Bitter Creek (19 page)

Chapter 37

Bart SAT AT THE CONTROLS
of the backhoe. The feet had been set out, the cylinders extended, the steel shoes sat hard on the ground.

The big-toothed bucket dug back toward the bank.

Bart lifted the bucket, swung it behind him, dumped its load.

Du Pré waved. He was sitting on the edge of the flat, feet on the slumped rubble that filled the old channel.

Bart dug as far as he could reach the bucket, a level down.

Du Pré looked at him, stuck his thumb up.

Bart set the bucket's teeth against the fill two feet below the first bite.

He dug and dug, cleared another two feet.

… this where a wagon could be pulled up easiest … Du Pré thought.

A young man in shorts with a lot of pockets on them, and a shirt with a sun cape sewed into the yoke, and a cap with a very long bill looked at the cleared place. He held up a hand. He stepped to the spot he was staring at, lifted up a piece of brownish rubble. “OK,” he said, “metatarsal, definitely human. …”

He pulled a whisk broom from one of the pockets and he swept hard.

A whitish oval appeared.

“Skull,” he said. “This is the place.”

Bart pulled the bucket back, set the boom vertically, shut off the engine.

“You were right,” said Bart.

The man with the broom whistled, swept.

“Two of them,” he said, holding up two small brown pieces of bone, “means two people. Each of us has only one of those. …”

“How old are these?” said Bart,

“Century …” said the young man. “I'd have to run some lab work to be sure, absolutely, but I'd say a century, no more than that. …”

“What will you need?” said Bart.

“As an academic,” said the man, “I always need money. Hire a few of my grad students at some pitiful wage, set up a camp … I'd say six others and me. There isn't that much overburden here. It's a grave, not a camp. Pretty straightforward, actually. … Maybe, fifty thousand?”

“If the bones are reassembled,” said Bart, “I mean, not all mixed up. …”

“Tagged and bagged,” said the young professor. “Great teaching setup. I should get a couple of articles out of it, too. …”

Bart and Du Pré walked toward the hauler that the backhoe traveled on. Little Bill was sitting on the trailer, drinking coffee.

“You have time to stay and take the top off this for him?” said Bart.

“Sure,” said Little Bill.

“Good,” said Bart. “If I stay, the cost will go up every three hours. Give the bastards a check and they think you're good for an endowed chair if they whine enough. …”

He and Du Pré walked to the SUV.

“Chappie and the Macatee woman are off safe from her louse of a husband until she's divorced his ass,” said Bart. “La Salle is in DC, so is my lovely wife, and I want to go and see her. …”

“Yah,” said Du Pré.

“So I am going home,” said Bart, “and then get on a plane. I have such interesting times with you, Du Pré. …”

Du Pré nodded.

“So we've found the Métis who were slaughtered. Lily Hoeft is in jail, for killing young Patchen. She may have poisoned Jackson Pardoe, too. Do we know why?” said Bart.

Du Pré shook his head.

“This all seemed to be straightforward,” said Bart. “And now none of it is. …”

Du Pré laughed. “You got people in it, never is,” he said.

“I'll drop you at your ancient cruiser,” said Bart. “And if you ever need to burn another one to cover your tracks, remember I have two more. …”

“Yah,” said Du Pré.

Bart shook his head. “It's all so strange. The woman who claimed to be the little girl who survived all this turns out to be a fraud. …”

“Yah,” said Du Pré, “people do that, they become other people, they don't like themselves. …”

“I did that,” said Bart. “Didn't like myself much. …”

“Not fraud, though,” said Du Pré.

Bart snorted.

They got in and Bart drove up to the gate.

Rudabaugh was parked there, out on the road, waiting.

Du Pré opened the gate and Bart drove through, turned right, honked the horn, speeded up.

Du Pré started his cruiser, pulled it out, parked behind Rudabaugh, closed the gate. When he turned, the huge sheriff was standing there, chewing a toothpick.

“Got it all figured out yet?” he said. He was poker faced.

Du Pré shook his head.

Rudabaugh sat on the rear bumper of his sheriff's SUV. The springs sagged under his weight.

“They done took Lily Hoeft off to Warm Springs, where I expect she will be for some time. She was crazy enough before she started killin' people and now 'bout all she says is ‘He was a great man! He was a great man!' She'd make a good Baptist, she changed the words to the song a little. …” said Rudabaugh. “I s'ppose I am grateful she didn't spike up the chow up at the roadhouse with thallium. Kill us all. Damnit, now I got no place to eat. …”

Du Pré nodded.

“Somebody will buy it, open it again,” he said.

“But not by suppertime,” said Rudabaugh. “I suppose I can live on beans for a few years. Mebbe I will just waste away. …”

He looked down at his big belly.

