A Far Gone Night (33 page)

“So?” he asked, shrugging his shoulders.

“So?”

“
So
, do you accept the gift? We allow you to live, you back off completely from anything related to the sadness around Cynthia Stalking Wolf’s death, and life goes on for you and also for my employers.”

“Yes.” I’m glad he used the word “sadness” with regard to Cynthia’s murder. Otherwise, I was thinking about breaking his nose for him.

“Most excellent,” he said, coming to his feet. Gotcha growled. He looked down. “Even though your dog doesn’t like me, I confess I like her.
Substantial, intelligent, loyal.
A fine canine, Mr. O’Shea.”

I rose, keeping my shotgun in hand and walking to the front door with the man, Gotcha at my side. I was beginning to like him better than Suzanne
Highsmith
, who thought Gotcha was “icky.”

Outside, on the stoop, he turned and offered his hand. I said, “I don’t think so. No offense intended. It’s not personal.”

“Philosophical?
Ethical dilemma?”

It was my turn to laugh. He put his hand down, turned and strode away, confident in every gesture, called out, “Merry Christmas, Mr. O’Shea!” got in his super-duper sedan, and drove away and down my drive, beeping his horn once.
Nice touch.
I noticed that the Mercedes had Minnesota plates.
Of course.

I found myself relaxing, not realizing how I had been tensing my neck and back muscles. It felt good to breathe a deep breath. I closed the door and went back to my recliner. Gotcha flopped down at my side and I said to her, “You booger. You’re the best.”

She wiggled her root.

I sat there for a while, realizing that, truly, the man’s employers had given me a gift. And I was grateful, to be candid. They had given me a gift, but they had received something in return, being spared the wrath of Clancy Dominguez and his associates who would cut off the head of the snake, and then the rest of it, too, piece by piece. Clancy and I owed each other our lives. I wondered if I would ever see him again, made up my mind that I would, and headed for the gym after giving my Bulldog a jumbo Milk Bone, just for being discerning.

F
or a small town, little more than a village, an astounding number of Christmas parties emerged that week before Christmas. I was invited to, and accepted invitations for, parties at Mike
Mulelhoff’s
, The Grain o’ Truth Bar & Grill, and, on Christmas Eve, the
Heisler’s
. I turned down an offer to engage in festivities at
Shlop’s
Roadhouse (courtesy of
Bunza
).
So tempting.

The party at Mike and Gabby
Mulehoff’s
stone house was for the members of his Men’s Bible Study group and their wives, plus a few others I got to know over several cups of Mike’s high-octane eggnog. Harmon Payne was there and we exchanged a few pleasantries over the soft background of Christmas carols, both Christian and secular. His countenance was better than I had seen it since I found Cindy Stalking Wolf in the Whitetail River. He seemed resigned to the fact that there just might not be closure on the case, and that he had not been successful in arresting and convicting the
perps
. I told him the Iowa Major Crimes Unit had been unsuccessful, too, and that seemed to assuage his guilt. He left early. I felt no compunction to tell him the truth.

After being as outgoing as I am capable, which included speaking briefly yet personally with everyone at the party and complementing Gabby on her heavy hors d'oeuvres, I left, taking with me a substantial paper bag filled with samples of her cooking. Gotcha enjoyed her share shortly after I got home and poured myself a glass of pinot
grigio
.

Two days later Lunatic Mooning closed down The Grain early, an action announced in advance by word of mouth and also a notice taped to his front door for a week preceding. At 9 PM, only his closest friends were inside. The
Mulehoff’s
, Julie and Gunther Schmidt, Clara and
Arvid
Pendergast
, the
Heislers
, Harvey
Goodell
, owner of the
Rockbluff
Motel, and Rachel Bergman were all in attendance. Liv Olson was my guest, and we showed up at precisely nine, just a few minutes before Harmon Payne arrived with his date—Suzanne
Highsmith
.

As soon as they were inside and had shed their coats, Harmon strode over to Moon and shook his hand and engaged in a conversation. Suzanne, wearing a scoop-neck sweater that revealed enough cleavage to spur apoplexy in every man there, rushed over to me, threw her arms around my neck, and before I could resist, planted a hot kiss on my mouth, the tip of her tongue gliding quickly along my lower lip.

