Mudlark (8 page)

Ruth sighed. "I'll call the Methodists for you, if you like. Maybe they can bring you some things for the
kids."

"Yeah. Thanks."

Ruth seemed disinclined to linger, and we went back out into the storm. I was as appalled by Melanie's
resignation as by her poverty.

I turned the ignition key and the engine roared to life. "Isn't there a shelter for women like that?"

"I dunno. Kevin didn't beat her or nothing. I expect the welfare will send somebody out in a couple of
days. The trouble is, there's no work around here anymore for people like them. He don't have an education and
neither does she, and the logging's dead. My husband was a logger, made a good living at it. We raised four kids on
what he made logging and had us some good times too. Used to drive down to Reno in the camper whenever the
Forest Service closed the woods. Two of the kids went to college over to Kayport, but my oldest boy's a logger, and
he's out of work half the time."

We emerged on the county highway that ran east of the crest.

"Your man, now, he's a professor."

I said, "Jay used to be a cop. He's running a training program for police officers."

"Yeah," she said. "A professor. Does he know anything about retraining loggers and such? I tell Ben he
ought to try something else, and he keeps saying he don't know nothing else."

"I can ask, Ruth. But that woman, Melanie, needs help right now."

"Her mother will drive her in to the welfare office, and I'll call the Methodists. She'll get by for now. And
she'll get on welfare, as long as Kevin stays away from her. Could be why he left."

We stopped at two other less horrifying places and disposed of the last of the food. I asked Ruth how
she had chosen the recipients, and she shrugged.

"You live here long enough you'll get acquainted. Tom mentioned a couple of names, including
Melanie's, and I thought of a couple. I figured Clara would want to know what was happening."

I drove down the west-running road to the McKay place and parked in the driveway.

As I killed the engine, Ruth said, "Part of Melanie's problem is that no-good mother of hers. Never
taught her how to cook. Cereal, my foot. When Mel has money she feeds the kids junk food. She could save a bundle
if she'd learn to do something besides opening a can. And she ought to clean that shack up."

I wondered whether I would have the energy, had I been pregnant, penniless, and stuck in a rusting tin
trailer with two toddlers. My mother hadn't taught me to cook either.

Ruth opened the door and got out. I followed suit. The cop car was gone. So was Tom. We stood for a
while looking at the shambles of his kitchen.

Ruth heaved a sigh. "Well, I guess we've done what we can for now, honey, seeing as how the power's
still out. You go on home. Thanks for driving me."

I gave her a hug. "Don't forget your huckleberries."

Her face brightened. "I'm going make me a pie."

When I got home I noticed that Bonnie's lights were on. I ran across to her small house and
knocked.

She opened the door and gave a big smile. "Gibson came back. I put out a can of tuna, and pretty soon
there he was. Come in, Lark."

I ducked out of the rain, spraying water. Bonnie's living room, just big enough for a couch, a chair, and
the tiny franklin stove, looked as if she had already tidied it. She had built a fire in the stove.

"The real mess is in the kitchen," she called over her shoulder. "Have a chair."

I followed her instead and peered into the efficiency kitchen. Everything from the cupboards and
refrigerator had been dumped on the floor. "Ick. I just dropped over to say you'd better come to dinner." I
explained about the thawed crabs. "And I'm going to make a pot of vegetable soup. Come about six."

"Will Tom be there?"

"If he's not sitting in the county jail."

Her face clouded, and she picked up the broom and dustpan. "How likely is that? I know the cops
always look at husbands, but they haven't been married for a while. Didn't he say she remarried?"

I sighed. "I don't know anything at all, Bonnie. Come to dinner, and maybe Jay will be able to fill us in.
Or Tom."

She gave a short, sharp nod. "Okay. Now, clear out, friend. This kitchen is just big enough for me and
Gibson."

I hadn't noticed the cat. He was sitting in a basket atop the refrigerator, and he looked surly. He was a
big tabby with gray-green eyes. He glowered at me as if I were the villain who had disturbed his universe.

Freddy's Trans Am was gone, and I didn't see Matt's Pontiac in the Cramers' driveway either, so I had
no excuse not to go into my kitchen and face the crabs. I hung my sodden raingear on the coat tree and went in
search of
The Joy of Cooking
.

