Blood Country (14 page)

“I see that.”

“I’m up here by myself now, you know.”

“No, I didn’t know that.”

“My husband passed away nearly five years ago. I got Sheriff two weeks later. Couldn’t stand to be alone.”

“I know how you feel. My husband died about a year ago.” When the words came out of her mouth, Claire couldn’t believe it. She had never volunteered that information before. Maybe it was about time she did.

“I’m so sorry. A young woman like you. That’s horrible.” Mrs. Langston motioned her through the door. “You’re in luck. I just put some water on for tea and I baked some brownies this morning.”

Claire followed her into a sunny kitchen. A round oak table sat right under a bay of windows that overlooked the lake. A collection of salt and pepper shakers danced around the window ledges: shakers in the shapes of windmills, gas stations, Scottie dogs, and different kinds of fruit.

“What a wonderful collection,” Claire exclaimed.

“Oh, the kids are always finding me a new set. They’re not as discriminating as I might be. I really like the animals. This is one of my favorite sets.” She held up two skunks, their tails raised up high, with little holes in them for the condiments to come out.

When Claire sat down, she took off her hat and faced the older woman. She took a deep breath and began, “Mrs. Langston, part of the reason I stopped by today was to apologize for how my visit to your meeting the other night might have appeared.”

“Please call me Edith. You’re making me feel older than my sixty-five years. Actually I didn’t mind you being there so much, although having the police attend a meeting can be a little off-putting. It’s that Rich Haggard. He’s been against us from the beginning.” She put a cup of tea in front of Claire and set a brownie on the edge of her saucer.

Claire lifted the cup, a simple white one with a scroll of roses on it, and admired it. She brought her attention back to Edith’s statement. “How so?”

“You know, I’ve known that kid since he was born. His uncle was a strange old man, and I’ve often wondered if brain trouble doesn’t run in that family.”

“Brain trouble?”

“Oh, you know that mixed bag of depression, schizophrenia, whatever. All the people in Rich’s family just seem to think too much.”

“That’s not always a bad thing.” Claire sniffed the tea—the faint smell of jasmine—and took a sip.

“No, but I’ve not often been on the right side of any one of them, and they’re horrible enemies.”

Claire almost spit out the tea in her mouth as she laughed. ‘Well, that’s certainly something to hold against them.”

“They’ve always been the outcasts down here. Never fit in, never mingled much. Didn’t help any that the Haggards were something like Scotch-English and Catholic to boot.”

“What are you?”

“Well, I’m Swedish. My husband was French and German. Mostly German. Lutheran, so that was okay.” Edith sat down across from Claire and tapped her on the hand. “I helped form the Landowners of America group because of the strong connection I feel to this place. We in the group love this land. We don’t need the government to step in and tell us how to treat it My grandparents came here from Sweden. They traveled up the Mississippi by riverboat. Landed on the shore of Lake Pepin and claimed this land right here for their farm. We’ve been here since the beginning.”

Claire supressed the urge to mention the Chippewa who had camped probably right where this house sat. “I would like to ask you some questions about your organization and this proposed development.”

“Ask away.”

“How far along are plans for this development?”

“You’ve seen the map. We’ve contacted a terrific developer in Minnesota who’s done a contingency plan for us. He thinks we’ve got a very viable project here, and he’s contacting some investors to come and meet with us.”

“The development would involve a huge parcel of your own land. How do you feel about that?”

“When my husband died, he didn’t leave me any money. Everything we had, we put into the farm to keep it going. He always said to me, ‘Edith, the land is our nest egg.’ I want to retire too. I’m tired of worrying about getting the crops in. If this development goes through, it will bring in enough money to set me up for the rest of my long life. Who knows, I might live to be ninety-nine like my grandmother, Olga Swenson.”

“How are Darla and Fred Anderson involved with the development?”

Edith stood up and bustled around the kitchen. “You can’t keep Fred out of anything. He thinks he knows it all.”

“Have they put any money in?”

“Not money.”