She pushed back from her hearty clinch and said, “Merry Christmas, Thomas! You sure can kiss!”

I smiled politely and said nothing, glancing in Liv’s direction. She did not look pleased, but her eyes were daggered in Suzanne’s direction, not mine. The Queen of Jiggle then left me, fastened herself to Harmon’s arm, and gazed up at him in total devotion as he continued his conversation with Moon, who let his eyes drift briefly from Harmon’s face.

It was a good party.
Plenty of hot food, cold drinks, and timely music in the background.
Burl Ives was singing, “A Holly Jolly Christmas,” followed by several other secular classics of the season, including “All I Want for Christmas is My Two Front Teeth,” by Spike Jones and his City Slickers, and that
Anishinabe
favorite, “I
Yust
Go Nuts at Christmas,” by Yogi
Jorgesson
. Elvis, Brenda Lee and The Chipmunks all contributed to a vast array of seasonal delights. As the night wore on, a few of us danced slow dances, and then it was time to leave. Moon would close down The Grain for four days beginning tomorrow, a Thursday, with Christmas on Saturday.

I walked Liv home through the cold, dark night as a light snow dusted the village. When we crossed the bridge over the Whitetail River, we held hands tighter and kept our eyes straight ahead. Or at least, Liv did. I was able to get away with a quick glance on either side. At her front door, she asked me if I’d like to come in for the night, but I hadn’t made arrangements for Gotcha, so I had to turn down the offer. I countered with an offer to have her come sleep with me at my place, but she hadn’t made arrangements for Milton, which made me wonder briefly why neither one of us had been anticipatory and made such arrangements.

I did step inside for a few minutes, however, and what ensued reminded me of a joke told to me by a Baptist down in
Belue
, Georgia. He said the question was, why do Baptists frown on making love standing up, and the answer was that it looked too much like dancing. When we had calmed down and stepped back, I told Liv the joke. She laughed and
laughed,
a wonderful sound. Then we kissed goodnight and said sweet things to each other that we both meant, and I went on home.

Between Moon’s party and the
Heisler
soiree, Gotcha and I made a side trip to Iowa City to do a little Christmas shopping, choosing to go out of town because some gifts need to be kept quiet, and I’m confident anything I bought in
Rockbluff
would be on the evening news that night. I bought a gift for Liv, an action toy and a stuffed animal for the
Heisler
children, and a small nativity scene carved by hand out of olive wood from Israel, that for the
Heislers
.

Gotcha and I both enjoyed the outing, she got some extra adoration from a few more students staying over in town through the holidays, and we both enjoyed a good bit of exercise walking around the campus and downtown. Two of the stores had clerks who raised eyebrows when I brought Gotcha inside with me, but said nothing. The others shook their heads and Gotcha was forced to sit and wait by the front door, frightening away customers who knew nothing about the breed. On the way home we drove through a light snowfall that was more poetry than problem.

On Christmas Eve, I showed up at 7 PM at the
Heisler’s
big stone manse behind Christ the King Church. There were Christmas lights outlining the front door, electric candles in every window, and a Christmas tree prominently displayed in the front living room window. Liv was already there, having volunteered to help Molly prepare whatever needed to be prepared.

I noticed no other cars in the four-car parking area in front of their house except the two
Heisler
vehicles. Liv’s yellow Subaru was absent. Then I remembered her telling me that Molly was going to pick her up, and she’d have to beg a ride home from me. A setup if there ever was one, but a setup I embraced.

I parked and got out. I had not asked who else was coming to the party, once being told that it was poor form to do so when invited to a gathering at someone’s home. I had assumed there would be a group, but I was wrong. I gathered up my professionally-wrapped gifts and withdrew from my truck and turned toward the
Heisler’s
residence.

Molly greeted me at the front door, ushered me in, gushed over the gifts, and put their packages under the tree. Carl appeared shortly after with Liv in tow. He shook my hand and Liv embraced me while avoiding my rapidly-healing bullet wounds, kissing my ear and whispering, “It’s a blessing to behold you, Thomas.” Someday, when a woman winks at me, pats me on the butt, and says, “It’s a blessing to behold you, Thomas,” I’ll turn toes up and move directly into a state of ecstasy.

