point of strangulation. You can't choose your relatives, as the old saw went, but she wondered now, why not? Why not walk away, as Bobby had, and build your own from scratch in a place where no one knew you and you had no history? Why not start a family the same way, from the ground up, gathering together people you liked and respected and learned to cherish? What was so awful G.o.dd.a.m.ned special about blood, anyway?

"Kate," Jim said, waving a hand in front of her face.

"Huh?" She recollected herself. "Oh. Sorry. What?"

"Want to take a look at the site?"

He was referring to the acre of ground next to the Niniltna Native a.s.sociation building that the state had acquired at an almost but not quite extortionate price, upon which the ground was even then being prepared for Jim's new post.

"Sure." She'd stayed as far away from the whole trooper post thing as she could get all winter long, but Jim was going to be in a good position to throw work her way. The homestead was hers outright, along with the buildings and tools and vehicles. She owed no one any money, and she'd always been able to feed and clothe herself off the money she made from odd jobs in the Park, from fis.h.i.+ng to mining to guiding. But she had Johnny to think of now, and the memory of Jane's words. J won't pay you a dime in child support. won't pay you a dime in child support. Personal angle aside, she had good cause to stay on Trooper Chopin's good side. Personal angle aside, she had good cause to stay on Trooper Chopin's good side.

The trouble was, she had a sinking feeling she wasn't going to be able to leave out the personal angle anytime soon. Kate Shugak's life's work was spent searching for truth, and it was therefore folly for her to ignore a home truth staring her in the face. Something was going on between her and the big trooper. She didn't know what, exactly, and she didn't know if it was bad or good, but it was past time she admitted it was there.

She followed the white Chevy Crew Cab up the hill and parked behind it. They walked across the road and looked at the site, which to his faint surprise showed signs of industry in the form of a completed cinder block foundation. "All you need is some lumber and the framers," Kate said, "and you'll have yourself a post." She looked at him. "Know where you're going to live yet?"

"Figured I'd build."

"Got your eye on some land?"

"I talked to Billy, and Ruthe. She says she might carve off a slice along the river edge of John Letourneau's place for me. So long as it reverts back to the Kanuyaq Land Trust upon my death."

Kate grinned. "I love Ruthe Bauman. You always know where you stand with Ruthe."