“What about Landers? Had he been approached to sell his land?”

“Of course. If you looked at that map the other night, you couldn’t help notice that the whole development borders on his land. To incorporate that ten-acre chunk into our plans would be wonderful. But Landers wasn’t interested.”

“Who contacted him?”

When Edith didn’t answer, Claire prompted her. “Was it Ted Brown who called Landers?”

“Yes, I think so.” Edith appeared distracted.

“Who is he?”

“Just one of our major investors. He’s been coming down to this area for a long time, picking up small parcels of land and holding on to them. He’s ready to make his fortune.”

“I hope not at anyone’s expense,” Claire said. “Was that frustrating to you when Landers didn’t want to sell?”

“I didn’t see it that way. I’m doing this because I think it will be good for the community. I thought that if Landers could have that explained to him, it might change his mind. If not, I thought maybe Darla could persuade him.”

Claire sat puzzled. Of all the people she might pick to persuade Landers of something, Darla would be the last. “Darla?”

“Yes, they go way back.”

“But they don’t like each other.”

“Well, they did. They were going out before Landers left and joined the marines. In fact, Darla and Landers were engaged to be married. Then the war broke out and he left, and she married Fred.”

Not knowing what to say to that, Claire reached into her pocket and pulled out the bag containing the burned glove. “The other night at the meeting, you burned an effigy of a DNR man. People put things into the fire. This was one of the items burned. Our forensic lab has matched it to a glove of Landers Anderson’s.”

Edith Langston stood up and patted her hair. Instead of looking closer at the glove, she pulled back and walked to the window. “I know nothing about that glove. If you’re looking for a connection between Landers’ land and his death, I think you should look at the man you were sitting next to the other night. Rich Haggard wants that land as badly as anyone.”

16

T
he sun drifted down through the shaking branches and spread over her legs. Meg had her feet stretched out in front of her. The warmth felt good. Only one more month of school, then she got to play all summer long.

From her fort halfway up the bluff, Meg could see the valley and watch everyone come and go on the tarred roads by her house. She saw the red car pull up in her driveway and Bruce get out. He hadn’t come over in a long time. Her mom spent too much time alone. Maybe Bruce would make her feel better. Meg liked Bruce because he was from the time of her life before her dad died. He knew her dad, and he always made a point to talk to her. And her mom liked him. Meg ducked under the lookout branch and snuggled down into the old leaves with her dolls.

Mom didn’t know she had brought her two dolls up here. Mom didn’t know about the fort. No one did. Meg knew inside of herself that she needed this to be a secret. If you had a secret, it gave you power. Her two dolls were a boy and a girl. They were pioneers and very brave. Every day they had new adventures, most of them involved with being lost in the woods and having to survive. Meg gathered mushrooms for them, and berries. Twigs served as utensils, the cap of an acorn was a cup, and the acorn itself was a very good source of food. Meg had read that the Indians pounded it into flour and made pancakes out of it. She had tasted an acorn once, and it was very bitter. It made her mouth pucker up.

Sometimes she pretended that the boy doll was her dad. She would be the girl doll, and they would simply go for a walk in the woods. Nothing scary would happen. It was quiet, and she could be with her dad for a while, tell him about school.

Today, she was playing that the boy doll was his usual self. His name was Jared. She liked that name. It sounded tough. The girl doll’s name was Felicity. Such a pretty name. It had loops in the sound of it. Jared and Felicity had gone on a hike and had gotten lost. A snowstorm was coming. They were making a shelter in the trunk of an oak tree; out of the leaves, they formed a nest. Landers had told her mom that oak leaves were the best for insulation because they didn’t mush down. They kept their shape and held in pockets of warmth.

The thought of Landers popped into her mind again. She could see him stretched out on the ground. Sometimes, at school, the kids asked her where her dad was. She simply said he was gone. That usually did the trick. Quite a few kids didn’t have dads. Their parents were divorced. She poked her head and looked back down at the car. Bruce was walking toward the house. She wondered if she’d ever have a dad again.