The Rombauers appeared to be better acquainted with Maryland blue crab than with Dungeness. The
description of what they delicately called removing the coral sounded like major surgery to me. I took a crab out
and looked at it. I won't say it looked back, but I felt a real disinclination to cut it open. Instead, I rummaged in the
cupboard for soup makings.

I had canned chicken broth and Italian plum tomatoes, garlic, onions, and a packet of wheel-shaped
pasta. With a judicious mixture of Tom's produce I could create a decent soup. There was parmesan cheese to
grate.

I called the college. Jay was in a meeting, so I left a message for him to bring home baguettes. I would
make lots of soup, and if Tom was still at liberty he could demonstrate crab-backing. If not we could eat soup. I had
forgotten to salvage a sack of huckleberries.

It was three by then. I hadn't had lunch, so I fixed a sandwich and took it upstairs in search of
Small
Victories
. I opened the curtains of our bedroom, plunked a pillow on the floor, and had a little picnic while I
watched the storm. Then I curled up on the bed with Tom's novel. I surprised myself by falling asleep in chapter
twelve.

"Must be a dull book."

I jolted awake. "Jay! What time is it?"

He bent and gave me a kiss. "Four-thirty, sleeping beauty."

I pulled him down onto the bed and undid his necktie. He always wore neckties to meetings with the
dean. "I bet you don't know how to back a crab."

"Into a corner?" He removed Tom's novel to the end table, tossed his jacket on the floor, and began
twining. The crab issue receded from my consciousness.

We went downstairs around five, languorous but freshly showered. I showed Jay a crab. He turned the
orangey-pink shell over, inspecting the pale carapace on the underside. "Beats me. I once helped a buddy clean
abalone, but I've never dealt with a crab before."

I shoved the crab back into its bag and replaced it in the fridge. "I guess I'd better start the soup. Did
you get my message?"

"About the bread? It's in the box." Our handsome old-fashioned bread box was almost the only relic of
the kitchen as it had been when we moved in.

I approved the baguettes and took cans from the cupboard. "Want a beer?"

Jay was already rummaging in the refrigerator. "Ballard Bitter or Full Sail?"

I went for Full Sail, and he opened beer while I opened cans. "Still no lights at the Cramers. I hope
Lottie's all right."

"Shall I call?" Jay set my glass on the work surface and pulled a chair from the nook.

"I left a message."

The front door opened and shut on voices. Jay and I exchanged looks. "Freddy," he said. "And
Darla."

Freddy came thumping in with his girlfriend in tow. "Hi, Jay. Where's Tom, Lark? I got the specs for the
computer."

Jay was offering Darla a choice of beer, wine, Coke, or coffee. She chose Coke and took a can for Freddy,
too.

As I put ice in their glasses, I was wondering what had provoked Darla's presence. She rarely visited,
and she treated Jay and me with polite reserve when she did. Since she was trying to dampen Freddy's ardor, I
thought that was understandable, but it didn't make for jolly spontaneity. I said hello.

She took the glasses and gave me a brief smile, then said with abrupt intensity, "Where's Tom? They
haven't arrested him yet, have they?"

I blinked. "Do you know Tom Lindquist?"

"He's my cousin."

"Good heavens."

Darla was one hundred per cent Native American, a fact she was apt to fling at people's feet like a
gauntlet when she first met them. She was also the youngest member ever elected to the Nekana tribal council, an
office she took very seriously, as indeed she should. When Darla passed the bar, she intended to work in a firm
headed by the tribe's lawyer, a distinguished local attorney and former congressman who had promised to groom
her to deal with Nekana legal affairs. She was working three days a week in the law office that summer as a
paralegal.

Darla took her Coke into the nook and began pressing for details of the investigation. I let Jay and
Freddy bring her up to date while I minced garlic and readjusted my perceptions. There was no reason Darla
should not be Tom's cousin, of course, and no reason his name would have come up during her infrequent earlier
visits either. We hadn't known him then. I peeled an onion and began chopping it with my trusty French knife. Still,
the coincidence surprised me.

