Point No Point (14 page)

The horrible thing was Claire thought he killed Anne. He wasn’t sure he could dissuade her of that. He wasn’t even sure he wanted to.

All Chet knew was he needed time to think. And he always thought well while walking in the woods. He could follow the Chippewa river down to the Tiffany Bottoms and disappear for a day or two. Just enough time to sort things out in his mind.

Figure out if it was even worth continuing to live in a world without Anne.

A fifteen minute rest was all he could afford to take. Chet checked the street behind him before he let himself stand up and walk down to the river. He followed the river out of town, heading southwest toward Lake Pepin, past the Bauer Built offices, then past the small subdivision of Pleasant Ridge to where the river curved away from the town and he would be out of sight of any houses.

When he was safely past the last house, he looked at what he was wearing, the clothes he had worn when Anne died: his wrinkled khaki pants, a light shirt and running shoes. He knew if he looked closely he’d find some spatters of blood, but he didn’t want to see them.

He took his shoes off and tied the laces together, then hung them around his neck. They would get wet, but at least they wouldn’t weigh his feet down. Chet strolled along the river bank. The silty sand was the color of the limestone bluffs that surrounded this area, golden creamy as butter.

The wet sand felt good on his feet. He used to go barefoot all summer long when he was a kid. What had happened to those carefree days? When had he stopped taking his shoes off?

The water was rushing past him like quicksilver. He rolled up his pants and walked in up to his knees. Cool but not cold. Even the fast, cold waters of the Chippewa had warmed up during this hot spell. He walked in further until the water was up to his waist, and then he dove in. He didn’t make a great effort to get to the other side—he let the water sweep him along and carry him downstream. He turned over on his back and floated.

It was a nice way to travel. As he watched Durand disappear around a bend in the river, he was surprised at how quickly he was moving away.

Chet floated low in the water, which he had done since he was a skinny kid. Nose, mouth and chin stayed above water, eyes and chest if he lightly paddled. If anyone happened to see him, they might think he was a muskrat or a beaver, making a watery trail.

After about fifteen minutes in the river, he came to an island he recognized, close to Silver Birch Lake. He wanted to make it down to past Ella, where he could walk out and follow county road N past Little Plum Creek and down to Back Valley Road. He figured the river was flowing at about three miles an hour and if he gently swam along with it, he could travel about four to five miles an hour, which would put him at Ella in another hour or so.

He knew of an old shack just off of Swede Rambler Lane where he could camp out for a day or two. A friend of his used it for a hunting cabin, but Chet was sure no one was there now. It was only about a mile or so from the river. It wouldn’t take him long to walk there and then he could rest. If he guessed right, there was probably a decent supply of canned goods to make something to eat.

As he did a lazy crawl down the river he thought of Anne.

If Anne were still alive they would be dancing right now. This was the afternoon that they went to the Moose Lodge to polka and waltz and fox trot. They had met dancing in Red Wing and it had continued to be a part of their lives together.

He swam close to the shore and watched the river birch glide by. No more dancing for him ever again.

Bill stood on the bridge and watched the water flow beneath him. This was the only bridge across the Chippewa for miles: about twelve miles downstream Highway 35 crossed it and then eight miles upstream there was another bridge. He was betting on Chet trying to come across the bridge.

Staring down into the water, Bill couldn’t imagine anyone trying to cross the river by swimming. The current wasn’t too strong, but the river was filled with debris and looked the color of weak coffee. Who knew what was in that dark brew: sewage, silt, and slimy carp.

Only problem was there was a small chance that Chet might have already crossed the bridge before Bill got to his post. It had taken him some time to gather the troops. He sent Jeremy south on Highway 25 in a squad car to watch the road. He asked Red to stay in town and ask people if they had seen Chet.

He had called Amy at the hospital and told her to join him on the bridge when she could get away. She said that Claire was doing fine. They had set her arm and given her one of those new-fangled plastic casts. The doctor had also given her a Vicodin. Amy laughed at that point and said Claire was feeling no pain. In fact, she said, Claire was talking on and on about all sorts of stuff, not all of which made any sense, but she seemed happy. Someone in her family was going to come and get her, Amy thought, but she’d stay until they showed up.