C
LAIRE LOOKED OUT
the window and saw Bruce pull up. He leaned out of the car and then stood up. He looked big down here. Out of context. His suitcoat flapped in the wind. He buttoned it like he was on official business and headed toward the house. She wiped her hands off. He had caught her doing the dishes. She tapped the window, and he looked up. She waved and then headed to the door to greet him.

“Hey, good looking.” He smiled and patted her shoulder, but kept his distance.

“Hey, big guy. What’s the score?” Funny how the old patter came back automatically. During the years they had worked together, she had spent much more time with him than her husband. Pity, that.

“I’m afraid ten to nothing, and the bad guys are winning.”

Claire backed up and invited him in. “So I gather. I hate to hear it. Down here in this part of the country, a speeding ticket is nearly as bad as it gets.”

“You did just have a murder across the street. You need to fill me in on that. Haven’t heard how it’s going.”

“You off duty?”

“Way off duty.”

That, at least, was a good sign. As he unbuttoned his suitcoat, she asked, “Can I offer you a beer?”

“If you didn’t, I’d have to root around in your fridge until I found one.”

She laughed as she opened the refrigerator door. “Then you might stumble on some pretty creepy things in there. Long-forgotten casserole.” She handed him a Leinenkugel and pulled one out for herself.

“Where’s Meg?” he asked.

“She’s out playing.”

“Alone?”

She heard the sharp tone in his voice. He was a city cop; he didn’t know how easy life could be in a small town. “Yes, Bruce, this is the country. She’s perfectly safe. She plays close by. I told her she can’t go out of voice range.”

“And with your holler, that could stretch pretty far.” He gave her a quick smile, and they clinked beer bottles.

They sat down at the table in the kitchen, and Bruce shrugged out of his suitcoat. Underneath, his sleeves were already rolled up. He looked tired to Claire. Working too hard and not having much fun. Poor guy. Claire liked seeing him sitting there. Felt good to have a man in the house. End of the day. Talking over what happened. She missed the check-in, she missed having an adult in her life.

His brown eyes looked over at her, and his face broke into a smile. “I’m glad to see you.”

“Yeah, you haven’t been down here since the end of last summer, when you helped me move in.”

“Not because of me.”

“No, I know.” Claire sipped her beer and then shook her head as if a fly were bothering her. “So what do we need to talk about?”

“Well, I’ve been thinking about what you told me about Meg seeing this guy. And aside from wondering why I didn’t hear this nine months ago, which I kind of know why I didn’t, I’m wondering, what do we do with this information now?”

Claire let her head fall forward. She didn’t know what to tell him.

“This could get us to reopen the case in a big way.”

Claire felt the hair on the back of her neck climbing into her scalp. “What if we just say that someone saw the guy and hint that it was a neighbor?”

“Might work.”

“I don’t want Meg involved in this. I don’t want anyone to know she knows anything. Understood?”

“Of course. Do you think we could get her to talk to an artist and describe the guy so we could circulate something?”

“Yeah, maybe that would work.”

Bruce slammed down his bottle of beer. “You can’t have it both ways, Claire. You can’t completely protect your daughter and still get the guys who did this.”

Claire stood up and yelled down at him. She found it helped to be taller than Bruce once in a while. “Why not? Why can’t I be both a cop and a mom?”

“Okay, all right. We can try to keep a lid on this. But if you want anything to move forward on this case, you’ve got to give us something.”

“Let me think about.”

Bruce set down his beer bottle and shoved back his chair. “Fine, think. But the trail is mighty old and cold. Don’t think too long.”

Claire sat still for a moment and then asked Bruce, “Do you think these guys are still around?”

“We hear tell of them. I think that drug gang is still operating; whether this particular guy is still with them, I haven’t a clue. Although I did get a call about a guy killing a dog in North Minneapolis, and the kid said that he thought the guy was dealing. He might have connections to the gang we’re looking for.”

“You got somebody watching him?”