The evening went well. Carl hustled their children off to bed with a promise of telling them a story. We enjoyed a fine dinner of Cornish hen, two casseroles, kale salad with bits of bacon, cold glasses of a Chilean Chardonnay, and French vanilla ice cream on top of hefty slices of mince pie for dessert. Afterwards, we adjourned to the living room with more wine and conversation.

We talked about the unsolved murder of Moon’s niece, Suzanne
Highsmith’s
appearance in town, Ernie and Jan from
Belue
, and the Hawkeyes’ basketball season so far. We also talked about Christmas, and the real gift involved in the holiday. Then Carl got up from his wing chair, stooped down at the Christmas tree, and pulled out a bright, shiny red package with a green ribbon. “It’s for you, Thomas, with our love. Please open it.”

Always uncomfortable opening gifts in the presence of the givers, I proceeded to
unwrap
the package. I could tell it was a book. “Is this that book on men’s makeup I’ve been talking about?” I asked.

There were short chuckles. Liv shook her head slowly and smiled at me. “Oh, Thomas” was all she said, but her voice tone and expression spoke much more and I felt warm and loved.

It was a book about the history of Hawkeye sports teams. “Thank you!” I said, “And what a relief. I was afraid it would be some deep, theological tome by someone I had never heard of but an author you were familiar with from childhood. Thanks again!” I said.

“I’ll give you your gift. Later,” Olivia said. Carl wiggled his eyebrows rapidly and Molly just smiled.

“It’s been a wonderful evening, you guys,” I said, “but I’m eager to see what Liv has for me, so I guess we need to be on our way. Don’t want to overstay our welcome.”

“You can’t do that with us, Thomas,” Carl said.

“Maybe not, but you haven’t seen me in the morning,” I replied.

“But I…” Liv started to say, caught herself, restarted, “but I don’t think we should test it,” she said. I was impressed with her recovery that fooled no one.

We said our good nights, sleep
wells,
and Merry Christmases and made our way to the truck. I helped Liv inside, went around and got in, and started the engine. She scooted over, leaned across the console, and kissed me full on the mouth. It was a wonderful kiss, sensuous, warm,
slightly
eager. I kissed her back, with feeling.

“Now, wasn’t that better than Suzanne
Highsmith’s
kiss?” she asked, a tease in her voice. She sat back and let her left hand rest high up on my right thigh.

“No comparison, but you understand that I didn’t kiss Suzanne. She kissed me. And I did not kiss her back.”

“I’ll bet Harmon kissed more than her back later that night.”

“I hope he understands that she’s only coming on to him because she wants to squeeze information for her next book,” I said, backing out of my parking place, turning the truck, and driving on out to the street.

“I’m sure he does. He is not stupid. But she needs to understand that her, um,
enticements
will not bear fruit. He won’t divulge anything. I think he’s probably recommitted to going by the book. I
know
he is. He’s that kind of man.”

“I agree.”

I drove slowly up the street from Christ the King, passing the bridge on my right, then on up the street after a left turn right after we passed Blossom’s Bistro, closed for the night. I parked in front of Liv’s house and cut the engine and doused the headlights.

“Would you like to come in for a nightcap?”

“I thought you’d never ask.”

Inside, Milton came up and sniffed my pant leg. He was wagging his tail now that we were friends. Liv walked with him to the back door, let him out, waited for a minute, let him in, and secured him in his crate. She gave him a treat and rejoined me in the living room. We sat on her sofa, Olivia to my right, where our affair had begun over a year ago.
And died shortly after that.
A single Craftsman stained glass lamp was the only illumination in the room resulting in a soft, dim, roseate glow to our evening.

I was holding the ring box in my hand. It was black velvet on the outside and had a tiny red bow. Olivia saw it and stared. Then she looked at me and there were tears in her eyes.

“Don’t jump to conclusions, Liv. It’s not my high school ring and I’m not going to ask you to go steady. But I am going to ask you a question, corny as it may sound when I say it.”

I had her full, moist, attention. I took her left hand in my left and said, “Ernie Timmons once said to me, after Karen died, ‘Thomas, I believe there’ll come a time when you’ll find a woman you can’t walk away from, and you will need to be with her.’ And now, Liv, although I hate to make a prophet out of Ernie, there
is
you. And I can’t walk away. I just can’t.”