Sounded as if Claire might be out of commission for a while. He wasn’t quite the next in command but he was getting

up there. He was happy that the sheriff had put him in charge of this search party and the way he looked at it, if he caught Chet, then he might get to do more of this type of work. Maybe Claire would be so bad off that they’d make him temporary chief investigator. He hated to think that way, but he didn’t see how else he’d advance as the department was so small. He’d thought of moving and joining a bigger force, but now, with Amy in his life, it might be more difficult.

As minutes passed Bill began to feel stupid just standing up on the bridge. Chet wasn’t going to come close to it with Bill standing there, plus he had this feeling that Chet was long gone. He could have hitched a ride out of town minutes after they found Claire.

Bill crossed to the far side of the bridge and then walked down into the weeds off to the side of the road. The bugs were buzzing away this time of day. The full sun made his head feel heavy.

Might be smart to tuck himself into the shade under a sprawling oak tree. From there, he could see anyone approaching the bridge from either side. It was a perfect location.

Out of the sun, he was more comfortable, but there was still a warm, sultry wind that blew over the land. The constant movement of the water of the Chippewa hypnotized him. He felt his eyes grow heavy and the sound of buzzing in his ears lulled him to sleep.

In his dream he was running and running after someone, but they were always a few steps ahead of him and they would never turn around so he could get a look at their face and be sure of who they were.

Then something tickled his nose. He brushed it away. Tickled again. His eyes fluttered open and Amy was looking down at him.

“Hard at work?” she asked.

“Holy shit. How did that happen?” He jumped up.

“Don’t you know you’re never supposed to sit down on the job?”

“Amy, please don’t tell anyone. What time is it?”

“You could only have been sleeping a few minutes. Don’t worry. I’m sure he didn’t sneak by you. Claire told me what she wanted us to do.”

“Claire?”

“Yes, remember. Our chief investigator?”

“But I thought she was out of commission.”

“Oh, I think she’s going to take the rest of the day—a little Vicodin vacation—but I expect to see her at work bright and early tomorrow. She’ll want to know that we did what she wanted us to do.”

“Heil Claire.”

“Hey, don’t be nasty, Sleepy. Or should I call you Dopey?”

“So what does she want us to do?”

“Pretty much what you’ve done, but send someone to Chet’s house and tell Rich to be on the lookout.”

“Can you do that?” Bill asked.

“Nope, I’m meeting the wife of Mr. Bloaty, or Mrs. Swaggum as she should be known. I’m not looking forward to it. I’ve never had anyone ID a body before.”

“Does she have any idea why he might be down here?”

“I’m not sure. She said this isn’t the first time he’s disappeared. I got the idea he was kind of a wild man.”

Bill said, “Sounds like you could have your hands full.”

* * *

Meg wasn’t sure why her mom had called her for a ride since she knew that Meg couldn’t drive yet. Though Meg had just turned sixteen, she still had to take behind-the-wheel lessons and pass the test to get her license. All she could guess was that her mom felt out of it and didn’t want to have to arrange anything. Her mom had sounded loopy on the phone so Meg told her not to worry, she’d take care of it. Just to sit tight and someone would come and get her.

First Meg tried to call Bridget. She was pretty sure she wouldn’t be home; Meg almost had her aunt’s schedule memorized, but she tried there anyway. If she remembered right, she had her regular babysitter today.

Rachel answered the phone and said, “Hello, who is this?” her four-year-old voice sounding soft and high.

“This is your cousin, Meg.”

“My Meg?”

“Yes. Is your mom home?”

“Nope. She working.”

“Can you tell her I called?”

“Do you want to talk to me now?”

“Rachel, I would love to, but I’m busy.”

“I’m busy too. Goodbye.” The phone clicked off.

So then Meg decided she would try Curt. She hated to call over to the Hedberg’s. His mother always sounded put out when she did. Mrs. Hedberg liked her well enough, but she also thought Meg was corrupting her son.

“Hedberg’s residence,” a young girl’s voice answered.