They didn't look much alike, though Tom's hair and eyes were dark. Darla had the fairer complexion.
The real difference lay in body structure. Though she was not at all fat, Darla was short and wide, with a round face.
She was a good three or four inches shorter than Freddy, in fact, which probably contributed to his attraction to
her. Tom was about Jay's height, five eleven, and slighter. Jay has wide, solid shoulders and a deep chest--which
probably contributed to my attraction to
him
. I thought Tom was just pleasant-looking, but Darla was really
pretty, and there was certainly no family resemblance.

The onion was getting to me, so I finished chopping it and washed the juice from my hands. When I had
wiped my streaming eyes, I measured olive oil into the kettle.

I sipped at my beer while the oil heated. No way could Jay allow the sheriff to co-opt him for the
investigation team. Freddy was already Tom's partisan, having bonded over the computer. If Tom was Darla's
cousin, he was more than just a neighbor with literary credentials. He was practically a relative. I wondered if Jay
appreciated the complications.

I tipped the garlic and onions into the oil and took out a wooden spoon to stir with. The oil bubbled
gently. I love the smell of fresh garlic. I opened the other cans and listened as Freddy and Jay filled Darla in on the
fire. Freddy was explaining how he had cleaned the disks when I heard the front door open again. I was not
surprised to see Tom stick his head in the kitchen.

"Smells good." He was wearing jeans and a sweatshirt I had washed for him, and he looked
frazzled.

"It's vegetable soup." I dumped broth and tomatoes into the kettle. "You have company."

"Hi, Tom." Darla got up and gave him a cousinly hug in front of the refrigerator. "Grandma told me to
get my butt over here and find out if you need a lawyer."

Tom ran a hand through his damp hair. "Possibly, brat, but I don't think you're experienced enough to
take me on yet."

"Cut it out. This is serious."

Amusement lit his eyes. "You can tell Aunt Caroline I'm still a free man. I spent the afternoon reviewing
my last forty eight waking hours with Dale Nelson, and I signed a statement."

Darla groaned.

"Then he warned me not to leave the county and brought me back from Kayport. They found Cleo's car
at the construction site while I was trying to remember her exact words to me for the thirtieth time. I think the car
distracted Dale."

I poured a cup of white wine into the soup. "You must be thirsty, Tom. Have a beer."

"Thanks." He nodded to Freddy and Jay, who had watched the drama from the nook, and opened the
refrigerator door. "Jesus, there are crabs in the beer."

"I hope you know how to back them because I don't."

"No problem. Want me to do it now?"

"Drink your beer first. I'm making soup," I glanced at Darla, "and we might bump elbows or
something."

"I can back crab," she said seriously. She was a serious young woman. However, she took the hint, and
they both retired to the nook.

I opened the miniature door of the spice cabinet and began pulling down herb jars. Bay leaf, tarragon,
peppercorns, rosemary. I thought oregano might make the soup taste like pizza sauce, so I left it where it was. "I'll
bet you have fresh basil in that garden, Tom."

"Sure. Do you need basil?"

"Not now, but I might get ambitious one of these days and make pesto." Pesto was one of my more
successful culinary experiments.

I tossed herbs into the soup with what I hoped was a nonchalant air. The stuff was beginning to smell
wonderful. I wondered if six people would fit in the breakfast nook. "Can you stay for dinner, Darla?"

"I...yes. Thanks."

"Terrific. Jay, you and Freddy go in and clear the crud off the dining room table. Bonnie's coming, too, so
set six places. And dust it." The dining room was a bit cramped because the living-room furniture was stored there
along one wall.

Jay and Freddy rose to the occasion.

I had put the pasta wheels in the soup and was watching Tom clean the second crab when the doorbell
rang. "Coral" was a euphemism for crab guts, and since Tom was busy removing the top shell, not the bottom, I
didn't understand the term "back" either. I said so.

Darla was watching her cousin with critical attention. "I suppose we say back because only the back is
left when they're cleaned. The coral's a delicacy."

"I'm sure it is."

Tom glanced at me and grinned. "Where should I toss the delicacy?"

"The garbage can's under the sink."

Before Darla could protest, Bonnie opened the kitchen door. She was carrying a covered dish in her left
hand. "Hi, Lark. Your husband said to come on in. This nice lady I don't know just brought me a pie. She said it was
huckleberry. Can you believe it?"