“But not fer a while,” he said. “Now, Mister Du Pré, did you find them people?”

Du Pré nodded.

“Anthropologist, he will bring his students here, collect the bones,” he said.

“Feller in the shorts with the pockets?” said Rudabaugh.

Du Pré nodded.

“Had another one here lookin' fer dinosaurs,” said Rudabaugh. “We prayed a lot and damned if he didn't find none. Lucky that time, not this one. …”

Du Pré laughed.

“My granddad come here, 1920,” said Rudabaugh. “It happened to be rainin' then more'n usual, lot of folks come, rains quit, they left. Old man Hoeft was alive, Grandad knew him, my pa worked for him. The story about them Indians gettin' slaughtered was around, but folks didn't mention it to Hoeft. …”

Du Pré nodded.

“But folks definitely knew about it,” said Rudabaugh. “An' Elizabeth Rhodes Pardoe, I knew her, too. I was a kid. Lovely woman. Always seemed to have a small smile on her face. One of them women is beautiful when she is old, too. … She used to ride a horse out here, sidesaddle. She was a good rider. …”

“She lived over there,” said Du Pré.

“She did,” said Rudabaugh. “Lived alone mostly. Had a couple of hands, with her for years. Buffalo and Blackie, they was called. They'd git drunked up and land in the sidebar hotel and she'd come in Monday and put up the fines. Them boys always drunk up their pay 'fore they got arrested so they wouldn't have to waste it on the court, you see. …”

Du Pré nodded.

“Old Man Hoeft,” said Rudabaugh, “he was one of them come early and held on, and one time I heard it said he owned damn near this whole county and half the next one over. Those old boys was another sort of critter. …”

Du Pré nodded.

“He had three wives,” said Rudabaugh, “old Hoeft. First one he had a family, she died birthin' a baby. Married again and had him another family. …”

Du Pré looked at him.

“Hoeft had bad luck with his kids, “said Rudabaugh, “and wives. They tended to die young. Last wife he married when he was about seventy and she was twenty-five. Had two more kids, one boy, one girl. …”

“Girl was Lily Hoeft's great-aunt,” said Rudabaugh.

Du Pré nodded.

Rudabaugh got up. He went to the front of his SUV and he opened the door. He pulled out a brown paper sack and took from it a photograph of a young woman.

He handed it and the sack to Du Pré.

“Hoeft's youngest daughter lives in Seattle,” said Rudabaugh. “Address's there, I writ it on the bag. … Hoeft's third wife and him was only married about eight, ten years, the old bastard died. Last wife left with the kids. The boy come back, ranched some, but the girl never did. …”

Du Pré nodded.

“I don't got the time myself,” said Rudabaugh, “and I don't like Seattle. It's wet, and I am afraid of rust. …”

Chapter 38

DU PRÉ AND LA SALLE
and Chappie and Eleanor stood back away from the family and friends at the gravesite. The grass under their feet was thick and freshly cut.

The minister blessed the handful of earth he held and then he sprinkled it on the coffin, set down in the hole. They all murmured the rest of the service. La Salle and Chappie were in dress uniforms. Du Pré and Eleanor wore dark clothes.

A tall woman, wearing black and a gauzy veil walked past them. She stopped and turned. “You must be John's friends from Montana,” she said. “We are having some people over, please come, just follow us. …” She walked away, erect, majestic.

Du Pré and the others walked to a rented sedan painted with an odd finish that changed colors depending on how the light hit it. They all got in, La Salle at the wheel.

It was hot and very humid.

… it is so green here … Du Pré thought … the forests are so thick …

La Salle waited for the short line of black limousines to pass, followed by those cars behind with their headlights on, and then he pulled in behind them.

It was not very far to the house, a two-story Georgian set well back from the street. The driveway was full, so La Salle parked out on the street and they walked up the drive.

A young woman, perhaps fifteen, opened the door for them. She looked lost. “Come in,” she said, and then tears welled in her eyes.

“Cat,” said a young man, who looked like her older brother. “Come on, it will get better. …” And he hugged her. He smiled and nodded toward the back of the house.

In the great room, a table held food, another drinks, and men and women were pouring one another glasses of wine or mixing cocktails. The tall woman who had invited them had shed her hat and veil. She walked up to the four, standing out of the way. “Barbara Patchen,” she said. “John's mother. …”

La Salle took her hand.

“Jack La Salle,” he said. “And this is Chapman Placquemines, Eleanor Pardoe, and Gabriel Du Pré. …”

“Please,” said Barbara Patchen, “have something to drink. I must see to the others, but I'm so glad you came. Perhaps we could talk later. …”

“Of course,” said La Salle.

Du Pré looked out the window. There was a tent set up in the backyard, some tables. He jerked his head that way and the four of them went out the French doors, open behind them.