Oh, good, it was Nelly, Curt’s seven-year-old sister. “Hi, Nell. It’s Meg. Is Curt around?”

“Nope.”

“Where is he?”

“I think he went with Dad to get some stuff from town.”

“Do you know when he’ll be back?”

“Nope.”

Nelly was a nice girl, but not real talkative.

“Could you ask him to call me when he gets home? It’s important.”

“I’ll try.”

“Thanks.”

Meg hung up the phone and shrugged her shoulders. Hopefully Rich would have his cell phone on. She picked up the phone and dialed the number.

He answered on the third ring. “Hello.”

“Hey, Rich. It’s Meg.”

“What’s up?”

“Well, it’s Mom. She’s fine.”

“What’s going on? What’d you mean she’s fine?”

“She is. It’s just she’s in the hospital. She broke her arm.”

“What? How?”

“I guess she fell, but she’s fine. I talked to her.” Meg hesitated, then asked, “Do you think you could go and pick her up?

She wants to come home. Says she’s too doped up to work.”

“Of course. Why didn’t she call me?”

“Who knows? She’s a little out of it. I think the only number she could remember was home.”

“But how did she manage to break her arm? That doesn’t sound like her.”

“She was chasing someone.”

“Figures. Who? Some hardened criminal?”

Meg didn’t want to tell him, but knew he would find out sooner or later. Better from her than her mom. “Chet.”

C
laire sat in a wheelchair waiting. She didn’t feel like herself. People were swirling around her in the lobby of the hospital, but she felt very separate from everything: bone distantly throbbing, drifting around in the weird, nauseous pain tempered by the medicine. She grabbed the arms of the wheelchair in order to hold on to something.

Only hours after she picked up Chet, she was back in the lobby of the Chippewa Valley Hospital, except this time she was the patient. It was such a relief that her arm didn’t hurt much anymore thanks to the painkillers, but she was sweating like a pig and the perspiration was running into her cast.

Meg had assured her that she’d find someone to pick her up, either Bridget or Curt. If Claire knew her darling daughter, she would probably use this situation to prove that she needed to get her license immediately.

As she sat there, she grew anxious and jittery, wanting to bite someone else’s arm or head off. Any extremity would do as long as it made a satisfying snapping sound as it detached. Claire sighed, remembering the slight crack she had heard as she landed on her arm.

The bitch part of herself seemed to be never far away anymore. Ms. Minny Pause, she had come to think of herself.

Suddenly it felt like a hole opened up in the floor and she got sucked down into a vortex of panic: her life was falling apart. Rich had moved out, Chet’s wife was horribly dead, her own arm was broken. She was going into menopause and probably had osteoporosis. If there was a bad way to look at something, it presented itself to her at that moment, sitting in a wheelchair in a hospital, all alone.

Long deep breaths, a trick her therapist had taught her years ago to calm panic. Bridget said it would also help with hot flashes. Claire wouldn’t mind them so much if they were just flashes but they lasted much longer than that word implied. More like hot hours.

She put a smile on her face, another trick that was supposed to fool the mind into thinking all was well with the world. Just as she looked up, Rich walked through the door and stopped a few feet away from her.

“At least you’re smiling,” he said, smiling.

“Don’t start.”

“How is my Claire today?”

“Don’t take advantage of me or I’ll bash you with my cast.” She lifted it up to show him. “Unfortunately these new casts are not quite as good as a weapon as they used to be. They’re light and flimsy, but much more comfortable to wear.”

“Would you like me to push you out to the car?”

She glanced around. “Since no one’s watching, could you take my good arm and let me walk out on my own steam? I hate this wheelchair.”

Putting his hands under her arms, he helped her up. She stood for a moment, getting her balance. Whatever drugs they had given her made the world seem foggy and further away, everything smoothed out. Maybe they would help her behave on the ride home. The last thing she wanted to do was yell at Rich again.

“Okay?” he asked.

“Yup. I’m good to go. But let’s keep it slow.”

They walked out together and Claire again was surprised by how much she needed to lean on him, relying on him for both propulsion and forward momentum. This was not good.

Rich deposited her in the passenger seat, then reached over her to help her strap herself in.