“Yeah, they’re checking the license plates of the cars that visit him.”

“Sounds good. Is that what you came down to tell me?”

“Yeah, I feel like this is heating up again, and I still want you to stay way clear of the case. So say yes, I promise to stay out of it.”

Claire squirmed in her chair. “Come on. I promise. That good enough?”

“For me, yes.”

Meg came running into the house, then slowed down to a walk when she saw Bruce. She came up to the table and leaned against her mother, watching Bruce, tugging at her lower lip. Claire pressed her lips together and shook her head, signaling Bruce to keep his mouth shut.

“Hi, Meg.” Bruce lifted a big hand and gave her a small wave. He bent his head down to be closer to the girl.

Claire pulled Meg’s hand away from her mouth and said, “Say hi to Bruce.”

“Hi to Bruce,” Meg said and burst into giggles.

Claire tousled her hair. “You goof.” She pulled a leaf out of her hair. ‘Where have you been, my dear? Rolling around on the ground?”

“You’ve grown about three inches since I last saw you.” Bruce looked at her admiringly.

“Four,” Meg stated.

Claire nodded over her head and said, “She’s in that correcting phase. She never goes along with anything.”

“That’s not true, Mom. Sometimes I agree with you.”

“See what I mean?”

“How is school?” Bruce leaned down as if to hear her answer.

Meg cupped her hands around her mouth and shouted as if he were deaf. “School’s fine. I like it.”

“Meg, stop being a jerk. Say something nice to Bruce.”

“So are you going to stay and have dinner with us?” Meg put her hands on her hips and flirted with Bruce.

Bruce shrugged. “I don’t know. Haven’t been asked.”

Claire hugged her daughter and said, “That’d be nice. Why don’t you stay? I don’t think it will be anything fancy. Pasta and salad. That might be kinda hard on your digestion—doesn’t it require at least a hamburger a day?”

“I already ate it for lunch. I’d love to have dinner with you two charming ladies. I can’t stay too late. I’ve got a busy day tomorrow. Hey, Meg, did you see anything that day that your dad was killed?”

Meg didn’t say anything but turned her head up to look at her mom.

“You have any homework to do, Meg?”

“Just math. It’s a cinch.”

“Well, go do it.” Claire shooed her out of the room, then turned and glared at Bruce. She found she was having trouble breathing, both from fear and from anger. “Don’t push it, Bruce. Let me decide this in my own way. You know better than that.”

T
HE WOODS SHELTERED
him, cool and quiet, the way his mother’s hand had felt on his forehead when he was sick as a child. Rotting leaves smelled rich to him, like most wonderful pleasures: cigars, chocolate, a good cognac. They all had that fermenting thick taste. Rich bent and searched and found what he was looking for again and again on the forest floor. The dark sponges, like alien creatures, poked their heads up through the leaves. When his eyes became attuned to them, they appeared under logs and in low places, under his foot as he was about to put it down.

This was his treasure in the early spring; no money could buy such a luxury. He cut their stems neatly, hoping not to injure the living spore beneath them. The morels were one of the many reasons he didn’t want any more development coming in down here. Big houses, long driveways, people cutting down trees, mowing their lawns with riding lawn mowers; and with each acre they took, more of the wildness was gone.

When his bag was full, he turned back toward the road and tried not to watch the ground as carefully. He could take no more. He would come back tomorrow and gather them again.

After his long walk in the woods, Rich decided to swing by Claire’s house on his way home. He would present her with some of his bounty. A good way to begin to woo her. He would take Stuart’s advice. He would take it slow. He would simply be friendly and stop in from time to time. The same way he had tamed the little sparrow hawk he had caught one spring when he was thirteen. Consistent and calm, he worked on that bird, bringing it food. He laughed when he thought of that. Yes, he would feed Claire. Goodies from the woods. Veggies from his garden—the asparagus would be pushing up soon. Pheasants when they were mature. Then, one night, he would invite her for a meal. He was a good cook. He would ply her with delicacies. She would fall into his arms.