More people were coming through the front door.

There was another bar in the tent, and they got drinks, found a table set under a flowering tree. Hummingbirds danced in the air, dipped long beaks into the blossoms.

The girl who had been at the front door came down the steps from the patio, looked at them, cast her eyes down but came on.

She stopped in front of Chappie.

“What was my brother doing in Montana?” she said. “I don't understand.”

Chappie stood up, but couldn't find any words.

“He was trying to do the right thing for some people,” said La Salle. “He was trying very hard.”

Chappie got a chair for the girl.

She sat down.

“I mean, he was wounded so badly in Iraq,” she said. “Why … ?” And her eyes filled again.

Eleanor Pardoe moved her chair close to the girl. She put her arm around her and pulled her face to her shoulder.

The girl cried, softly.

“I'm sorry,” she said, after a moment.

“It's all right,” said Eleanor, “it's all right. …”

“He came there to help me,” said Chappie, finally, “and then we were trying to do this other thing. …”

“What
other thing
?” the girl said. “Don't treat me like an idiot.”

“OK,” said Chappie, “I will tell you the whole story, but maybe we ought to go over there by ourselves.”

He waited while she rose, carried two chairs off.

He set them under some flowering lilacs, heavy with blooms.

“I can't help feeling,” said Eleanor, “that he died of my family's curse. …”

“Not your family's,” said La Salle.

“If you stay in a place like that,” said Eleanor, “maybe you deserve what you get. Look at me. I married that asshole. …” She caught herself, flushed.

“You don't have to go back there,” said La Salle.

“I wish there was something I could do here,” said Eleanor. “I feel like washing dishes. …” Then she laughed, mostly at herself.

Barbara Patchen came toward them then, carrying her grief tightly.

Du Pré rose and set down the chair he had for her. She nodded to him, sat.

“It's good of you to come, General,” she said.

“He was a good man,” said La Salle.

“His brother,” said Barbara Patchen, “is on his way to Iraq. We are a military family, General. …”

Du Pré wandered away.

La Salle and Barbara Patchen put their heads close together.

… I wish that I was home … Du Pré thought. … I wish we could go now …

He went into the house, found a bathroom, used it, went back out. There were a few people in a side room, a music room, which had a tall vaulted ceiling. There was a grand piano, some electronic equipment, a cello sitting in a stand.

Eleanor came into the room, saw Du Pré, came over, found a place on a couch. “You are the one who always figures things out,” she said. “Have you yet?”

Du Pré shook his head.

“I had always thought Elizabeth Pardoe was a saint,” said Eleanor, “and then I find she had an out-of-wedlock child. I like her better, I think. Saints are hard people to like. …”

Du Pré laughed. “Yes,” he said, “I know one, he is very hard to like. …”

Eleanor looked at him.

“Old man I know,” he said. “Medicine person, and so he is a joker, a coyote. …”

“Coyotes,” said Eleanor. “I grew up with 'em. I've shot a bunch. I can't help but like them, though. …”

“Ver' smart, ver' tough, ver' funny,” said Du Pré.

“Don't ask for much from anybody,” said Eleanor.

“Take what they want,” said Du Pré.

Eleanor looked down at her glass. It was empty.

“I get us some more,” said Du Pré.

She nodded, hugged herself.

Du Pré made his way to the bar, looked out the window.

Chappie and Patchen's sister were talking, and so were La Salle and Barbara Patchen.

Du Pré waited until the people ahead of him mixed their drinks and went on, then he did the same.

He walked back to the music room.

“Could I have a cigarette?” said Eleanor.

Du Pré nodded. They went outside; he took his pouch from his coat pocket and he rolled a smoke for her and one for himself. He lit them both with a butane lighter.

He handed hers to her.

They smoked.

Only one or two other people were smoking, though there were two dozen people in the yard.

Eleanor sipped her drink.

“So,” she said, “let me see if I have the story down. A band of Métis are running for the border, and when the army finds out they're running, they send six troopers and a lieutenant after them. So they weren't expecting trouble. …”

Du Pré nodded.

“The Métis are hungry, they shoot a steer and butcher it out and eat it. …” said Eleanor.

Du Pré nodded.

“It was one of Hoeft's steers,” she said, “so he blows up and gets a lot of people together and they kill all the M
étis.
…”

Du Pré nodded.

“No. It doesn't make any sense,” said Eleanor. “It was January. Any steers out there would have been missed in the roundup. Hoeft would have had no way of
knowing
they killed and ate one of his damned cattle. …”

Du Pré looked at her.

“It doesn't make any sense,” said Eleanor. She drank more of her drink.

Chappie and La Salle came in.

“We go now,” said Du Pré.

Eleanor stood up.

“It doesn't make any sense,” she said. She shook her head.

They went out to the rental sedan.